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The Kindness in Thinking It Through

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This past week has been a whirlwind of logistics and duct tape as we successfully launched the Access in Action conference. The speakers were amazing, and each one reinforced a shared idea: accessibility is less about grand gestures and compliance checklists and more about the everyday choices that make learning easier to participate in and engage with.

Late last week, I started to plan how to thank our speakers. I’ve always been a “thank-you card” person, so that felt like the most genuine way to express my gratitude. When I paused to think about how that gesture would actually be received, it became clear that I needed to adjust. One of our speakers is blind, so I need to make adjustments to the format, but not the intention.

Using a braille machine to create a thank-you note shouldn’t be something we frame as “going above and beyond”. Creating an accessible experience should be the expected minimum. If I’m going to make thank you cards for all my speakers, I’m going to make thank you cards for all of my speakers.

Kindness, at its core, isn’t about effort or novelty. It’s about taking a moment to reflect on how our actions land, and whether they fully and completely communicate the care we intend.

As a homeschool student, I vividly remember many, many trips to the Burton Barr Central Library, particularly for a lesson on Helen Keller. What left an impression with me wasn’t the lesson itself, but a small moment: a librarian taking the time to show my sister and I how the braille embosser worked and printing our names so we could feel them on the paper. It wasn’t presented as anything special, just someone noticing curiosity and responding with an act of kindness. I’ve remembered that moment for more than twenty years and that moment led to recognizing an opportunity to express gratitude in a more appropriate format.

My identical twin sister recently recommended Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara. Although it’s rooted in the hospitality industry, I’ve been surprised by how closely it mirrors Higher Education. Both are service-driven spaces that succeed when people feel considered rather than processed. The book emphasizes how small acts of intentional kindness and proactive thinking can help others to feel seen, heard, and cared for in a way that creates a sense of belonging and leaves a lasting impression.

This act of kindness wasn’t complicated; it just required intention.

Finding a braille embosser was difficult, but it did require asking the right questions and making a few phone calls. With Burton Barr under renovation, I followed the trail to the Mesa Public Library, where a librarian and I learned to use the machine together and printed the note. I got to play with a really neat piece of technology (ask me sometime, this thing is COOL), and I now have a note for our speaker. Now that note is winging its way to Tony, and my handwritten thank-you cards are on the doorknobs of our other speakers. Mission accomplished.

This story isn’t about getting to learn a new technology (which was AWESOME) or hunting down a memory of my childhood (thought both were genuinely meaningful). It’s about demonstrating a commitment to kindness and recognizing when our practices don’t effectively serve our audience. It’s about recognizing that sometimes what might at first glance seem “unreasonable” or “above and beyond” is really just the minimum expression of demonstrating kindness and consideration.

I could have very easily sent an email or made a phone call. But the spirit of our conference is all about the choices and efforts we make in our interactions with students and each other to make our lives easier. To remove barriers and to remind those around us that they are valued members of our community… and that’s what this week’s act of kindness embodies.

Genuine gratitude isn’t about writing out the card with meaningful words, cursing my handwriting skills when my letters get sloppy, and delivering the cards to offices. The true act of gratitude lives in reflection. When we write a card, or send an IM, or tell someone “great work!” in passing, kindness shows up through intention, consideration, and the pause we take to think about how our message will be received.

So let me leave you with this thought:

Where in our lives can we pause to consider kindness? What small adjustment could help build a sense of belonging or show someone how much we value their role in our community?

In a world with so much unkindness surrounding us, it costs us nothing to practice kindness and be that light.

And maybe we’ll learn something new along the way… 

community college, Write6x6

Pushing Back on a College Myth

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A story I have heard a lot is that college is a cold, strict place. For students, they hear “There is no late work accepted.” “You won’t get the benefit of the doubt.” “You better figure things out because you’re on your own.”  “You won’t be able to do x, y, or z in college.” The message? College is a scary place.

palm of hand pointed out

As if our first-gen students or anyone else coming to college does not already have a challenging time overcoming imposter syndrome or learning the ropes or having enough gas to get to campus or making sure they get to eat before class! This really is a myth that needs to stop. 


This myth doesn't just affect first-gen students, though they may feel its weight more than others. It affects returning students who left college once and are terrified of repeating the experience--we have many in our online classes. It affects students who grew up hearing adults talk about professors as unreachable figures. When students walk through our doors already bracing for rejection, they're less likely to ask for help, less likely to persist through a hard week, more likely to disappear quietly instead of asking for help. The myth costs us students before we even get a chance to show them who we actually are.


I talked with a student in office hours the other day who reiterated a version of this myth to me. She was truly worried about how she would be perceived for asking questions. I did my best to convince her that educators here at GCC would appreciate her asking questions; that is, after all, how students learn. People at GCC do care. They hold office hours hoping students will show up. They send emails checking in on students who've gone quiet. They build in flexibility for when a student is juggling two jobs and a sick parent at home.


How do we change the story? We can be intentional about telling a different story--starting on day one. The way we introduce ourselves, the tone of our syllabus, whether we smile when a student asks a question that's "already in the syllabus.” All of it sends a message. Counter stories don't spread on their own. We have to repeat them wherever we are able.
artificial intelligence, Write6x6

The Meeting of Accessibility and Generative Artificial Intelligence

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Recently, I realized that I had been ignoring AI in favor of accessibility. I mean, a person only has so much brainspace, right? Then I started hearing a little buzzing about how others were starting to use AI to assist with their accessibility efforts, and I realized the two could be combined to save some time and make more challenging improvements related to accessibility. 

So here are a few ways I've been using my personal, paid Claude account to help me with the accessibility related to my courses:

  • HTML remediation for WCAG compliance. That's a mouthful to say that I pasted the HTML code from my Canvas pages into Claude with a prompt that asked it to correct the HTML code so that it was fully accessible. What Claude did was then to remove empty paragraphs, add screen reader text for links, fix heading structure and navigation elements, convert all caps text to proper case, and remove unnecessary inline styles and broken links. If I prompted carefully at the start of the chat, telling it I was going to give it page after page, it gave me HTML code back and wrote "Ready for the next page." It was easy to get into a groove of copy/paste/copy/paste. 
  • Transcript cleanup and video accessibility. Getting the video captions right with YouTube has never been so easy. Once the auto captions are complete, it's easy to copy the text of those, paste them into Claude, and ask that they be corrected for upper/lower case letters, punctuation, and spelling. Then it's simple to take the corrected version and paste it back in. There's no worry about VTT or SRT files. 
  • PDF to accessible format conversion. I do have a short story in one class. It's older and in the public domain, but I only have a scanned copy for students. I asked Claude to read the pdf and give it back to me in plain text. I then copied that into a Google Doc, used Grackle, and then created a link using "share" and "publish to the web." I then linked to that from my Canvas course. Students now have an accessible version of that story they can read. It also is a whole lot cleaner than that scanned version!
  • Writing a Pressbook. I had Claude create the first part of a Pressbook I'm working on. I asked for some styling and a particular font. I then asked it to create pages with that same styling for each section of content I give it. What I'm ending up with are parts of the book that all have the same styling regardless of where the content comes from. The book will look consistent. 
Right now, I'm really looking for ways that I can use AI as a tool to speed up what I have to do and to help me make all my course content fully accessible. AI doesn't always get it right, and I sometimes have to ask for a redo. The iteration is still faster than what I could do on my own, and Claude makes corrections to the HTML code, which I cannot do on my own without a lot of extra work. I am curious how others might be doing similar tasks. Let me know!


composition, Write6x6

It Was Never Just About the Essay

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I’m going to try not to make this political, but I make no promises. I teach freshman composition, African American literature and journalism. In the comp classes we don’t have interesting content to read and write about that is mandated by our curriculum. It’s just teach them to write, organize, use appropriate conventions. Actually it says more overgeneralized statements like “Write for specific rhetorical contexts, including circumstance, purpose, topic, audience, and writer, as well as the writing’s ethical, political, and cultural implications.” There’s so much to unpack here. You’d be surprised by how different professors are in the interpretation of what this means in our classrooms.

I mean just the first part alone is meaningful. “Write for specific rhetorical contexts” means adjusting your writing based on the purpose, audience, and situation in which the writing will be used. It recognizes that writing is not one-size-fits-all. Effective writers make intentional choices depending on who they are writing to, why they are writing, and where the writing will appear. In our students’ minds, I alone am the audience. They don’t often see the significance of writing for a specific rhetorical context, so we have to teach them what that means. So I give them the theme of “Truth in the US Elections and the Current Administrations Policies.” Now we have content to read and write about. I tell them if you’re mad or happy about immigration policies in this country, then who needs to hear your arguments? What is your purpose in writing? What is the context or situation? We discuss where and how the writing can be used.

The last part of that one course objective, “as well as the writing’s ethical, political, and cultural implications,” means students must think about the impact and responsibility of their writing, not just the technical aspects like audience or purpose. It asks them to consider how their words affect others and how their writing fits into larger social systems. I tell them their writing can be a form of protest or support for ideas, which makes writing more meaningful. I want them to know how writing connects to power, policies, public issues, or viewpoints. So yeah, it’s political, but it’s the real world. Writing can influence how people think about social issues, government actions, or public debates. I tell students, yes, your writing can do that, and I’m going to teach you how. That’s what this class is all about.

But what about the “cultural implications” in this course objective? Why is that in there? I want students to know that writing relates to people’s identities, backgrounds, values, and lived experiences. We’re all different. We come from different places metaphorically. As a writer, they should be aware of cultural differences and respect diverse perspectives. We don’t get to see that very often in society today, so it can be a challenge teaching this. Students often just want to repeat what they are constantly hearing in the media (news and social) instead of researching and finding the truth.

So Freshman Composition is so much more than teaching students to write. It is about helping them understand how writing actually works in the real world. It is about teaching them to think critically, to recognize audience and purpose, and to make intentional choices instead of just filling space on a page. It is where they begin to see that their words carry weight, that writing can inform, challenge, question, and create change. It is also where many of them, often for the first time, realize that their own experiences, perspectives, and voices belong in academic spaces. Freshman Composition is not just a writing class. It is a class about awareness, confidence, and learning how to participate in conversations that matter.

Write6x6

A Love Letter to SEL

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As Severance fans know, no talking in this elevator!

If we find ourselves in the elevator of the Life Sciences building, I will talk to you. This is not because I’m outgoing; my default setting tends to the shy side. But, after reading the study Mistakenly Seeking Solitude, I learned a thing or two.

  • Thing 1: We tend to underestimate the positive feelings that can come from conversing with a stranger.
  • Thing 2: We also underestimate the good feelings a stranger may experience through our bid for connection.

In this study, various train and bus commuters were asked to 1) connect with a stranger next to them, 2) remain disconnected, or 3) commute as they normally would. In short, people predicted more positive experiences in solitude, when in fact increased connection led to happier feelings about the commute. The rub? Unless we actually take the risk to reach out to a stranger, we persist in the notion that solitude is preferable and potentially miss out on a feel-good boost.

This is but one of the lessons on unexpected sources of happiness in my PSY 262: Positive Psychology course, and I share this research finding with my students on the first day of class. For one, it is an excellent example of scholarly research in positive psych. But also I use it as encouragement for them to connect with the “strangers” in their new class. A side effect I’ve noticed after the pandemic is less chit-chat between students before class. But in this class, my students definitely converse more freely with each other, and I attribute this in part to what they learned about positive emotions from this study.

In my PSY 372: Educational Psychology course, I demonstrate relaxation techniques for these teachers-in-training such as body scan meditations and box breathing. My purpose is, again, twofold: 1) to give them tools to use in the face of inevitable teaching stressors in their future classrooms, and 2) to help them center their bodies and attention before we begin our class. I visibly see their stress melt away when we use these techniques, and as a result they are more receptive to whatever I am teaching on that particular day.

Both of these teaching practices are examples of Social and Emotional Learning, or SEL. I believe being able to self-regulate emotions and behaviors is the ultimate 21st century skill for students, faculty and staff. Learning about unexpected paths to happiness and ways to manage stress are critical life skills. And in most cases, SEL can be integrated with academic content.

SEL defined

Not fútbol, as it turns out

I was inspired to write about SEL this week after reading Alisa Cooper’s moving post, Erasing DEI at MCCCD is Erasing Us! Alisa’s impassioned essay makes clear what Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion (DEI) actually is, and I am grateful for her efforts to clear up clearly mistaken notions about DEI. SEL is another political target that suffers also from mistaken identity. So what is SEL?

This week happens to be National SEL Week. The Collaborative for Academic, Social, and Emotional Learning (CASEL) is a leader in this area and defines SEL as “the process through which all young people and adults acquire and apply the knowledge, skills, and attitudes to develop healthy identities, manage emotions and achieve personal and collective goals, feel and show empathy for others, establish and maintain supportive relationships, and make responsible and caring decisions.”

My K/1 students in an SEL lesson, circa 1998

I taught elementary school for many years, and SEL was a key component of my instruction. I was fortunate to teach in a school that implemented SEL schoolwide, and I witnessed SEL helping students both inside and outside of the classroom. For example, we spent the first two weeks of the school year steeped in SEL activities – icebreakers, social skills lessons, and other activities aimed at creating a safe learning environment. Where some might call this a waste of instructional time, we called this “frontloading,” and these practices are supported by the science of how the brain works and how children learn. As a result of our SEL efforts that continued throughout the year, our students’ headspace was more freed up to learn and we got so much more out of them as a result.

What is at stake?

Currently no state has established outright bans on SEL, but several bills have attempted to do so. The chatter around the demolition of SEL is definitely in the air. It is important at this time to share the heart of SEL in an attempt to clear up issues with its definition. If changes are to be made to the implementation of SEL in schools, my hope is that it would involve a careful, surgical approach that keeps the best interests of students at the center.

My husband, now a retired police chief, used to talk about “badge-on-the-table” situations. He told me that if he was ever in a situation that challenged his integrity, he would put his badge on the table and move on. Being told I couldn’t incorporate SEL would have been the equivalent to a badge-on-the-table situation for me as an elementary school teacher. Or, to paraphrase Charlton Heston’s words to the NRA, “I’ll give up SEL when you pry it from my cold, dead lesson plans!”

Write6x6

Mary’s Teaching Pie (Yield: 2 Lessons)

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This recipe is adapted from June’s Apple Pie

And here is the actual, famous June’s Apple Pie recipe! (Yield: two pies)

Ingredients:

For the crust

  • 3 c. flour
  • ½ heaping tsp. baking powder
  • 1 ½ tsp. salt
  • 1 c. Crisco shortening
  • 1 c. water

For the filling

  • 5 lbs. Granny Smith apples
  • 2 c. sugar
  • Cinnamon
  • Nutmeg
  • 12 thin pats of butter
  • Flour

Method:

  1. Combine flour, baking powder and salt, and set aside.
  2. Heat water until boiling.
  3. While water is boiling, heat Crisco on high in microwave for 20 seconds.
  4. When water boils, take off heat and add in Crisco. 
  5. While Crisco/water mixture cools, pare and slice the apples.
  6. Mix Crisco/water mixture with dry ingredients and divide into 4 balls.
  7. Roll out two of the balls and place at the bottom of two pie dishes.
  8. Divide apple slices between 2 pie dishes.
  9. Put 1 cup sugar in each pie dish.
  10. Sprinkle apples with 8 shakes of nutmeg and enough cinnamon to cover the slices.
  11. Dot each pie with 6 pads butter.
  12. Sprinkle each pie very lightly with four.
  13. Roll out pie crust tops.
  14. Fold each top in half, cut three slices in the middle, and place on top of each pie.
  15. Pinch edges together to seal.
  16. Bake at 400℉ for 45 minutes, and enjoy!

June was my mother, and not only did she teach me to bake, she taught me so much about education. She was never a formal teacher herself, but she was extremely wise in the areas of learning, human development, and positive relationships. She was the first person to not only teach me about the concept of unconditional positive regard, but she demonstrated it every day of her life. Her recipe for how to be with people was a good one indeed, and I am forever grateful to have been her “baking apprentice.”

And this is what the pies look like when they are done. They may not look like much, but many people have told me it is the best apple pie they have ever had. (And isn’t that just what we want our students to say about our Teaching Pie?)

Write6x6

Love in the Time of Covid-19

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This week’s prompt asks us to reflect on pandemic-era changes in teaching practices and how we have been personally changed during this most “interesting” of times. I’m having trouble. After all, when Covid-19 references come up in books or movies, I find myself instinctively turning away. Recently, I forced myself to finish reading Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake set in the pandemic, because, well . . . Ann Patchett. But most discussions about the pandemic have me scrambling for a safe and comfortable 6-foot distance from the speaker.

So I will start with a pandemic love story of sorts, which I swear will circle back to teaching. In March of 2020, my husband and I celebrated our 33rd wedding anniversary. We likely marked the occasion how we spent most weekends during that season – ordering takeout and finding some deserted outdoor space in the downtown Chandler area to dine. 

Never could you linger in the middle of the street on a Saturday night in downtown Chandler

Such spaces were not hard to find, and it was a special time for us. My husband was the police chief in Chandler when the pandemic hit, and for the first time in our lives his weekends were not consumed with public meetings, ribbon-cutting, you know – the shaking hands and kissing babies that is part of life as a public figure. Instead, we had hours of quiet time to reconnect and reconsider all that is really important in life.

One night during that time, we brought our takeout to the top of the parking garage that overlooks the downtown square. This garage that usually has no parking spaces to spare was completely empty that night, and we placed our food on the ledge as we surveyed the quiet city. It was romantic, but this is not the pandemic love story I want to share.

Our parking garage date night

After a few bites, we spotted a police car coming into the garage and winding its way up the levels toward us. However, the car stopped on the floor below. The police officer got out of his car and rested against the back bumper. Figuring he was taking a break, we joked about getting caught and went on with our eating. A few minutes later, another car pulled up, and this time my husband recognized one of his civilian employees emerging from the car.

“Oh no!” my husband muttered. It became clear to both of us that we were observing a tryst-in-progress. 

“But look, they’re standing completely apart,” I noted as my husband mentally processed how to deal with this possible HR issue. But if this was a heated encounter, the burner definitely appeared to be on low. Soon after, a procession of police cars proceeded to wind their way toward the couple – about seven cars in all. Busted!

“Ohhhhh!” my husband said, this time with a look of recognition on his face. The civilian proceeded to take food out of her trunk, and the officers began their shift briefing, which just happened to be mandated (by the man next to me) to be held in an outdoor location for safety. My husband popped in on the briefing, and all had a good laugh.

A police briefing, pandemic-style

Really, there is a teaching connection!

This experience reminds me that things are not always as they seem with our students as well. We may not know the context behind a situation a student presents. What we perceive as motivation for a student’s behavior may not be accurate. And I think the pandemic reinforced the idea that it is best to withhold judgement. We never really know what is going on in the life of another based on what we observe from the outside.

Our brains are pattern-seeking devices that use a whole host of shortcuts to reduce expenditure of cognitive energy. (For a better description than I can offer, check out Dr. Rick Hansen’s See Beings, Not Bodies.) To combat this tendency, one of my mentors from the Scottsdale School District encouraged her team to always have a positive presupposition when working with both children and adult learners. In other words, we don’t automatically attribute a missed assignment to late-night gaming or take a class absence as a sign the student doesn’t care. It’s a loving approach to humanity – to provide room for alternate explanations for our immediate perceptions.

Write6x6

A Dynamic Lesson

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When I was flitting around as a dance major in college with dreams of becoming a Rockette, I actually was learning how to be a better teacher. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. I was too busy washing my leg warmers and rewatching Fame and Flashdance on a VHS loop.

In my dance program, I was required to take a series of courses in choreography and Labanotation, a system for recording human movements with the use of symbols. And the one message I remember from these courses is, “Make sure you pay attention to dynamics in your choreography!”

One dictionary definition of dynamics reads, “the forces or properties which stimulate growth, development, or change within a system or process.” If I could channel my dance instructors now, they would say something like this:

You want to continually shift the energy of your movements at appropriate times. You can breathe life into your performance by changing up some slow movements with perhaps a sudden stop, followed by some staccato steps. Varying the type of movement, right when it is about to expire, keeps the audience on their toes, waiting to see what change will come next. Avoid monotony at all costs!

Without being consciously aware of it, I use dynamics in my teaching. In other words, I sense when the energy in the classroom needs a shift. I realize that attention spans are fickle, and a change in the volume of my voice or the speed of my speech can be indicators of such a shift. Or, when I move around the room, the tempo of my students’ cognitive processing is altered. (Even more so when I dance through the aisles.)

Six main movement qualities are used to describe dynamics in dance. These qualities include swinging, suspended, vibratory, sustained, percussive, and collapsed. In a lesson, I may swing from one topic to the next and then suspend the momentum with a question. The students might engage in a physical demonstration that involves vibratory or percussive movements, and then collapse in laughter when we’re done.

Another form of dynamism is changing how students are processing information in the lesson. An example of this is the 10:2 rule: For every 10 minutes of lecture, give students at least two minutes to process the information in a different way, perhaps through conversations with classmates or a physical activity. (For more information on the 10:2 strategy, see this Teaching Tip.)

Deciding to change up your lesson with different dynamic activities is the easy part. Knowing when to make the change in dynamics is trickier. In dance, the choreographer has to decide how long to perform a certain type of movement before a change is needed. That sensitivity to when something has gone on too long – AKA the ability to read the energy in the room – is an essential teaching skill.

It is said that teachers are many things, and the title “choreographer” can be added to that list. Part of the art of teaching involves creating a dynamic flow to our lessons. We can envision the dynamics of our lessons like a balloon that needs to be kept aloft. Sometimes a small tap is all that is needed, and at other times we have to dive for the save. But all the while there is an energetic and unpredictable bouncing of the balloon that captures and sustains our attention.

Literature, Write6x6

I Failed ENG102 – Why DEI Matters

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I tell my students all the time: You can accomplish your educational goals, even if you fail ENG102 the first time. If I can do it, so can you. And when things get tough, I’m always there to remind them: You can do it, but you have to want it.

When I took ENG102 at Phoenix College, my instructor was an old white dude. Yep, I said it. He was so out of touch with me, a young Black athlete, and many of the other students. Not once did he encourage me. He just stood at the front of the class, lecturing about literature written by, well, more old white dudes. I just couldn’t relate.

Being the precocious (read: smart-mouthed) student I was, I jokingly asked him one day if any Black people had written anything in the 1800s. His response? A dismissive suggestion that I check if the college offered an African American literature class—because apparently, the idea of including William Wells Brown, Frederick Douglass, or Frances E.W. Harper in his curriculum was out of the question.

Needless to say, that class didn’t end well for me. I ended up retaking ENG102 at Yavapai College, where the course focused on writing rather than literature. I was relieved. I swore I’d never take another literature class again. Ironically, I later majored in English Literature at Cal State Bakersfield. Ha! But that’s a story for another day.

The real takeaway here is this: Most students don’t expect to pursue the subject they struggled with the most. But my experience gives me a unique perspective on the frustration students feel when they’re forced to take a class that doesn’t seem relevant to them. I get it. I can relate.

That’s why I work hard to make the topics, readings, and visuals in my classes relevant to the students sitting in front of me (or behind a screen online). I want every student to feel welcome, to know they belong, and to see themselves reflected in the material we cover. I take my commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion seriously, not because it’s trendy, not because it’s a buzzword, but because I know what it feels like when a class leaves you out.

This is why DEI matters in education. It’s not about politics. It’s not about checking a box. It’s about making sure every student, regardless of their background, sees a pathway to success. Faculty have a responsibility to create learning environments where students feel valued, supported, and represented. If we fail to do that, we fail our students. And that is something none of us can afford.

Write6x6

For The Love Of Dogs

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If you know me, you know I love dogs. Actually, I love all animals, but let’s be honest, dogs are my absolute favorite. My husband and I take our pups everywhere, including our favorite watering hole, because what’s a cold beer or mimosa without a little dog hair in it? Also, please take a moment to appreciate my “Dog Mom” hat—it’s basically my crown.

Now, being the devoted Dog Mom that I am, I even found a way to incorporate my dogs into my Psychology 101 class. Enter Sophia, my adorable, all-white pup, who just so happens to be deaf, but can still perform an impressive lineup of tricks. She’s living proof that positive reinforcement works, which makes her the perfect assistant for my lecture on reinforcement and punishment. The plan? Bring her to class, let her show off, and wow my students with her talent. Easy, right? WRONG.

The Great Trick-Tastrophe

My class starts at 5:30 p.m., so earlier that day, I brought Sophia to campus with me because timing is everything when you’re managing both psychology lessons and a diva dog’s schedule. Naturally, I spent the afternoon parading her around like a proud stage mom, showing off her tricks to colleagues while showering her with treats. Because, obviously, when you’re a star, you deserve unlimited snacks.

Fast forward to class time. I set the stage, tell my students to prepare for an awe-inspiring demonstration, grab a treat, and give Sophia the hand signal for a trick. The students lean in, ready for the magic to happen. And then…NOTHING.

Sophia stares at me, looks at the treat….then casually turns her head away like I just asked her to file my taxes. Okay, no problem. Maybe she’s just getting her bearings. I move to face her, give her another hand signal. She turns away again.

I try once more. Nada. Zilch. Zero effort from the star of the show.

Meanwhile, my students are giving me the look, you know the one that says, Uh-huh, sure, lady. Your dog does tricks. And I’m the Queen of England.

At this point, panic sets in. I’m flailing. I start doing the tricks myself, demonstrating each one as if my body flopping around like a fish out of water is somehow going to inspire Sophia to follow suit. ‘Sophie sit!’ I desperately request with exaggerated hand signals, then I sit down on the floor explaining this is what Sophie would do. “She rolls over!”  I roll over. “She spins!” I spin in a dizzying circle. I am now fully performing my own dog’s tricks in front of a room full of bewildered college students!!! I’ve become the entertainment.

The Peanut Butter Plot Twist

At last, I accept defeat. I remind my class that I train Sophia solely with positive reinforcement, no punishment, just rewards. And even though she didn’t perform, she still deserves a special treat.

So, I pull out the good stuff – a peanut butter bone, her all-time favorite.

Suddenly, Sophia’s head whips around so fast I’m pretty sure she invented a new canine dance move. She sniffs the air, locks eyes on that peanut butter prize, and BAM – she’s in full performance mode! Trick after trick, with the energy of a dog who had definitely not just spent the last ten minutes ignoring me.

The students go from skeptical to cheering in seconds, applauding Sophia’s newfound enthusiasm. And me? I take the opportunity to turn this epic disaster into a teachable moment: positive reinforcement only works if the reward is actually valuable. After a day of tiny treats, Sophia was over it. But the legendary peanut butter bone? Now that was worth working for.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, no matter how well you plan, things fall apart in a spectacularly humiliating fashion. But when disaster strikes, just roll with it – literally, if necessary. Because at the end of the day, the show must go on! And if you can’t convince your dog to perform, at least be willing to steal the spotlight yourself.