Of Mice and Cat

I've always loved having companion animals.  One of my goals as a kid was to be a safe house for wayward animals.   "Wayward" had many evolving definitions throughout the years.  You know like, when I was 8 I thought it was a good idea to try to catch wild rabbits in the winter because I didn't want them to be cold.  And before you're like, "WHAT! HOW AWFUL!" let me remind you of three things:

1) I was 8
2) I never caught any rabbits
3) My cognitive skills were so advanced at that time that I thought the rabbit poop I found in my yard was actually coconut seeds that had magically appeared in the cold winters of Chicago.*

Wrong.  Coconut seeds.  

Eventually as I got older, I realized that "wayward" meant animals who were either in shelters or were being given away by people I knew, or were feeder animals.   That's not to say every single animal I had was from one of the aforementioned places, but I just couldn't imagine my life without animals in it.  I loved caring for and getting to know them.  

In fact, when I left home to go to college, I was completely devastated that I had to leave my cat Andi behind (at home).  We had an incredible relationship.  The worst part was I had a preview that summer of how Andi would react to me leaving for long periods of time.  I'd spent 5 weeks in British Columbia on an academic marine mammal course, and in that time my beloved cat pulled out all of the fur on her stomach and on the inside of her forearms and legs.  Despite multiple diagnostic tests run on this condition, the vet had ruled out all options except for (in his words) "Intense Distress."

It was awful, leaving her.  But I had to go.  

The regal Ms. Andi.

In the middle of my freshman year, I decided it was just impossible to live life without a companion animal.  It's probably a good time to mention that pets were uh, not allowed in the dorms.  But I didn't care, because this need for companionship of the non-Homo sapien variety surely transcended any university policy.

After discussing this with my roommate (also an animal lover), I decided to adopt a couple of mice.  I've mentioned them in previous blogs, mostly because of their names (Dunk and Donut), and they were amazing female fancy mice who were intelligent and affectionate and loved to eat peas.  Plus, their poop was extremely tiny which is always a plus in the animal world, especially when you deal with sea lions on a regular basis.  

It's not an animal trainer blog without mention of poop

My love of mice blossomed over the next year and a half.  I got a couple more, extremely careful to only get females because I obviously didn't want a mouse explosion.   So Chips and Dip, and later Jelly and Bean came into my life.  In fact, when I went home for longer breaks, they came with me and my cat actually took naps curled around their habitat.  She watched them a lot, too.  She never tried to hunt them (but I also wasn't stupid enough to let the mice out when she was in the room).  

The only picture I have on my computer of my mice! :(  Dunk with my roommate's dog

I took the mice on vacations with me, too.  Once in a while it didn't make sense to take them with me, so a friend or roommate would watch them.  But those sweet little gals traveled a lot.  I really loved them.

But as many of our animal companions tend to do, the mice passed away after two years of living with me.  By the time I was a junior in college,  Jelly was the only mouse I had left.  I was getting ready to move to Clearwater to do my marine mammal internship and knew I would take Jelly with me (and Andi, too!).  Even though Andi provided a bizarre form of companionship, I knew I had to get Jelly a couple of mice buddies as they are very social animals.  The problem was, with Jelly being a very old lady, I didn't want to just get ONE friend for her, only to have the same problem once Jelly passed away.  So I decided I'd get two females roughly the same age, which would solve all of my mice problems and there would be peace and harmony in the Universe of Rust.

Fancy mice are fancy!!!

A few days before my dad and I drove to Clearwater, I adopted two female mice.  They were two feeder mice, because I was feeling particularly noble.  The pet store had two terrariums with feeder mice: one said "male", the other said, "female."  It stood to reason that I should trust the signage, but one could never be too careful.  I double-checked with the store clerk, who assured me that they did not want to breed the mice, so they kept the sexes separate.

And so, Marshmallow and Fluff came out with me and became fast friends with Jelly.  

My dad and I began the long drive from Chicago to Clearwater, the mice and cat in tow.  I spent a lot of time fussing over Andi, who had never been in a car this long in her life.  While I'd made sure the mice had plenty of water and food, and that their bedding was dry and clean, I didn't really spend a lot of time checking them out.   I mean, I was the crazy Mouse Lady** who traveled all the time with mice, so I figured my energy was better spent dealing with my poor cat who had no idea what was going on.

So by the time my dad and I stopped at a hotel and snuck the animals in (whoops!), it'd been roughly 11 hours since I'd actually seen the Jelly, Marshmallow and Fluff.

I opened the lid to their habitat and peered in.

"DAD!" I said.  "I CAN'T FIND MARSHMALLOW!"

I panicked.  Jelly and Fluff were curled up, sleeping in their little cute mouse shelter thing that looked like an igloo.   But Marshmallow was nowhere to be found.

The sinking feeling in my gut told me that she'd escaped.  Or....died.

I forced myself to start looking for her, and with a feeling of terrible dread began to gently push away the bedding in the habitat........

.......and found eight squirming, hairless, pink baby mice, with Marshmallow curled around them.  She looked up at me like, "Look what I did!!!!"

Oh god

DOUBLE U TEE EFF.  These are all females!!!  The dude at the pet store swore up and down that was the case, and that they'd never been with males.

Dr. Malcom's voice (you know, the best character on Jurassic Park except for the velociraptors which are actually more like deinonychus but who's counting) played in my head.  

Preach it, brother.

"No, morons find a way," my brain interjected.  "Those mice probably were with other males before they were separated at the pet store.  Or the person at the pet store lied.  Or they misidentified a mouse here or there."

Sigh.  What did it matter? I now had eleven mice to take care of.  

A week passed, and the little pinkies grew and started to get a little bit of white fuzz on them.  They were really starting to get cute.  And I was starting to feel confident I could handle this massive amount of mice, especially once they were old enough for me to sex them.  I'd just have a two big habitats with all male and all female mice.  No big deal.

I came home from my internship, now feeling like I knew the routine and I was finally driving home without getting lost.  I felt really good.  I walked into my apartment, said hello to my cat, then went to check on the mice.  

I found a lump in the bedding.  It pulsed and seethed.  But the little mice were in the opposite corner. Jelly and Marshmallow were tending to them and...I couldn't....find...Fluff....

....until I found her.  And twelve.  Twelve.  TWELVE.  TWELVE NEWBORN MICE.  TWELVEEEEEE

Take 2

Remember Kitty/Puppy Surprise? The stuffed animals that had babies inside, but you never knew how many you'd get?  The best thing ever was when you'd get a Kitty Surprise and you got the Maximum Number of Kittens.  You really felt like you won the lottery, like you'd one-upped The Corporate Man because you got eight toys, while your BFF only got five for the SAME PRICE. 

Surprise!! We totally gipped you!

The moment I found Fluff's massive litter I remembered this Kitty Surprise feeling and immediately thought, "This is like Mouse Surprise", which was quickly followed by this thought:

"This is not fun in real life." (There may have been a few other choice words thrown in for effect).

But what could I do?  Seriously?  I mean, those little mice had the same right to be here as anyone.  Just because I made a stupid decision to trust a pet store didn't mean the little mice had to lose their lives.  But how the hell was I going to manage taking care of 23 mice?

I did all the research I could over the next few days.  I learned how to sex the babies once they got old enough, and started saving my pennies so I could buy a bunch of new terrariums so they'd have enough room to live comfortably.  In fact, at one point I was buying a new mouse house a week, watching my pitiful amount of money (of course, the internship wasn't paid) disappear.

But oh my god, were those baby mice ADORABLE once their eyes opened and they got all of their fur.  Their heads were gigantic, but their bodies very small, and I just fell completely in love with them.  When they got of age to sex them, I had carefully checked each one, and rechecked them, and rechecked them.  

LOOK HOW CUTE

Sexing baby mice early is critical, because you have to separate them before they can breed, which is roughly 9 seconds after they are sexually mature.  So let's just say their uh, parts aren't totally discernible.   Telling boys from girls apart at this age requires a series of supernatural powers that are only found in fiction and occasionally New York subways.  This is hilarious because once the mice are mature it's virtually impossible NOT to tell them apart, mostly because the boys look like they're carrying a giant pillow on their butt.  But once they get to that stage, it's way too late.  They've probably knocked up their female companions and now you'll learn a lesson in exponential math.

Sexing the baby mice was like discerning one minor difference in these donuts.  It was impossible, mostly because I ate them (the donuts) before further study 

Somehow, I managed to get all of the babies correctly sexed.  

Phew! You might think.  What a great ending to this story!

But oh, that's not the end.

I ran out of plastic and glass terrariums.  I was like the small mammal version of Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs.  Everywhere you looked, there was a mouse house.  But as the little guys grew, I needed bigger and bigger habitats.  I bought a small wire rat house that I thought had the appropriate bar spacing, but one of the little females kept getting out and digging into my (rental) couch.  I had to throw that away and buy more terrariums.  They kept stacking up.  Because I refused to just feed them cheap, low-quality food, I spent a ton of money on their diet.  The bedding was insane; I had to change it every day and I went through it like poop through an otter.

This is what I was turning into.  Sort of. Without the skin suit.

The show Hoarders wasn't yet in existence, but I could've been their pilot episode.

I put up some ads in the aquarium, hoping someone would like to adopt some of my mice.  I refused to turn them over to someone who'd make them feeders.  I know, I know, snakes et. al. gotta eat.  I'm just saying that those particular 23 individuals were not going to become snake food.  I had a responsibility for those little guys!

But I was totally overwhelmed by their care, and wrought with worry about what would happen to them.  Would I really have this many mice for 2 to 3 years?  What if I wound up with a mouse romance of Romeo and Juliet proportions and they decide they want to raise a large family and I end up with three zillion white mice who take over the house and kick me out on the street but still expect me to pay the bills because they have no credit line?

!!!!!!!!!!!

I had nightmares every night that I'd forget about one terrarium of mice.  And one day, my nightmare became reality.  Jelly (who by that time was almost three) and a couple of the young male mice died, and I lost it.  I knew I couldn't take care of all of these little creatures.  But no one answered my ads.  No pet store would take them. 

I finally called the Humane Society, knowing it was a long shot. But as it happens in these kinds of situations, where you think all hope is lost, it turned out to be the best thing I ever did.  They told me about a woman named Penny who did Rodent Rescue in St. Petersburg.  Rodent rescue! My faith in humanity restored, I called Penny and explained to her my situation.

"Well," she said.  "It just so happens that I need a lot of mice for a project I'm doing with the school district!"

She explained to me that she wanted kids to appreciate rodents and not look at them as pests, or animals whose lives were value-less.  And she told me she'd care for the mice until they died from old age.  I felt immensely relieved.  I decided it was best to give Penny all of the mice, even Marshmallow and Fluff, because I felt like the worst mouse mom ever.  When I met Penny in person, she was a warm and caring person (and turns out was a licensed wildlife rehabber, too!) who had a passion for rats and mice.  She introduced me to her rats who lived like royalty, and showed me the setups she had for my mice (keeping the boys and girls separate, of course).

Be Nice To Mice day is November 22nd!

While I felt great about how my little 22 white mice family would be taken care of, I was still sad when I left them.  But I felt good about sticking to my ethics; I had to preserve their little lives and ensure their well-being, no matter how inconvenient or stressful it was for me.  I know that those mice have long since transitioned to a more ethereal plane (Mouse Heaven, perhaps), but I hope that they had the best lives that pet mice could have.  

I suppose the point is that sometimes we wind up in situations due to circumstances somewhat or completely out of our control.  The only thing to focus on is what you can control while maintaining your ethics; not giving in to hopelessness, or taking the easy (and not-so-kind) way out for a quick fix.  I'm so grateful to have learned this lesson with a bunch of adorable mice, because they are what made me stay the course.  Had this been something that did not affect actual LIVES, I might've taken an easier path.  

But those fuzzy little nuggets forced me to stay true.   :) 

Side note: Pony Surprise seems biologically impossible

___________
* And I planted these "coconut seeds" to no avail

** Scientifically proven to be crazier than Cat Ladies

The Most Important Professional Skill You'll Ever Need

I got this really cool email a few days ago from the Community Manager at Webucator, an online instructor-led training on various technologies as well as business skills like management and accounting.  They've had tens of thousands of students from over ten thousand organizations complete their training programs, and they are in the midst of a campaign to discover what is the "Most Marketable Skill" to be successful in the workplace.

Mad. Skillz.

I am really flattered that I, arguably the most technologically illiterate person, was selected as one of the people to write about this idea.  While Webucator instructors are teaching people how to use HTML or the finer elements of project management, I'm getting seal drool on me and laughing about it.  But nonetheless, I do have a successful career and I am in management.  I've seen a lot of people come and go, and I've formed my opinions on what skill sets make people successful.

Today I want to share with you what I think is the Most Marketable Skill (MMS) you can have as a trainer or animal caregiver.  Even if you aren't in the animal field, I am confident this skill's importance extends to many, many other types of jobs.  

Before I tell you what it is, I want you to think about what YOU think the MMS is.  Here is a short-list of some of the ones I ran through as I thought about this topic (herein referred to as The List, because that sounds really cool):

Most of my work ethic is based on the philosophy of Homer.  Homer Simpson, that is.

THE LIST

1) Sharp job knowledge (animal husbandry, operant conditioning, etc)

2) Strong work ethic

3) Tenacity

4) Being a team player

5) Organization

6) Being a self-starter

7) Bottomless appetite for donuts in a way that defies modern day medical parameters for the average human being

8) Networking

9) Humility

10) Gaining respect

11) Leadership

Wow.  Those are a lot of Marketable Skills, right?*  Maybe you came up with additional things (and I'm eager to know what those are!).  How on earth are we going to choose ONE of those skills and declare it MOST Marketable?  This is like, totally taking me back to the dreaded high school superlatives (I never won any, because they never had a category for Weird).  How these things are selected blow my mind, because I don't think I could ever choose who has the Best Hair, much less who's Most Likely To Succeed.

Most Unphotogenic.

But you know what I've discovered over the past almost ten years I've been involved in this career? There is a skill that's not on the above list...that actually encompasses all of the list.  

It's a skill that, once cultivated, virtually guarantees you are a great self-starting, smart, team-playing, organized, creative, humble, tenacious, respected, and SUCCESSFUL person (and leader, if that's what you want to be).  But the problem is, it's not a skill a lot of people put stock in.  In fact, it's actually frowned upon by some people, because it's considered "weak" or "touchy-feely".   Even if someone doesn't frown upon it, it's often over-looked because it seems too simple.

The Most Marketable Skill is....

Empathy.

She makes a good point.

Oh man, I can hear the groans from here!

Groaner #1: Oh good lord, Cat.  You and your hippie,  yoga, vegetarian, tree-hugging notions.

Groaner #2:  Are you KIDDING me? What a cop-out! Empathy? Give me a break.

Groaner #3: Okay, interesting idea.  But empathy isn't a SKILL.

Well dear readers, let me tell you something about me.  There is only one thing I love more than working with animals and eating snacks.   It's telling people that they're wrong (and I'm right).  Oh, I love being right.

IF you read "Empathy" and felt immediately turned off by this week's blog, let me be frank.  You need to read this more than anyone.  You can still read through this and disagree, but at least hear me out.

So what do I mean about Empathy?  I don't mean you go around hugging people and telling them that oh, they are just the most wonderful people you've ever met.  I don't mean that you must become everyone's best friend (or even friend, for that matter).  Nor do I mean that you put your needs second to that of others.  

Empathy as a skill extends into two facets:

1) Consideration of others (both humans and non-humans!)

2) Showing yourSELF empathy by giving yourself a break and having confidence in your abilities

Being empathetic in either of these categories requires cultivation.  No one (NO ONE) is naturally good at both of these things.   They have to learn self-discipline, humility, and be pretty strong-willed in order to get a good grasp on being compassionate.  It is not simply just being nice.

So let's first address how empathy gets you some of the things on The List that people have the most trouble seeing.  You know, it's easy to understand how this skill makes you a good team-player, develops humility, makes you a good networker.  So let's look at the others:

Sharp job knowledge (animal husbandry, operant conditioning, etc)

!

As an animal trainer or caretaker, you know that getting to know your animals in a way that provides the absolute best care requires you to be empathetic or compassionate towards your animals.  Knowing your animals as individuals not only provides an incredible opportunity to forge a unique relationship, but you are the first to recognize signs of illness or injury.   The more in tune you are with your animals, the better you are at providing animal husbandry.  Period.

Yes, you can go through your career with a semi-detached methodology of animal care.  You can rely solely on medical samples obtained through voluntary or involuntary methods.  But you cannot tell me that a person who only takes systematic lab samples is able to detect when something is wrong compared to the person who is aware of the minutiae of behavior in an animal they know well as an individual.  Things are caught earlier more often by trainers/keepers who are well aware of each individual's realm of normalcy.  

This obviously extends to animal training.  While I could write an entire series of blogs on this topic, let's settle on a general concept that, as long as your training methods are fair and predictable, you have to rely on your ability to empathize with your animals to ascertain what is motivating.  You become a better trainer the more you pay attention to what your animal is responding well (or not so well) too.  Empathy makes a better trainer (and it doesn't mean you're being "anthropomorphic", either!).

Strong work ethic

Removing algae is fun if you know it's for a good reason, and you know that maybe you can eat it later.

A hard-working animal trainer knows they cannot cut corners on cleaning, record-keeping, or diet preparation.  They also know that as they grow into their career and work their way up the ladder, they will be responsible for more and more important facets of animal care, training, and teaching personnel.  They will work long, hard hours.  They will work through holidays, and miss vacations, and family events.  

The best employees with the strongest work ethics are those with....you guessed it, empathy.  They know that there is a REASON behind the hard work that they do.  It is not just simply to get it done, or because they have to do it to avoid getting yelled at, or that they'll get some kind of immediate reward after the work is completed, or they are finally checked-off to do a task.  No, the hardest working people know they are working hard for something GREATER.  Empathy makes a hard worker, because it provides you with a sense of purpose that gets you through really rough times.  You know that your work, from the mundane to the grander tasks, affects more than just YOU.

Tenacity

I like what you're thinking with the helmet and everything, but you're still screwed if you go for it, dude.

This is the topic that most people bring up when I tell them what the MMS is. 

"You can't be touchy-feely with people, Cat.  Sometimes, you have to tell them that they made a mistake."

"You have to get thick-skin in order to grow stronger/better."

"Being too soft or nice means you may become a doormat."

Yes, all of those statements are true.  This is where empathy is misunderstood.

When I have to tell someone they made a mistake, and this includes the times where I'm like, "Dude, STOP MAKING THIS SAME MISTAKE OR ELSE",  I don't think, "Oh, man, I have to be nice to this person because I don't want them to feel bad...even though they are really messing up."  

No.  

To be truly empathetic means I have to think, "If I don't tell this person they are messing up, and it's getting serious, then I'm not doing them any favors later.  It would be inconsiderate of me to be dishonest with this person just because I'm afraid of hurting their feelings."  I would much rather be honest with someone, even if it stings in the moment, because I know that is the right thing to do.

Now let's talk about growing thick skin, because we all have had situations at work where we: 1) keep making the same mistake and get into a rut and 2) have a boss who is a little harsh at delivering feedback.  How does empathy help us in these situations?  

I won't, little duckling!

Recall that I mentioned that the MMS in question deals with two scenarios: how you deal with others, and how you deal with YOU.  In situations where you really feel beaten down, embarrassed at messing up, or angry and frustrated at a superior who gives you very harsh criticism, this is when you have to learn to extend compassion towards yourself.  Empathy teaches you how to receive feedback constructively REGARDLESS of how it is delivered, and it helps you persevere through harsh times.

Let's look at a few examples, comparing when we are using empathy and when we are not.  Whatever is in parenthesis is what's going on in my head:

Without Empathy

Boss: Cat, what the hell were you thinking in that sea lion show?  Bridging that behavior was the dumbest mistake you could've made.  You're a supervisor for crying out loud!  You can't make mistakes like that!  I promoted you because I thought you could handle it, but mistakes like that make me wonder if you are really ready for the position you have.

Me: Okay.  (WTF BOSS? I AM GOING TO BE DEFENSIVE AND TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE WRONG AND THEN I AM GOING TO GO HOME AND BE PISSED AND HATE MYSELF FOR MAKING A MISTAKE AND OH GOD YOU ARE PROBABLY RIGHT I TOTALLY SUCK I SHOULD JUST QUIT AND FOREVER AND ALWAYS HAVE A CHIP ON MY SHOULDER)

RAAAAGE

With Empathy

Boss:  Cat, what the hell were you thinking in that sea lion show?  Bridging that behavior was the dumbest mistake you could've made.  You're a supervisor for crying out loud!  You can't make mistakes like that!  I promoted you because I thought you could handle it, but mistakes like that make me wonder if you are really ready for the position you have.

Me: I understand what you're saying.  I'll make sure I will be more careful next time.  (Even though I don't appreciate how you're telling me this, I can understand why you are frustrated with me.  I also feel embarrassed and angry that I made a mistake like that.  I could be really hard on myself, but that isn't going to make me improve, it's only going to make me feel worse about myself.  So okay, I have to move forward and give myself a break.  I also have the confidence in myself to know that I can make this change and not make this mistake again.  I know that I'm good enough to get through this, and to come out on top.)

Yeah!

Being empathetic towards yourself is the EASIEST, FASTEST way to grow thick skin.  If you give yourself a break, that doesn't mean you're shirking your responsibility to learn from your mistakes and improve.  It just means that you focus on HOW to improve, instead of needlessly punishing yourself for messing up.  Who cares, you messed up.   It's so much easier to slip into a rut if you're being so miserable towards yourself for every big and small mess up...and how does that help with your work ethic?  How does that help you rally and get yourself to a better place?

And no no no, being empathetic does NOT equate to being a doormat.  It doesn't mean you take every pot shot, or allow people to treat you poorly.  Treating yourself with respect and kindness means you know when to stand up for yourself (because if you didn't....you're not really being respectful to yourself, are you)!

Gaining Respect & Leadership

If your leadership development follows that of Cartman's, you're way off base. 

Okay, these two concepts are the same thing.  You gain respect, you become a leader.  Not the other way around.  Read that again.  It is not. the. other. way. around.

Developing the aforementioned skills using empathy as the main motivator is a guaranteed method to establishing meaningful and lasting respect.  People want to follow people who have their act together but who are approachable, professional, and lead by great example.  They do not want to follow someone who is emotionally all over the place, someone who is mean or callous, nor someone who is lazy or has no passion.  You might think, "Oh Cat, I've had some bosses...." but being a boss doesn't mean you're a leader.  Being a boss simply means you have a weak shred of leadership that's only based on title, but that alone does not give you a successful, lasting team.

Think about the best boss you've ever had.  Or think about someone on your team right now, who maybe doesn't have the title or technical authority over others, but you trust and want to be around.  Why is that?  Isn't it because of what I've just written here?

Bottomless appetite for donuts in a way that defies modern day medical parameters for the average human being

I AM SO HUNGRY RIGHT NOW

I mean, if you love yourself, you'll eat donuts.  If you care for your coworkers, you'll buy them donuts.  The end.

Okay, you should be empathetic AND buy donuts.  Just take my word for it.

So how is Empathy a Marketable SKILL?  No, you can't put it on a resume (which is a shame), because the word really elicits this weird like, drippy goopy let's all love the world la la la feeling.  It most definitely does not have any kind of professional connotations.  I'm not going to change the workforce's collective opinion on this matter with the Middle Flipper, but I'd submit that whatever you call it, Empathy is still a SKILL.

As I touched on before, you have to learn to develop this skill.  Some of us are really socially intelligent; we know how to treat others with respect, how to have compassion for the animals we care for and let that drive our work ethic.  And while there is always room to improve, some of us just sort of "get it".  But...those people are usually the WORST at being empathetic towards themselves.  They are very self-critical and let other people's opinions destroy them, get deflated when they get constructive feedback, and feel like they deserve to feel bad when they are called out on a mistake.   

D'oh

The opposite is true in many cases, too.  Some of us are naturally self-confident and pick ourselves up by our own bootstraps.  We know it's okay to mess up, and we focus on improving ourselves.  But sometimes, we do this to the detriment of others.  We may think, "Hey, I did it just fine, why is this person whining like a baby? I don't have time for that nonsense."   Or once we get into more experienced positions, we may treat our subordinates poorly because we don't understand why they are messing up, or we assume they will deal with their adversity in the same exact way we did.

Regina George's empathy-towards-others skill level is at about a 0.0

Learning how to be empathetic MEANS how to: control your emotions, relate to others (humans and animals alike), boost yourself up while always knowing you can improve, and focusing on what's important. It is a SKILL that requires practice, introspection, constructive feedback, and dedication.  Do the work, and your reputation will speak for you.  It might not be a bullet point on your CV, but people will say, "Wow, that so-and-so is a fantastic employee.  Almost everyone enjoys working with him, he's professional, and he's motivated."  

The best part about empathy as the MMS is that you can use it ANYWHERE.  Any facility, any boss, any coworker, any group of animals, any situation.  Certainly there are easier situations and people than others to practice this skill with, but nonetheless it is 100% within your control to use and master.  The more you practice it, the better you become at it, and the more likely others will be influenced positively by it. 

Can you be successful without Empathy?  If you've gotten to the end of this blog telling yourself that it's all a bunch of bologna, that's your prerogative.  Because yes, I know you can be "successful" without being an empathetic person.  You can train lots of behaviors.  You can get promotions.  You can be well-known.  Of course, we'd have to figure out what we define as success.   What I define as success is not only training lots of behaviors, learning as much as I can about husbandry and training of marine mammals, getting promoted, or being recognized in the field.  I mean, those things are definitely part of my definition.  But the other part involves: do I make a positive difference?  Do I strive to do my best for the sake of the animals, my coworkers, and myself every single day?  And do I in some way set an example for someone else so that they also can be successful?    

Period.

You can be snarky to your coworkers, disrespectful to your subordinates, or think that being empathetic is a total waste of time.  But you cannot be truly successful and influential in the workplace without it.  And let's face it, WHY would you not want to be?   Empathy is a skill that costs you no money, is guaranteed to improve with practice, and creates and incredible work environment for you and your coworkers. Yes, it takes a ton of work.  But it creates strong leadership and a creative, exciting team.  It is not only the Most Marketable, but the Most Influential and Most Important Skill.  Use it often, and use it well.  Everyone you work with in every animal kingdom taxa (including yourself) will thank you.

_________

* True or false: I actually have "Can Eat The Heck Out of Some Donuts" on my resume

Defeated By The Stand-On, Gravity Reversal, and Other Embarrassing Things

I've been doing this blog for a while now, and it's something I look forward to writing every week.  The only momentary stress I experience in regards to this stream of consciousness I subject all you loyal readers to is coming up with the right topic on which to opine.  I actually have a  list of things, a Pages document entitled "Blog Ideas" which has close to 200 topics waiting to be written about.

Some topics are inspired by extremely recent events.  Others are opinions I've formed over the past several years, and still others are anecdotes from previous facilities.  It's the latter that I cherish the most, mostly because my long-term memory is about as powerful as a walnut.  

A walnut always forgets.

So when I have a sudden marine mammal memory pop into my brain, I have to write it down.  Because yes, even though I will tell myself "Oh Cat, you'll totally remember that", I won't.  Oh, it must be the blond hair, or maybe it's true what they say about "you are what you eat" and I am turning into a gigantic donut whose hole happens to be in my skull.  These are the things I think about.

But the other day, I suddenly recalled an embarrassing moment* at my first job at Miami Seaquarium.

Some of you may have read about how bad I am at waterwork, in that I am extremely clumsy and know beyond a reasonable doubt that my life will end abruptly should I choose to engage in any high-power waterwork.  Like, I can barely handle stairs.  Just the other day, I was walking down the stairs from the dolphin area and I fell.  Not because it was slippery, or I missed a step.  No.  It was because my flipflop broke in a very weird place which caused my entire foot to slide THROUGH the flip flop, resulting in said shoe being forced around my ankle like an anklet and me sliding down the stairs.  Weird stuff happens to me, and that's just a scientific fact.

An artist's rendition of my inner clumsiness

To be honest, with all of the glorious aspects of being a marine mammal trainer,  the waterwork has never really been a draw for me.  As I've said before, I am really impressed with trainers and animals who do it well, and admire them for the hard work that goes into it with all parties involved.  All I'm saying is when most other aspiring trainers saw a Roman ride, they were all like:

"Whooaaa! I can't until that's me!"

These are the stuff dreams are made of!

And I was all like,

"AW HELL NO."

Mmmmhmm

For those of you who don't know, Miami Seaquarium does some pretty amazing waterwork.  They take a lot of care both in training the animals and their staff to make sure it is not only done safely and making sure the animals are into it, but that it looks really good, too.   Trainers there spend a lot of time learning, practicing, and being critiqued on their waterwork, which is why it looks so great.

I mean, that's awesome!

It's also one of the ways they reinforce people for working hard.  And it makes sense, right?  If aspiring or new trainers can't wait to finally be the person doing the rocket, or the surf, or the stand-on, then it's great motivational material.  You do a great job and be a team player, then you win!

So one day, about a year into my employment, one of my bosses comes up to me and my good friend (the one I'd actually swim-tested with!).  She said, "You guys have been doing a great job and we want to reward you for it.  You can choose to do one thing today, something that you normally wouldn't learn at this level within reason."

My cohort immediately said, "Thank you" followed closely with "stand-on."

"Blood," I replied.

Both my friend and my boss looked at me with an expression I've come to expect.  You know, WTF? face.

"Of all the behaviors you can learn," my boss said.  "You want to get a blood sample?"

"Yeah," I said.  I mean, my nerdiness was no secret.  Everyone knew I was a science geek, and getting a voluntary blood was routine on all of the animals, so whenever the next one was, I'd love to learn how to do it.  I figured it was a practical skill to learn and it was by far the most reinforcing.

Ain't nothing wrong with a nerd

"Let's stick with a waterwork behavior," my boss said.

So what was I going to do?  Say no?  No.  I wouldn't, because my boss was going out of her way to do something nice for me and my friend.  I really did appreciate the sentiment.  I also knew that I wasn't the most adventurous person, and it would be good to get out of my comfort zone.  I could physically manage some kind of waterwork behavior.

So I opted for a human hurdle, since it required me to lie on my back while a dolphin jumped over me.  This may sound easy, but it's not.  The SD (at least at the time) for the hurdle involved the trainer floating on the surface, sending the dolphin over their body, then slapping the water in a very showmanshippy.  The trick was, you slapped the water on the opposite side of the arm you were using.  So if you sent the dolphin from your left to right, you had to slap on the left side of your body with your right hand. On the surface, the trainer may look like they are just floating and gracefully arching their hand across their body, tapping the water's surface moments before a dolphin adeptly leaps up and over him or her.

Does this look easy?  FALSE

But what's really going on?  Well, the hand that's not presenting the SD is sculling like mad beneath the trainer's body, trying to provide counter thrust so that when the trainer swings their other arm across their body, they don't:

a) tilt noticeably to the side

b) bend at the waist, sinking a little below the water to become a crumbled human mess

It takes a lot of practice to set up for a human hurdle, and in fact requires lots of trials without a dolphin until you can make yourself look like it ain't no big thang.

I thought that the challenges of this particular behavior were in my wheelhouse, and it didn't involve me being launched into airspace which is of course, precisely the kind of thing that NEVER goes right for me (refer to: the aforementioned anecdote about the stairs).

My friend looked disappointed.  Wait no, she didn't just look it.  She said it.

"Awww Cat!  C'mon, do a stand-on with me.  It'll be fun!"

"No."

"Yessss come on! Stand on!"

"Noooo."

It's the terror of knowing what the stand-on's about! Having some good friend screamin', "C'mon Cat! DO IT!"

At this point in the narrative, it'd behoove me to at least describe to you what a stand-on is, for those of you who may not know of it.  Basically, you start by floating with your feet down towards the bottom.  A dolphin comes up underneath you and pushes on your foot, launching you up and out while you are still in a standing position.  There is a glorious moment at the peak of this behavior when you are able to Pay Off** before you and the dolphin fall back towards the water in a  graceful, fluid motion.

Feast your eyes upon the stand-on!

My boss chimed in that the dolphin who we'd ask to do this behavior was Ripley (who you might have remembered from such blogs as: this one wherein a guest asked me if Ripley was going to be eaten). So Ripley is a laid-back kind of dude; the perfect personality for a clumsy soul like me to learn how to do waterwork.  The fact that I'd be attempting this seemingly-impossible feat with a dolphin as solid and care-free as Ripley provided me a little comfort.

My friend, one who had a background in cheering and loved to dance, went first.  She swam out in perfect front crawl strokes to the middle of the habitat.  She gave Ripley the signal and he disappeared beneath the lagoon waters, only to reappear as he pressed into her foot and pushed her up and out.  There was a minor balance check which resulted in a less-than-perfect re-entry of the behavior, but it went well.  When she tried the stand-on a second time, it was amazing.  She even remembered to Pay Off at the top.  She swam back to the docks beaming.

"See Cat? It's not so bad!" she said.

"I think you're seriously over-estimating my abilities on all accounts," I replied.

"Then if it's all the same to you," Ripley seemed to say.  "I'd rather play with a basketball."

But no, I had to try.  It was good for me to get out of my comfort zone, right?  So I swam out to the correct spot, which felt a lot like walking the Green Mile.  

 Exactly.

My boss told me to make sure I held my leg strong (the one that Ripley would be using to push me up and out), which in my head translated into locking my knee and oh my god what if I lock my knee and the force is so powerful it causes my knee to buckle backwards and my tibia and fibula to blast through my calf and then I'm flung into the docks and all my teeth fall out and then I'll definitely forget to Pay Off.

Ripley's big head popped up in front of me.  

Me: Okay dude, let's do this.  Be gentle.

Ripley: You...are the weirdest trainer I've ever known.

I gave him the SD and watched him dive beneath me and then BOOM.  His rostrum is on my foot  and we sail up together, united in a common and glorious experience as we transcend the limitations of our species.  I could hear cherubs laughing and seraphim singing my praises as I was pushed closer and closer into heaven.  People wept instantly from the sheer amazement of my Stand-On, gouging their own eyes out because they'd never again see something so beautiful. 

Fact: Supernatural waterwork was all the rage in ancient Rome

Ha ha! No, I'm kidding.  Ripley's rostrum pushed my foot and immediately I think about the aforementioned disastrous series of events in which my knee explodes.  I bend my knee and sort of flop to the side in much the way one would drop a sack of potatoes on the ground after carrying it for too long.  

Yeah, kinda like that.

My friend and boss laughed at me good-heartedly.  They asked me what happened, and I gave them a much less dramatic version of my concerns with my leg.

"Don't lock your knee," my boss said.  "Just hold it really strong."

At this point I should mention that someone else had come out to watch my miserable attempts.  A co-worker, who I had a slight crush on (and who later decided to marry me, which is still a universal mystery), had come out to see what the commotion was about which is when I realized I'd probably been screaming.

The pressure was on, now.  Should I impress the boy? Or cherish my safety?  My boss sent Ripley back, and again I tried.   Ripley pushed up on my foot and I flexed my leg, but the rest of my body went limp and I collapsed in on myself as if my skeleton had suddenly vanished.  I came up sputtering.

Oh little cat, you and I are now epic failures in the realm of the Interweb

The laughter from the future-husband was enough to fuel the fire to try one more time.  Ripley was handsomely rewarded for all of my pathetic attempts, so he had no problem coming back for the Final Attempt.

I gave the signal.  I knew what to expect now.  I could do this.  This waterwork stuff was going to be fun and I was going to be good at it and enjoy it, dag nabbit!  So when I felt Ripley's familiar push on the bottom of my foot, I held myself as stiff as possible and immediately felt a difference as he was able to push me out of the water. 

At that moment, something that can only happen to me occurred.  Gravity did not actually REVERSE itself per se, but it rotated a full 45 degrees.  In fact, this 45 degree shift pulled my center mass completely to my left, so that instead of going completely UP away from the water, I moved up a little and then completely to one side, like a Wonkavator.   And then I potato-sacked back into the lagoon.  Alas, the stand-on was not to be.

This cat knows about the whole 45 degree gravity thing.

My strange physics baffled all who watched, which was in a way very re-affirming since I have always claimed that the most bizarre physical things happen to me and people think I'm just exaggerating.  But to be certain, supernatural physical shifts in time and space tend to find me and turn me into a laughing stock.

You know what though? I'm still glad that I tried.  It's good to get out of your comfort zone, even if at the end of it you're like, "Yeah, still not my thing."  At least you've experienced it.  And when it comes to waterwork of that nature, I will be (at least in the foreseeable future) the homely trainer who remains splashing about with the dolphins, sea lions, or seals but never attempts to fly.   But I will always applaud and admire those of you who go airborne and make it look easy.  

We've all got our own strengths and should embrace them, shouldn't we?  The answer is of course, YES.

___________

* Ha ha, that's a joke.  It was not a singular moment, but a series of them in rapid succession which is the only way I experience humiliation.

** Pay Off for normal people equates to making a power fist, or a pretty "ta da" motion.  Pay Off for me = frantic waving of hands as I contemplate how the hell I got up there