year of the dog: or, what an african village mutt has taught me about pedagogy, patience, and people

When it comes to animals, I’m a fool.

In Malawi alone, I’ve lived with four cats, three chickens, a few injured bats, and more than one serious consideration of a donkey (the idea of having one to ride to school is getting harder to resist – talk me out of it, please.) In recent months, my menagerie has dwindled to one: just Chalo. This piece of canine Velcro remains my ongoing project, my shadow, my bed-warmer, my running partner, my bodyguard, my plus-one to every village event, and honestly, on a tangible, daily, physically-right-there basis, my very best friend in the world right now. He turns one year old this week, and I can’t imagine how different my Peace Corps service would be without him. When nothing goes right – and in Malawi, that’s pretty often – he is a bright little spark who keeps me here, restoring my faith in my ability to teach something. My students might struggle to understand me, but I’ll be damned if I can’t teach a dog to give high-fives.

There’s something very compatible about these twin rites of passage: about raising the first puppy of my adulthood while completing my first year of teaching. They run parallel. They harmonize. The setbacks and successes of training and teaching flow together and stem from the same source (me), and beg the same questions: what am I doing right, and what can I do better? Chalo and the other animals in my life have been responsible for many of these revelations.

Here are the top 5 things I’ve learned about learning as they’ve been teaching me about teaching.

1. Rewards rewards rewards

Anything that is rewarded is repeated. Anything that is rewarded is repeated. Anything that is rewarded is repeated. It’s such a simple principle, but such a powerful one when harnessed properly. A lot of behaviors are bad, but in the moment they’re self-rewarding, so they happen again and again (like when Chalo runs out the gate without permission, or when my kids cut class). And punishment alone often isn’t enough to deter those ingrained bad behaviors, which my school proved to me early on: kids got threatened and punished everyday, but they still followed the same patterns. Negative reinforcement just wasn’t enough incentive to change. But through good old-fashioned counter-conditioning, I’ve been able to make a dent, weighting the behavior I want with big, meaty, happy rewards (praise! candy! high-fives!) so they start following that pattern instead. Positive reinforcement is, in most situations, a much better motivator – and I realized that thanks to Chalo, who didn’t start heeling on a loose leash until I rewarded him for what I wanted, instead of just punishing him for what I didn’t want.

2. Anger and intimidation really don’t work. Fair, firm corrections do.

This is huge, and maybe my biggest objection with the disciplinary style I see in Malawian schools: a lot of threats, a lot of yelling, a lot of bullying, a lot of public shaming. And it is made doubly jarring by the fact that I have been blessed with some really wonderful teachers in my life – true virtuosos who have modeled boundaries, limits, and control without showing anger, silencing a classroom of teenagers with a look, creating an environment where students want to do their best just to impress them. It is the same presence I’ve felt among really talented horsemen: a sense of extraordinary stability, calm, and “feel,” earning respect by giving respect, often without saying a word. I admire and aspire to this.

And no matter how many Malawians say I am wrong, I cling to these ideas: adults should be able to keep their emotional balance among children. Teachers should be better than their students. Intimidation does not belong in a classroom, and rage has no place among dogs, horses, or kids.

3. Review review review

If I think my students know something after one try, they don’t. If I think we’ve reviewed too much, we’ve probably reviewed just barely enough. If I want Chalo to always come when called, he needs to practice in the yard, in the kitchen, by the road, in the market, on a train, in the rain, on a box, on a fox…everywhere. And if I want my kids to use the past progressive tense consistently and correctly, the same idea applies.

4. Expect high standards, but don’t make them impossible to reach.

I’ve seen horses that, if asked to do something beyond their abilities, will just shut down: eyes glazed, a withdrawn expression on their face, every part of them in a far-off place. I’ve seen Chalo check out if he gets too confused about what I’m asking. And I’ve seen the same look from my students if I’ve pushed too far, too fast. I don’t want to bore them, but I also don’t want to demoralize them, so finding the happy medium between a challenge and an impossibility remains a tricky balance for me. I hope to get a better hold on this in my second year.

5. No matter what, and no matter what species you are, ah-ha moments are magical.

Those flashes of cognitive connection are pretty dazzling. I have no idea what I’m going to do after the Peace Corps, but the joy of chasing down that moment could keep me a teacher for the rest of my life. Whether with dogs or with people, I swear to god, there’s nothing better.

Happy birthday, Chalosi.