They're Leading the Dogs...

The sky was gray the morning Ben Harper walked into the dog rescue office. The wind came off the lake in low growls, and Ben clutched his coffee like a lifeline. He had come to volunteer several months ago—just a few hours a week, enough to feel good about himself without too much commitment. He liked dogs, sure. Everyone liked dogs. But he liked simplicity more. This morning, he was coming with curiosity to help with the “new project.”

“Perfect timing!” said a woman with wiry hair and a clipboard that looked like it had survived a hurricane. “You’re the new team leader for the shelter project.”

Ben blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Team leader,” she repeated, handing him the clipboard. “Carol quit. Too much barking, she said. You’re up. Congrats!” Then she disappeared into the office, leaving Ben dumbfounded, shocked, and perplexed with the clipboard dangling from his hand and asking himself what “too much barking” actually meant.

The team was assembled in the yard—four people, seven dogs, and two puppies of wildly varying enthusiasm. There was Frank, a retired mailman who looked like he’d rather be chased by a dog than care for one. A high school senior named Lucy wore earbuds and seemed allergic to eye contact. Raj, who introduced himself as a “strategist” but offered no further explanation. And Tanya, a single mom who arrived with three kids and more energy than a windstorm.

“Alright,” Ben said, scratching his neck. He glanced at the clipboard. It said, “Operation Waggy Future: Build a Better Kennel.” Beneath it were diagrams, none of which made sense to him. “Uh, so the goal is to build a new kennel.”

Frank snorted. Lucy sighed. Raj muttered something about “inefficient resource allocation.” Tanya smiled brightly, holding a toddler on each hip.

“This is going great,” Ben muttered as he suppressed a small smile. He had unexpectedly felt and seen the potential with this diverse crew—his crew!

The first day was chaos. The dogs barked, the toddlers screamed, and Frank spent more time arguing with Raj than holding a hammer. But Ben started to notice something: Tanya’s kids adored Lucy, who finally cracked a smile teaching them how to paint signs for the new kennel. Raj’s “strategic insights” weren’t useless—he had an uncanny knack for organizing things. And Frank? He had the steady hands of a man who’d once handled rabid raccoons without ruining a single piece of mail.

“Alright, let’s regroup,” Ben said after the fourth nail bent under his hammer. “Frank, why don’t you show Raj how to build the frames? Raj, you’re in charge of keeping things straight…literally.” Frank grumbled but went along with it, and by the end of the day, they had the skeleton of a wall. It wasn’t pretty, but it was standing.

By the second week, Ben stopped clutching the clipboard like a shield and started using it to sketch new ideas. He began to use the building plan to lead the group, the team, his team and increase their vision of what they were building and why it needed to be done. He led the charge to clear out the old kennel, swinging a sledgehammer with more gusto than skill. The team followed, laughing as debris flew and dogs barked encouragement from the sidelines with tails wagging joyfully. It wasn’t elegant, but it was progress.

Ben also started noticing how everyone’s unique strengths fit together. Tanya’s kids had a knack for bringing the dogs into line, making the work more manageable. Once coaxed out of her shell, Lucy turned out to have a talent for training the dogs to stay calm around the chaos with the kids' help. Raj brought a whiteboard from home and started diagramming workflows, earning Frank’s grudging respect.

“See, Frank,” Ben said, “Raj’s charts aren’t just scribbles. They’re a roadmap. And we’re getting somewhere.”

Frank snorted but didn’t argue. As a retired mailman, he knew the importance of organization in achieving a goal and felt better seeing the path clearer. He had the vision. He loved the dogs! And now he could see the plan to achieve the purpose.

One evening, after everyone else had left, Ben stayed behind to finish sanding a beam for the kennel’s roof. Tanya’s oldest son wandered over, holding a stray puppy that had appeared out of nowhere.

“What’ll happen to this one?” the boy asked.

Ben looked at the puppy. It was small and scrappy, with ears too big for its head. It looked up at him with trust it hadn’t earned but offered freely anyway.

“We’ll find her a home,” Ben said. And for the first time, he understood what they were really building. It wasn’t just a kennel. It was a sanctuary for the dogs, the purpose for the team, and a meaningful investment for himself and into his team.

By the third week, the team had transformed. Ben didn’t bark orders; he listened. He asked Lucy how they should design the dog runs. He let Raj draft supply lists and workflow, giving Tanya’s kids paintbrushes and freedom. When Frank complained about something—which was often—Ben handed him a tool and said, “Show us how it’s done.”

“We’re all leaders here,” Ben said as they started the next morning. He looked at them and then at the dogs as the team followed his gaze and felt the same inspirational purpose for their work.

The team started taking ownership of their work. Tanya’s kids made colorful murals on the kennel walls featuring paw prints and smiling dogs. Lucy suggested a separate area for puppies and worked with Raj to design it. Despite his gruff exterior, Frank became the go-to problem solver when things didn’t fit right. He even started bringing treats for the dogs.

Ben made sure to celebrate every victory, no matter how small. When they finished the roof, he brought in pizza and let the dogs join the party. They laughed as a golden retriever snuck up like a ninja dog, unnoticed until he stole a slice and ran off, tail wagging in triumph.

“It’s not about perfection,” Ben told them. “It’s about progress. And look how far we’ve come.”

On the final day, the team stood together, looking at the finished kennel. It wasn’t perfect—the paint had smudges, the beams weren’t perfectly straight, and the dogs had already christened it in their own way—but it was finished. They had built it together with the same vision and internal purpose. 

“You know,” Frank said, “it’s not half bad.”

“It’s a palace,” Tanya added, wiping a tear.

Lucy snapped a photo and smiled as she proudly sent it to Instagram. Raj nodded like a man who’d just solved world hunger.

Ben grinned. “Not bad for a bunch of rookies.”

The dogs barked in agreement, tails wagging furiously. And Ben, once a reluctant leader, realized that sometimes you don’t choose leadership. Sometimes, it chooses you. The trick is to trust the team, share the vision, inspire the work with purpose-infused energy, and let everyone find their place in building something bigger than themselves.

And so they did it with muddy boots and hearts full of purpose. And with the daily encouragement of wagging tails, loud barks, and warm cuddles along the way.