Don’t assume what you read about Yorkshire terriers to be true, like making good lap dogs. For Teddy, this is 10%. He cuddles when he feels like it and if the conditions are right. (Is the crook of your knee available? Will you stroke him? Is there a soft blanket in the sun?)
The remaining 90% of Teddy’s time is spent working an independent agenda, true to his breed’s curiosity and roots as a ratter. Open doors intrigue him. No hole remains unexamined, no rocky crevice unexplored, no object unaudited.
From his post atop a Victorian wicker settee, he evaluates neighborhood intruders: people with dogs, motorcyclists, bicyclists, walkers who lag.
Although highly motivated by food, Teddy loves another kind of reward: sitting in a parked car. Harnessed into his car seat. In the garage. Teddy stares at me when he decides it’s time for this; if I’m busy and don’t notice, he barks.
As an educator, I don’t compare children to dogs. But life with Teddy has reinforced why I never make assumptions about students. Assumptions can limit a teacher’s expectations and even form invisible barriers to growth. It’s our job to find out what’s unique about a child and to help each one thrive.