The Dog’s Name

A number of years ago, a mentor was preparing me for the next stage of my career.

I'd moved beyond leading a small team.

Now I was stepping into something much bigger.

I was about to become a leader of leaders.

One afternoon he pulled me aside.

He looked at me and said something I'll never forget.

"You need to know everything about your people."

Then he clarified.

"Know their name.

Their partner's name.

Their kids' names.

Even the dog's name."

Then he paused before delivering the part that made me uncomfortable.

"And don't write it down.

If you're looking at your iPad every time you walk up to someone, they'll know."

At the time, I thought he was teaching me to remember details.

Years later, I realised he was teaching me something far more important.

He was teaching me how to see people.

My Homework

Then came the instruction that genuinely terrified me.

"Spend the first hour of every day walking the floor.

Speak to everyone.

Not just the people you naturally get along with."

That sounded easy enough.

It wasn't.

If you know me well, you'll know I'm naturally introverted.

Even my MBTI confirms it.

I've always found that amusing because I've spent much of my career in sales and leadership.

Apparently God has a sense of humour.

This wasn't simply walking around saying hello.

This meant intentionally entering 150 different conversations.

Every.

Single.

Day.

In a busy contact centre.

Where people were constantly being interrupted by incoming calls.

Where many of them I'd never worked directly with before.

It felt overwhelming.

I will forever be grateful for desk nameplates.

They probably saved my career.

Day One

At the end of that first day, I proudly reported back to my mentor.

I'd met lots of people.

I'd remembered a few names.

Maybe...

Ten percent.

He smiled.

Asked how it went.

Encouraged me.

Then said something that would become the pattern for months.

"Good.

Go again tomorrow."

So I did.

Then the next day.

Then the next.

Slowly, names became conversations.

Conversations became stories.

Stories became relationships.

It Was Never About the Dog

Something fascinating began to happen.

I stopped trying to remember facts.

Instead...

I started becoming genuinely interested in people.

I discovered whose child had just started school.

Who was caring for ageing parents.

Who'd recently lost someone.

Who was saving for a house.

Who'd just adopted a puppy.

Who was quietly carrying burdens nobody else knew about.

The dog's name stopped being trivia.

It became part of someone's story.

And when you know someone's story...

You lead them differently.

People Can Tell the Difference

One of the greatest myths in leadership is that people primarily want to be recognised.

I don't think that's true.

I think people want to feel known.

Recognition says,

"I noticed what you did."

Being known says,

"I care about who you are."

Those are very different things.

One builds motivation.

The other builds trust.

People know when you're collecting information because someone told you to.

They also know when you're genuinely interested.

You can't fake curiosity.

You certainly can't fake care.

Trust Is Built Between Meetings

Something unexpected happened over the following months.

The difficult conversations became easier.

Not because people suddenly agreed with everything I said.

But because trust had already been established.

I knew their story.

They knew I cared.

That didn't remove accountability.

If anything, it strengthened it.

Because people are far more willing to receive difficult feedback from someone they know is committed to their success.

Permission isn't granted in performance reviews.

It's earned in ordinary conversations.

One hello at a time.

Leadership Begins with Curiosity

Looking back now, I don't think my mentor was really teaching me how to remember names.

He was teaching me humility.

He was reminding me that leadership isn't about becoming the most important person in the room.

It's about making other people feel like they matter.

That changes the questions you ask.

Instead of,

"How quickly can I get through this conversation?"

You begin asking,

"What haven't I discovered about this person yet?"

Curiosity is one of the purest forms of respect.

Because when we're genuinely curious, we stop making assumptions.

We stop seeing roles.

And we start seeing people.

The Dog's Name

These days, I still try to remember names.

Partners.

Children.

The family dog.

Not because it's a leadership technique.

But because every one of those details reminds me that nobody arrives at work as "an employee."

They arrive as a whole person.

With hopes.

Dreams.

Responsibilities.

Heartbreaks.

Victories.

Families.

And stories that continue long after they leave the office.

Over the years, the way I've come to know those entrusted to me has changed.

When I first learned this lesson, it meant walking the floor of a busy contact centre every morning, stopping at desks, sharing a laugh, and hearing snippets of people's lives between phone calls.

Today, many of the people I lead and coach work remotely.

There are no desk nameplates.

No chance encounters in the kitchen.

No spontaneous conversations while grabbing a coffee.

The method has changed.

The methodology hasn't.

If anything, it has become even more important.

Connection no longer happens by accident.

It happens by intention.

A quick message to check in.

Five extra minutes at the beginning of a meeting.

Remembering to ask how a child went on their first day of school.

Celebrating the puppy that finally stopped chewing the furniture.

Following up on the difficult conversation someone mentioned three weeks ago.

These aren't distractions from leadership.

They are leadership.

In a world where technology has made communication easier than ever, genuine connection has become increasingly rare.

We can message someone instantly on the other side of the world...

...yet still know very little about the person we've worked beside for years.

Leadership has never been about proximity.

It's about presence.

Whether your team sits beside you in an office, works across the country, or joins you through a screen each morning, people still want the same thing they've always wanted.

To feel seen.

To feel known.

To know they matter.

Because leadership isn't simply about helping people perform better.

It's about caring enough to know who you're helping.

Sometimes...

That starts with remembering the dog's name.

Reflection

Before your next conversation, ask yourself:

• What do I know about this person's story beyond their job title?

• Am I collecting information, or building a relationship?

• Who on my team do I naturally overlook?

• When was the last time I asked a question simply because I was genuinely curious?

• Do people feel recognised by me... or truly known?

Because people rarely remember every word their leader says.

But they'll never forget how that leader made them feel.

And often...

Leadership begins the moment people stop feeling managed... and start feeling known.