ikes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembereWe always had at least one pig on the farm and sometimes more. I loved my pigs. They were pretty and intelligent. The one that I think about the most was Snowball who was a 350 pound white Yorkshire pig. Snowball became quite a pet. If you scratched her on her belly, she would first try to help you scratch while standing on three legs like a dog. Then she would give up and roll over to give me complete access to her belly. She would lie there and enjoy the scratching as long as I would give it.

A couple of times a year when Dad noticed that Snowball was ready, we transported her to the neighbor's farm for a social visit. One summer day, the time came for the appointed social visit to the neighbor’s boar. (Dad used this experience to serve the purpose of the traditional talk out behind the barn.) Dad sought my older brother, Joe, and me and informed us "It's time to take Snowball to the Howeiller farm. I have a couple of things to do. I have the truck in the pig pen. Go down and load her and I'll be there in a couple of minutes." We tended to do what Dad said given he was a high school principal and in those days a professional paddler. Joe and I proceeded to the pigpen and sure enough there was the truck in the middle of the pen and a ramp leaning against the fence. We grabbed the ramp, placed it onto the back of the truck, and stepped back to give Snowball some room. Snowball, being the curious animal she was, started up the ramp. Then, she stopped and looked around. Fearing that we would lose all the territory we had accidentally gained without any effort, we each placed a shoulder against a hindquarter of the pig and commenced to push that pig into the truck. I meant to say, we attempted to push the pig into the truck. Our approach was doomed to failure. When Snowball felt the pressure on her hindside, she automatically pushed against the pressure and backed up. Since she weighed more than both of us put together, she knocked Joe into a mud puddle on one side of the ramp and left me teetering on the edge of the other one. And if you know anything about pig mud puddles, they're not the nicest places to be.

About that time, Dad came around the corner of the barn and saw Joe face down in one puddle and me in anticipation of my own puddle plunge. He burst into a fit of laughter the likes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembere

rted her to the neighbor's farm for a social visit. One summer day, the time came for the appointed social visit to the neighbor’s boar. (Dad used this experience to serve the purpose of the traditional talk out behind the barn.) Dad sought my older brother, Joe, and me and informed us "It's time to take Snowball to the Howeiller farm. I have a couple of things to do. I have the truck in the pig pen. Go down and load her and I'll be there in a couple of minutes." We tended to do what Dad said given he was a high school principal and in those days a professional paddler. Joe and I proceeded to the pigpen and sure enough there was the truck in the middle of the pen and a ramp leaning against the fence. We grabbed the ramp, placed it onto the back of the truck, and stepped back to give Snowball some room. Snowball, being the curious animal she was, started up the ramp. Then, she stopped and looked around. Fearing that we would lose all the territory we had accidentally gained without any effort, we each placed a shoulder against a hindquarter of the pig and commenced to push that pig into the truck. I meant to say, we attempted to push the pig into the truck. Our approach was doomed to failure. When Snowball felt the pressure on her hindside, she automatically pushed against the pressure and backed up. Since she weighed more than both of us put together, she knocked Joe into a mud puddle on one side of the ramp and left me teetering on the edge of the other one. And if you know anything about pig mud puddles, they're not the nicest places to be.

About that time, Dad came around the corner of the barn and saw Joe face down in one puddle and me in anticipation of my own puddle plunge. He burst into a fit of laughter the likes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembere

nd I proceeded to the pigpen and sure enough there was the truck in the middle of the pen and a ramp leaning against the fence. We grabbed the ramp, placed it onto the back of the truck, and stepped back to give Snowball some room. Snowball, being the curious animal she was, started up the ramp. Then, she stopped and looked around. Fearing that we would lose all the territory we had accidentally gained without any effort, we each placed a shoulder against a hindquarter of the pig and commenced to push that pig into the truck. I meant to say, we attempted to push the pig into the truck. Our approach was doomed to failure. When Snowball felt the pressure on her hindside, she automatically pushed against the pressure and backed up. Since she weighed more than both of us put together, she knocked Joe into a mud puddle on one side of the ramp and left me teetering on the edge of the other one. And if you know anything about pig mud puddles, they're not the nicest places to be.

About that time, Dad came around the corner of the barn and saw Joe face down in one puddle and me in anticipation of my own puddle plunge. He burst into a fit of laughter the likes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembere

truck. Our approach was doomed to failure. When Snowball felt the pressure on her hindside, she automatically pushed against the pressure and backed up. Since she weighed more than both of us put together, she knocked Joe into a mud puddle on one side of the ramp and left me teetering on the edge of the other one. And if you know anything about pig mud puddles, they're not the nicest places to be.

About that time, Dad came around the corner of the barn and saw Joe face down in one puddle and me in anticipation of my own puddle plunge. He burst into a fit of laughter the likes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembere

ikes of which I had never seen. He doubled over and almost choked. I failed to avoid my own plunge and Joe and I emerged wiping the nasty mud from our faces. In a matter of minutes, when the laughter subsided, Dad looked at us and exclaimed, "Boys I taught you how to load a pig. That's not the way to do it." He walked over to the nearby granary, got a little metal cup of shelled corn, made a little Hansel and Gretel trail up the ramp, and threw the rest into the front of the truck's bed. In three minutes Snowball was loaded and proud to be there. From that point on I remembered, "You can’t push a pig into a truck."

A leader’s objective is to motivate employees to do the “right” things according to the specific needs of the business. Some leaders believe that their followers will do what the leader says simply because of his or her role. Others rely on their charisma for employee loyalty and obedience. Fortunately or unfortunately these beliefs often do not play out in real life.

I spend a great deal of time in organizations attempting to help employees choose behaviors that enable the organization to succeed in today’s tough business environment. At times, I am frustrated with the inability of employees to choose to work together for a common goal.

The pig story has for years helped me make a point in my training sessions. I explain that in this one characteristic I am not that different than Snowball. When people have tried to force me to do things and I didn’t understand the purpose, I tended to resist. If people know how change will help them personally, they can make objective decisions.

You can't force people to do anything, however, people tend to choose to do things that they believe will meet their needs. Leaders must tell their followers the whys behind the initiatives they select for the good of the business. Remember, You Can't Push a Pig into a Truck.