The end of August has come to mean “back to school.”

“Student teacher” is a term generally used to describe someone learning how to become a teacher in a school system.

The term, “student-teacher” is different. The hyphen is important. It’s about changing roles within a relationship, not about progressing from one role to the other.

There seems to be no better way to learn something than by trying to teach it to someone else. I also think that being a student helps keep things fresh for someone accustomed to being an expert.

I have been contemplating the student-teacher relationship I have with my dog. She has been my primary companion for years, especially essential to me during the pandemic.

I have learned so much from her!

I have taken in the example of how she represents her own interests and regards her own will. I have learned the importance of not letting the size of another (or their bark) intimidate me and have thought through why it can be good to save a treat for later (in her case, that might mean virtually burying a carrot under the dining room table).

I’ve learned a lot about trust from her, how she will lay on her back and bare her belly, her most tender side, only to me, after I have demonstrated my affection and respect for her boundaries.

I wondered, What could I teach her? Not like training her to sit or extend a paw on command but teach her something she would value.

Knowing how much she hates the rain, on a recent walk, I decided to teach her how to run through  — under— a lawn sprinkler’s arcing path

I stopped before a darkened, wet spot on the sidewalk. I made sure I had her attention. My head followed the movement of the cascading water, jetting about eight feet above the sprinkler, over to one side then the other.

The sprinkler was set up close to an edge of a pristine front lawn. In one position, it sent droplets down to the narrow band of grass between the sidewalk and the street. Then, the perforated metal bar rotated upwards, then towards the house, slowly changing the trajectory of the spray.

The whole cycle probably took about twenty seconds. The water shot out northward for five seconds, followed by five seconds in which the sprinkler’s core moved to shoot water straight up, followed by five seconds in which the spray moved south, then stopped turning long enough to soak the lawn right in front of a brick bungalow.

My dog watched me as I stared at the movement of the spray for a few cycles. To avoid getting wet, I concluded, I should start walking when the jets were aimed about 60 degrees off the ground, not quite upright, after dousing the grey cement. I signaled my dog when to start walking.

She did not need a tug on her leash to stay close. Once safely beyond the reach of the falling water, she picked up her step. She seemed extra happy. I was convinced part of her reaction stemmed from having learned how to avoid something she didn’t like.

I know she’s just a dog, a pack animal. My friends tease me about not being alpha enough with her, but the satisfaction I felt after getting past the shower of a summer lawn sprinkler points to an aspect of my character I’m proud of.

I always want to fill both roles within a relationship. I want to take turns being the teacher and being the student, or being the decision-maker and being the cheerleader.

I can’t think of a person who I can’t learn something from and believe that there may be something even Elon Musk could learn from me.

By giving what is needed or by accepting anyone’s gifts, both roles can be acts of service. I’m so grateful when I can be of service in either of these capacities.

Knowing that both teacher and student provide invaluable service to the other is no small thing.