Perfect After All

This post is for the tenth <"Assistance Dog Blog Carnival"> When I first read the topic for this round of the ADBC, I thought, "what a great topic! I'm excited to read all of the entries!" Then I promised to write something. So I thought… and thought… and thought about the topic some more and nothing was sticking. This morning, over a cup of Earl Grey Tea, I realized that the deadline was tomorrow and I still had no clue what to write. Perfect is such a loaded word. I know, at least for me, my striving for perfection started in childhood. I wanted to be perfect, for my teachers, my parents and my friends. But because I'm human-- with human frailties-- I inevitably fell short of the mark. When I got my first assistance dog, I admit to have watched far too many "Guide Dog Movies®" and read just as many "Guide Dog Books®" I had partaken of the "Guide Dog Program Koolade®" with gusto, and expected perfection! Instead, I got Rhoda-- a crazy, hyper, and very unfocused dog who had been damaged emotionally by her time in the guide dog training kennel. She ran me into a parking meter on our first trip out. She broke away from me to run across the road and tree a squirrel our first week home. She loved the game of getting away from me and did not have the faintest understanding of a "recall cue." She was wild, and I loved her-- perfectly. Love makes us want to try harder, work with more dedication, it makes us better, for the very act of loving is the only way we can reach the state of perfection. So here I am-- newbie guide dog owner, with no idea how to train a dog to do anything, beyond what I learned at the guide dog program. But because I wanted to improve our partnership, I was open to improving my skills, and as a dog partner in general. So I read books by dog trainers, and I worked with my dog both by myself and in classes. I played with her and built a bond of love with her. We both improved and were the better for it. And eighteen months later, when she was three and a half years old, she was diagnosed with canine lymphosarcoma and died twenty-five days later. It's a good thing I didn't know the pain of losing my dog before I met her-- or I'd have probably given up and walked away before even trying. Watching a being you love-- and with whom you have such an intense personal bond suffer, and die a little bit every day, is not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy. I was helpless to fix her, or to ease her pain. The only thing I had was love. So I held her at night when the fevers came, and I bought her a hamburger and held it for her while she lay in the sun, and ate it. I gathered her friends together both canine and human to say good-bye. We went for walks, and lay in the grass together. And when it was time, I held her body in my arms and let her spirit go. I can honestly say that those eighteen months with Rhoda were some of the most intense, and frustrating of my life. However, those same eighteen months saw me growing and changing in new ways. If I had been matched with an easier dog, I never would have had the opportunity to grow and learn. I am a better trainer, a more compassionate person, and have loosened up quite a bit-- having swapped the Koolade® for some good old fashioned bourbon! With fifteen years under my belt, I can honestly look back and say that Rhoda was the perfect dog after all-- perfect for me.

Can't is a four-letter word

This post is for the
<"eighth Assistance Dog Blog Carnival">
The topic is:
Marching To Your Own drum.

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference."
-- Robert Frost
Throughout my entire life, one of the words I've heard most often is "can't." Mostly it's strangers who say the word, but sadly, at other times it's family, friends, coworkers, trainers, or others with whom I have consistent interaction. When someone tells me that I "can't do" this or that, I'm more than likely to see it as a challenge, and not as the warning or the limitation the person has intended it to be. This also holds true for the word "shouldn't" or similar words. I don't want to be told what to do! Even if someone says "can't" and I try and fail, and they are proven right, at least I had the satisfaction of trying and knowing for myself(the hard way) that I really can't do something. And besides, if I'd listened to all of the can't's and shouldn't's I'd never be where I am today.

I am a Deafblind dog trainer with balance problems. My dogs are owner trained, gotten from an animal shelter or rescue, raw fed, minimally vaccinated, and clicker trained. I have been accused by some, of just "needing to be different." But as strange as it may seem, I'm not really like that at all.

Sometimes, life forces us to be different, to take a chance, to try something unheard of because it is the only thing left to try. This is how I came to clicker training. After my in-home hearing/fetchNcarry® dog, Mill'E-Max was attacked by three dogs in under a year, clicker training was the only thing that helped us make any progress. People said that it wouldn't work, they made fun of my use of treats, and said that it would lead to a dog who's only interest was her belly. Thankfully, they were wrong. Clicker training was such a wonderful discovery that I use it with all of my dogs. It works for us, and so I'll keep doing it.

Sometimes, the lesser-known path is chosen because it is the thing that literally makes the difference between illness and health. My now-retired guide Bristol was very ill in her younger days. She was plagued with chronic ear and skin infections, stomach and bowel problems, and inability to maintain a healthy weight. I switched to a natural-rearing approach-- including a raw diet in hopes of prolonging her life and in the hope that it would be able to let her continue working for me. I did it back in the day when most everyone was still feeding feed-grade kibble. I got many questions, and a lot of dyer warnings from people who were just sure that either my dog would be dead from salmonella within the week, or from people who declared that my dog's work would suffer and she would become a scrounger because she was being fed "people food." Yet again, they were wrong. Bristol started eating a grain free raw diet and within a month, she was a different dog entirely. Twelve years, and thousands of pounds of raw meaty bones later, Bristol is 14.5 years young and still waits eagerly for her allotment of animal parts every morning. Even when she leaves us for the great dog-park which lies beyond, I will still feed this way. I will do it because it works for my dogs!

If I had listened to the "can't's" and the "shouldn't's" nothing would have changed. I would not now, be enjoying the rewards which come with taking chances. The assistance dog community can, at times, be a very harsh and judgmental place. If you are different-- if you take a different road-- you are probably going to get your fair share of unpleasantness over it. You will get more questions and sideways looks than if you had gone to a program, gotten a lab, come home, used approved methods, and fed approved food. For me, what is more important than anything is the success and happiness of the team-- my dog, and me! Sometimes this happiness lies in doing what works for most people. At other times, however, much can be gain by taking the chance and doing things a different way.

Whoops!

I'm trying to get used to this new commenting system for Blogspot, and I think I accidentally deleted some of y'all's comments. I think I've figured the commenting system out, but I don't know how to restore the deleted comments. My humble apologies to my readers! It's not you-- it's me! Promise! :D

The Obstacles of Grace

This post is for the sixth
<"Assistance Dog Blog Carnival">
The topic is obstacles.

When an assistance dog organization trains their specially-bred dogs to become working partners, it's only the top half, or less who make it. So many obstacles stand in the way of a young puppy. Will it have the correct temperament? Will it be physically sound? Will it like the work? So many things to overcome.

If a specially-bred dog has such a small chance of making it, then how much less so, a mutt who found herself in one of America's dumping grounds for pets, left to be someone else's problem. Her black color became yet another obstacle; because nobody wants the black ones; they will always have a higher chance of being euthanized.

Her name was Jewel. She had a filthy coat and eyes that seemed to know too much. Her first family didn't want her, none of the people who walked by her cage at the shelter day in and day out wanted her, and her time was running out. I was volunteering at this shelter at the time, and was also looking for another dog to train, maybe as a guide dog, just for fun, to see if I could train the tasks, but mostly just to have as a friend for Bristol, my old working dog. but we didn't want Jewel, either. I knew what I wanted and that wasn't her.

But sometimes we don't get what we want, and through a string of small yet life-changing events, I found myself up to my neck in suds and black fur. Jewel became my dog on a long-ago Saturday morning, as I washed her encrusted hot spots, trimmed her matted fur, and otherwise tried to fix what had been broken. At some point during that endless-seeming afternoon, Jewel the unwanted and castoff farm dog had taken her first tentative steps to becoming Gracy the guide dog. But just like windshields have bugs-- roads have obstacles.

She came to live with me, and it soon became apparent that her socialization was minimal, at very best. We did it all-- steps, cars, out door strip malls. She loved being out in the world. I loved having her, and what was even better, she was helping my current working dog to change for the better.

Her only problem was me. I had been taught just how to "train a dog." There was the one way I knew, and I used my method of choice in a manner I thought was pretty even-handed, and "normal." If leash corrections made her shut down, well that wasn't my fault, was it? I couldn't let the dog "be the alpha," could I? She has to learn to be tough. When I finally saw the metaphorical light, the popping sound which signified the removal of my cranium from my rectum was so loud, it may have contributed to my deafness.

Eventually I became an operant trainer and we both got a lot happier. I wasn't perfect, but I was a lot more willing to try different things, and a lot less quick with physical correction. She blossomed. We finally had a working relationship.

Things sailed along pretty smoothly for a while, but I should have known it was the calm before the storm. The storm even had a name-- it was Katrina. She rolled into town on August 29th of 2005, and left failing levees, and almost total destruction behind her. Gracy learned to work in a city other than New Orleans. We came back home in March of 2006, to a city laden with obstacles. All of the hours of training, all of the tears and hard work, and second guessing the both of us paid off.

Walking down the street was like visiting a third-world country. Homes lay neglected, with debris scattered everywhere. There were FEMA trailers on the sidewalk, rusted cars on lawns, refrigerators with their seven-months old contents lay in the pedestrian walkway. Nails in the road, and potholes which you could literally use for swimming holes. She guided me around them all. She knew what to do and she did it.

I remember on one of my first trips back to the city , when all I could do was walk-- zombie like-- through the blocks and blocks of destruction. Walk passed numbers on doors which told of the body count inside. walk passed people coming home for the first time, who stood weeping in yards. I just walked, knowing that if I were to stop-- even for a moment-- that I would be completely unable to move forward, or to even move at all ever again. There was nothing else to do-- so she lead me through this new landscape of death and broken lives. Without a flinch, or a twitch of an eyelash she guided me around the obstacles until I was safely home again.

Now she is retired. She is a gray-muzzled lady of leisure. She spends her days keeping the gardens free of mice, and the yard clear of intruders. I have another dog in the harness. I would like to think that I'm a better trainer, though. I'd like to think that somewhere along this unexpected journey which I've taken-- guided by grace-- that I've changed and that my current and future dogs will have benefited from the obstacles Gracy and I have overcome together.

The Difference Is Her

This post is for the fourth
<"Assistance Dog Blog Carnival">

I really gave quite a bit of thought to the topic. I had several ideas, but then all unbidden-like, this post just sort of came out.
This entry is for Bristol, who is my retired guide dog. We will celebrate twelve years together on July 26th. Although she is retired, she is still my partner.


When I first met her, she was this tiny red ball of fluff with a black shoe-button nose, and brown eyes that shown with mischief and fun. She was so different from my first guide dog who had died suddenly of cancer earlier that month. Bristol was a young female golden retriever, curious about the world, in love with anyone who would pet her, and so demonstrative in her affection. Rhoda, my first dog, had been a food-loving Labrador who was independent and aloof. I soon grew to appreciate the differences about Bristol. She was a calm and focused worker, who wasn't distracted by anything but the occasional squirrel. A huge change from my flighty Rhoda, who lost focus so easily sometimes.
Bristol wasn't a healthy dog; she had several ear and skin infections before I threw my hands in the air; finally trying a raw diet and a natural rearing approach with her. People said I was "just doing it to be different," but it was honestly her last hope. I am so glad I made that leap with her. The changes it brought about in her health and happiness were incredible.

Bristol and I worked together for five years, until degenerative joint disease forced an early retirement. I can't even begin to describe the difference she has made in my life. She has seen me through college, a cross-country move, getting married, getting a new job, losing everything I owned in a hurricane, and then going deaf. She was there through everything.

Adjusting to the different lifestyle of retirement was very hard for both of us. She didn't understand why she couldn't work any more, and I wanted her at my side. The tide had turned, the seasons changed. After years of her taking care of me, I was now taking care of her. It was a different way of relating, but we figured it out together, just like we had done everything else.

She is thirteen and a half years young now. Her hair is white-- her eyes cloudy with cataracts. But if you look closely you can still see the gleam of mischief and curiosity in their depths. That and love-- always love. She has Hypothyroidism, Toxoplasmosis, uveitis, High Blood Pressure, and a back end which is frequently failing her more and more. She has also lost most of her hearing but still manages to know when it's time to eat.

I know she will not be here much longer. I know that soon I will have to let her journey on without me. I think about how different it will be without her-- how lonely and sad. I hold her close to my heart and wonder how I can miss her so much even before she is gone.

Because of the lessons she taught me, I am a totally different person then I was when we first met. I would hope that I'm kinder, and wiser. Heaven knows I'm the richer for having had the privilege of sharing my life, and myself with such a wonderful partner. She has been the difference in my life-- the whirlwind which caught me up in its young exuberance and now, slowing with age, is about to set me down in unfamiliar territory, and it's territory I'll be traveling with out her.

Reactions to Laveau's Brain

This post is for
<"The Third Assistance Dog Blog Carnival">
This time around, the topic is "reactions."

To be honest, I didn't think I'd write for this carnival. The topic of the publics' "reactions" to the presence of assistance dogs in public places has been pretty well talked out, and I have nothing new to add. Then a conversation with a friend got me thinking.

My current assistance dog, Laveau, is a Doberman mix. People like to say she's mixed with lab, but personally, I don't see it and am leaning more toward hound of some kind. People frequently ask me, "What breed is she?" I reply, "Doberman mix." Then it starts...
"That is dangerous to have a Doberman out in public. Don't you know that Dobermans have a condition where their brains outgrow their skull? When this happens, they go crazy and start killing people."
If I had a dollar for every idiot who has spouted some form of this untruth, I could retire and live the high life with my crazy Doberman.

There is a disease where the brain can put pressure on the skull. It is called
<"syringomyelia">
This condition is most frequently found in Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, although rarely can be found in other breeds. It is not normally found in Dobermans, however. The disease does not "make the dog go mad and start biting people."

But it never fails. If I give a presentation, at an elementary school, inevitably, some six-year-old will start spouting the "brain outgrows its skull" nonsense, and I have to explain that no, my dog will not suddenly start biting the heads off of random children.
I have even heard a well-known guide dog trainer talk about this same issue. She was explaining why Dobermans aren't used much as guides any more and out came that old reliable "brain out growing its skull" song and dance. Apparently, one of the ways a Doberman guide dog owner can tell if the dreaded condition is upon them is that the dog will begin spinning its handler in circles, usually in the middle of the street.

You will be relieved to know that Laveau has not started doing this, or maybe I just have such chronic and terrible vertigo that I don't notice because life is one giant circle for me, anyway.

I have fallen in love with the breed; the watchfulness, work ethic, easy-care coat, size, and Velcro tendencies make the Doberman an ideal breed for my service dog. This means that I'm probably going to be hardily sick of the reactions of the uneducated masses who are worried that my dog will see them as a two-legged snack.

Laveau makes up for all of the misinformed folks out there by being a devoted and careful worker. Hopefully, when people see her work and her calm demeanor, their reactions will change.

I Chose To Do It My Way.

This post is for the Assistance Dog Blog Carnival. If you'd like to read other posts, you can go
<"here">
When I saw the information about the Assistance Dog Blog Carnival I was very eager to write a piece for it. There were so many topics to choose from, but finally I settled on writing about the choice to train my own guide dog. I am Deafblind, and many people have been very curious as to my reasons to choose to owner train.
When most people think of getting a guide dog, they imagine attending one of the several training programs scattered throughout the US. However, there is a small minority of people who go about it differently; we make the decision to train our own.

Under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) a dog must be "individually trained to do work, or perform tasks which mitigate a disability." The law does not specify who trains the dog and there is no "certification" for a dog to be a "real guide dog."

There are many good reasons why most deaf-blind people choose to attend a training program. Most, if not all, guide dog training programs give the dog to the recipient at little or no charge, pay for your transportation to and from the campus, pay for your food and lodging while attending the program, and pay for the equipment you use--such as the harness and leash which a guide dog needs to wear in order to work effectively. Also, training a dog is hard, back-breaking work.

For many reasons, I chose to train my own dog. I am a clicker trainer and there are very few guide dog programs which use exclusively clicker training to train their dogs. I want to raise my dogs using the concepts of Natural Rearing. This means a fresh food diet, minimal vaccinations, using herbal medicine or homeopathy to treat most medical issues. To my knowledge, there are no such programs which meet these criteria and which will accept a Deafblind student who's method of communication is American Sign Language (ASL). To be honest, though I just love training dogs. Being a part of that process, starting from the ground up and building a team together. Problem-solving and learning from one another. Don't get me wrong; it's not all sunshine and roses and there are times when I honestly wonder if I'm cut out for the emotional roller coaster that is owner training. I think that to really enjoy it, to keep doing it over and over again, you need to have a soul-deep love of the work, even during the hard times.

I was born blind. However, when I was in my early twenties, I was diagnosed with a progressive inner ear disease. When I trained my first guide dog, I only had a mild to moderate loss. I didn't need to make many modifications in my training to account for my hearing loss. I used my senses of touch, smell and hearing to assist me in teaching my dog what she needed to know in order to keep us safe.

In August of 2005, the city of New Orleans, where I live, was devastated by Hurricane Katrina and the subsequent failure of the federal levee system. I had evacuated from the city before tragedy struck, and I remained in Memphis, Tennessee until March of 2006. After seven months of evacuation I was able to return home. In addition to dangerous sidewalks, and the inability to find an open grocery store, I faced another challenge. I had an unknown allergy to mold, and there was quite a bit of mold in New Orleans at this time. Within six weeks after my return home, I became profoundly deaf due to an allergic reaction to the mold.

In May of 2008, Gracy, my then current guide, made it very clear to me that she was ready to retire. I was faced with a major decision--to attend a program for my next dog, or to attempt to train a dog myself, this time without the ability to rely on my sense of hearing. After careful planning and a great deal of soul-searching, I made the choice to once again train my own assistance dog. I eventually found a suitable candidate--a young female Doberman mix whom I named Laveau.

Some of the tools I used to assist me in training my dog were an FM system and a Tactile Mini-Guide. An FM system is a set of two small boxes. One box--the transmitter--has a microphone on it, and the other box--the receiver--has a headphone jack into which I plugged my neck loop which moved the sound directly into my hearing aid.

I also used the Tactile Mini-Guide, which is a small device--about the size of an iPod. The device uses ultrasound--and detects objects in my path and vibrates accordingly. The Tactile Mini-Guide vibrates harder, the closer one gets to an object such as a car or trash container. The Tactile Mini-Guide will not detect steps or other changes in elevation.

When I first started training Laveau, my husband--who is blind but hearing--held the transmitter part of my FM system. He walked ahead of Laveau and me-- giving me a running commentary of the obstacles ahead of us. He read traffic patterns and told me when it was safe to cross. He did this so I could focus on Laveau's training and so I could be aware of problems we might encounter. Eventually, I began traveling familiar routs with Laveau alone--giving her the opportunity to make mistakes and to learn from them.

Once Laveau generalized the concepts of stopping at curbs and avoiding obstacles, we were ready for more independent travel. I began socializing her in public--first in places where pets were allowed. Eventually she began to accompany me to destinations where pets were not allowed. I started small, going into well-known stores during quiet times where the distraction would be low. Laveau was a quick learner, and soon it became business as usual for her to enter a coffee shop, slide under a table and ignore the people attempting to pet her, food on the ground, and other distractions while I conducted my business.

The task I worried most about was teaching the concept of intelligent disobedience. Intelligent disobedience simply means that if the dog deems it unsafe to continue forward, she will stop and prevent the handler from moving. Even if the handler cues the dog to continue forward, the dog will “intelligently disobey” this cue. This skill is needed most in traffic situations, when the handler is crossing roads. It is especially important that a guide dog for a deaf-blind person be very fluent in this skill.

I set up traffic situations with an experienced driver. She held my FM system's transmitter during our training so I could hear and understand her instructions. She would inform me ahead of time what she intended to do and I would make sure that the dog kept me safe. We practiced situations where she pulled up her car onto the sidewalk in front of me, backed her car out of driveways while I crossed them, ran a red light while I crossed a road, and drove in an unsafe and erratic fashion while I was navigating my surroundings.

Telling me beforehand what situations to try out also had the added benefit of letting me expect sudden movements from my dog so I would not mistake my dog's movements and think she was distracted. It took a great deal of hard work and persistence on both our parts; however I can say that Laveau is one of the best guide dogs I've ever had.

Laveau and I have taken several trips together; visiting family and friends in different states all over the country. We move together smoothly and with confidence. I feel like she can read my mind sometimes. I know I can trust her to keep me safe.
We have begun sound alert training. Now Laveau will alert me to sounds in my environment such as smoke alarms, people calling my name, and traffic coming up behind me.
I had a great many questions and reservations when I first began training Laveau, but almost three years into our journey together, I can say that she is truly my partner. I was very unsure if the decision to train my own dog was the right one. I didn't know many other deafblind people who had done it. It may not be right for everyone, but it was certainly the right choice for me.