I meant to write this post several days ago, but life got in the way. I'm writing it now because today I learned that life is short, and so fragile.
Rudy was found wandering in a strip mall parking lot. He was taken to an animal shelter where he lived for a month. In 2004, my husband, Mister Pawpower, was looking for a dog to train for his guide. We found Rudy on pet finder, and decided to meet him.
He was living in a small animal shelter on the north shore of the lake pontchartrain, and some very kind shelter volunteers brought him over so we could meet him.
I knew when I first saw him that he'd be a wonderful guide. The one thing about Rudy was that he was so full of life. He loved going, it didn't matter where, as long as he was going.
Training him was a very difficult job. Rudy loved to go, and he wanted to be the one who decided the destination. He loved looking down the perpendicular streets as he guided Mister Pawpower. It didn't matter how we traveled, as long as we were traveling.
He rode buses, streetcars, cars, trains, and airplanes. Getting the harness on him was always such a challenge because he'd get so excited he couldn't hold still. He loved it best when Mill'E-Max, or Laveau and I were traveling with Mister Pawpower and him. He had his favorite places, and while some of them, like Wendy's restaurant were logical, he also adored Walgreens. He could find any Walgreens anywhere. I've frequently said that Walgreens should hire Rudy as their spokesdog because he loved it there. He loved airports, and shopping malls, and the french quarter.
At home, he was a laid back dude; preferring to nap in a patch of sun on the floor or in his crate as opposed to chasing balls. His favorite treat was pizza, and whenever we would order out, he would wait patiently for Mister Pawpower to bring the box inside. Then he would give the pizza an "honor guard" all the way into the kitchen. He would start grumbling if we didn't share. He ignored every other type of food, but pizza was just too good for him to decline.
In June of last year, Rudy was diagnosed with hip dysplasia. He slowly, and very unwillingly began easing into a life of semi-retirement. Mister Pawpower works from home, so he was able to work Rudy on trips to the store, or the coffee shop.
Today Mister Pawpower was in the tub when Rudy came and hung his head over the side and began nudging to go outside. Mister Pawpower let him out, but when he called the dogs back inside, Rudy didn't come. In his younger days, Rudy was a bit of an escape artist. Thinking that he had had a relapse of judgement, Mister Pawpower began scouring the neighborhood for signs of Rudy. He couldn't find a trace of him.
He went into the back yard to try and locate the place in the fence where Rudy may have gotten out, and instead he found that Rudy had died while out in the yard.
It was very shocking and horrible. I got the call at work, and I called the vet to come while making my way home.
When I got out of my friend's car, I saw the vet tech standing there with Rudy's 85 pound body in his arms. I knew then that Rudy was gone. Rudy was the kind of dog who went places on his own four feet, or he didn't go at all. I've never seen him so still, and quiet in a person's arms before today. I ran up and touched him on the leg. I just couldn't believe he had gone.
When you live through a situation like this, all of the "what if's" crash down upon you with merciless force. What if I hadn't gone to work and stayed home and had found him in time to do CPR. And What if I had missed some kind of crucial signal that he was unwell.
Two days ago, Mister Pawpower and I harnessed up Rudy and Mill'E-Max for a jaunt to our local coffee shop. Rudy was just as thrilled as always to get up and go. He loved the coffee shop. He loved working and getting out there.
Our vet has examined him and has determined that he died of heart failure which is sadly, very common in larger breed dogs.
We are all at such a loss. He has left a huge gaping hole in our lives.
Go in Peace, Rudy Dude. You will always be remembered with love. May you run fast and free, and your road be ever-open.
Walk within You
By Nicolas Evans
If I be the first of us to die,
Let grief not blacken long your sky.
Be bold yet modest in your grieving.
There is a change but not a leaving.
For just as death is part of life,
The dead live on forever in the living.
And all the gathered riches of our journey,
The moments shared, the mysteries explored,
The steady layering of intimacy stored,
The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,
The wordless language of look and touch,
The knowing,
Each giving and each taking,
These are not flowers that fade,
Nor trees that fall and crumble,
Nor are they stone,
For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.
What we were, we are.
What we had, we have.
A conjoined past imperishably present.
So when you walk the wood where once we walked together
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,
Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,
And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,
And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,
Be still.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within you.
Showing posts with label all about.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label all about.... Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
All about Mill'E-Max
She is orange.
She is hyper as hell.
She is the smartest dog I've ever met.
She is stubborn.
She is devoted to me.
She is Mill'E-Max.
In 2003, I was up against a brick wall with Gracy, and her training. I decided to get another dog and perhaps let Gracy mature for a bit. I'd been tossing around the concept of having two dogs-- one who works inside, and the other who works outside. I decided that if Gracy and I got over our issues, then I would explore this thought, but if not, I'd keep her as a pet.
I met Mill'E at a Golden Retriever rescue. They didn't know what to do with her. She was, as stated above, hyper, yet brilliant. These can be troublesome traits to manage, when coupled together. Aside from my first dog, Rhoda, I had never met another dog and had an immediate attachment to her. It was that way with Mill'E, though. Her actual name-- given by the older couple who had surrendered her to rescue was "Miele" which is Italian for honey and is pronounced me-ay-lay. It had been shortened to "Millie" but I didn't like the way "Millie" looked because the "IE" letter combination at the ends of words is very displeasing.
See, this is what happens when you are a synesthete; normal things, like fingernails on chalk boards don't annoy you but certain combinations of graphemes will.
Therefore Millie became Mill'E because my name also has an apostrophe in it, and we matched. I soon learned that Mill'E did not do anything half-assed. She did it to the maximum. She then became "Mill'E-Max." I usually only call her "Mill'E" when she's guiding me.
Mill'E-Max was a lot of dog. I mean, she was hyper, flighty, had bad canine social skills, was bossy, demanding, clever, inquisitive, and even more characteristics which I could not list if I tried. She kept me on my toes, that dog.
She was attacked three times by loose dogs or dogs on flexy leads. She became very fearful and dog reactive. This was a problem. I loved this dog, and she loved me. She loved being a guide dog and I loved having her by my side. I began trying everything to "fix" the reactivity issues. From straight Koehler training, to Bridge and Target training, I tried anything I could. I read about reactivity, from both a training, and a veterinary behavioral viewpoint.
I noticed that clicker training, and the use of operant conditioning received the best results. Becoming a clicker trainer changed my life. It got passed all of the blame, and broke behavior down to its component parts for me. Many dog trainers, view a dog/person relationship in very adversarial terms. I frequently heard things like "Don't let your dog test you; they'll do what they can get away with." or "You've got to show her who is the dominant one, and be the leader or she will take advantage of you in an attempt to gain leadership." I learned that behavior is behavior. We, the humans are the ones who assign value to it. E.g. taking things from the trash, that is "bad behavior," where as walking nicely on a loose leash is "good behavior."
When I chose to become a clicker trainer, I had to take all of the adversarial, emotion-laden training that I had been indoctrinated to believe, and throw it out. Only then was I able to begin anew; establishing a training method built on impartial science and mutual respect.
I used clicker training to re-teach guide work. She learned retrieve, and tug based tasks to help with my other disabilities. Her favorite chore was the laundry, and she would empty the dryer all day long, if she could.
Mill'E-Max made great improvement. We worked fluidly as a team and things were going along in their normal routine way, when we needed to evacuate for hurricane Katrina. We ended up in Memphis, TN. and when the levees failed, that is where we stayed.
I didn't evacuate to Memphis because I had a support system in place; I evacuated to Memphis because it was the city closest to New Orleans which was not forecasted to sustain damage from the storm. I got on the last train leaving the city and my choices were limited.
So there we were, me, Mr. Pawpower, Bristol, Gracy, Mill'E-Max and Rudy in a strange city full of unknowns. There was not a day that passed that I did not thank the powers that be for Mill'E-Max. She was the rock to which I unashamedly clung. She remembered where places were even after going there just once. She navigated me through this strange city and was always there for me, no matter what. When you are in the middle of a protracted crisis situation, your brain doesn't work like normal; or at least mine does not. If you ask me now, to recall those first few weeks of exile, I won't be able to tell you much of anything. I was not myself, I was not able to be strong for my dog, so she was strong for me. She remembered where my hotel room was, where the grocery store was, later, where my new apartment was. She remembered all kinds of routs to all kinds of places. She sat through countless meetings for food stamps, unemployment, and FEMA benefits. We would frequently be in waiting rooms for hours, and the displaced children would flock to us. The stories of pets lost, or left behind fell from their lips, along with their tears. I was there to listen, and Mill'E-Max was there to lay a paw, or her head on a small knee and to look up with her brown eyes. She quietly lay close as their tears wet her fur. I will never be able to repay her for the gift of her steady patience during this time.
We eventually moved back to New Orleans and in March of 2008 she was diagnosed with advanced degenerative joint disease in her right knee and upper patella. It was devastating. We were both completely broken. She loved working and I loved walking along beside her at full speed. It was necessary for her to stop doing work outside the home on a daily basis. One of the hardest parts of choosing to work with an assistance dog, is putting their needs first. Even when it hurts them, and they would rather work, you put the needs of their physical body first. It was hard because as with Bristol, I couldn't explain to her why she was no longer taking long walks with me.
Thankfully, she was still able to do her indoor work-- retrieving, locating, and tugging. She loves to do these tasks and we've nicknamed her the "house elf."
One of Mill'E's jobs is to wake me up in the morning. One day, I decided to try and fake her out; what would she do if I wouldn't wake up? She tried everything she knew. She rolled around atop me, licking every exposed inch of skin. This didn't get a response. She then removed my pillow, and blanket. I continued to pretend to be sleeping, in the hopes she would leave me alone. Once she had removed all of the covers, she left, and I sighed, very satisfied at out smarting her. Or at least I did until she brought her water dish into the bedroom and dumped its remaining contents on my head. I do not try to fake her out any more!
Mill'E-Max loves emptying the dryer. I think she must have been a jock in her past life because nothing gives her quite as much pleasure as tugging a towel from the dryer, and then spinning to snap me with the end.
I miss walking with her. People would call out warnings when they would see us charging down the sidewalk. She would wait until the last minute to dart me around an obstacle in our path, but she never ran me into anything. She was very aware of traffic and I knew that I could trust her to stand between me and whatever was coming my way.
She will be 9 years old this October and she is still as full of zest and love for life as she always was.
When I first read the following poem, I thought of her. The author is unknown, but I think they must have had a dog like Mill'E-Max in mind when they wrote it.
I asked for strength that I might rear her perfectly;
I was given weakness that I might feed her more treats.
I asked for good health that I might rest easy;
I was given a "special needs" dog that I might know nurturing.
I asked for an obedient dog that I might feel proud;
I was given stubbornness that I might feel humble.
I asked for compliance that I might feel masterful;
I was given a clown that I might laugh.
I asked for a companion that I might not feel lonely;
I was given a best friend that I would feel loved.
I got nothing I asked for,
But everything that I needed.
Author unknown
She is hyper as hell.
She is the smartest dog I've ever met.
She is stubborn.
She is devoted to me.
She is Mill'E-Max.
In 2003, I was up against a brick wall with Gracy, and her training. I decided to get another dog and perhaps let Gracy mature for a bit. I'd been tossing around the concept of having two dogs-- one who works inside, and the other who works outside. I decided that if Gracy and I got over our issues, then I would explore this thought, but if not, I'd keep her as a pet.
I met Mill'E at a Golden Retriever rescue. They didn't know what to do with her. She was, as stated above, hyper, yet brilliant. These can be troublesome traits to manage, when coupled together. Aside from my first dog, Rhoda, I had never met another dog and had an immediate attachment to her. It was that way with Mill'E, though. Her actual name-- given by the older couple who had surrendered her to rescue was "Miele" which is Italian for honey and is pronounced me-ay-lay. It had been shortened to "Millie" but I didn't like the way "Millie" looked because the "IE" letter combination at the ends of words is very displeasing.
See, this is what happens when you are a synesthete; normal things, like fingernails on chalk boards don't annoy you but certain combinations of graphemes will.
Therefore Millie became Mill'E because my name also has an apostrophe in it, and we matched. I soon learned that Mill'E did not do anything half-assed. She did it to the maximum. She then became "Mill'E-Max." I usually only call her "Mill'E" when she's guiding me.
Mill'E-Max was a lot of dog. I mean, she was hyper, flighty, had bad canine social skills, was bossy, demanding, clever, inquisitive, and even more characteristics which I could not list if I tried. She kept me on my toes, that dog.
She was attacked three times by loose dogs or dogs on flexy leads. She became very fearful and dog reactive. This was a problem. I loved this dog, and she loved me. She loved being a guide dog and I loved having her by my side. I began trying everything to "fix" the reactivity issues. From straight Koehler training, to Bridge and Target training, I tried anything I could. I read about reactivity, from both a training, and a veterinary behavioral viewpoint.
I noticed that clicker training, and the use of operant conditioning received the best results. Becoming a clicker trainer changed my life. It got passed all of the blame, and broke behavior down to its component parts for me. Many dog trainers, view a dog/person relationship in very adversarial terms. I frequently heard things like "Don't let your dog test you; they'll do what they can get away with." or "You've got to show her who is the dominant one, and be the leader or she will take advantage of you in an attempt to gain leadership." I learned that behavior is behavior. We, the humans are the ones who assign value to it. E.g. taking things from the trash, that is "bad behavior," where as walking nicely on a loose leash is "good behavior."
When I chose to become a clicker trainer, I had to take all of the adversarial, emotion-laden training that I had been indoctrinated to believe, and throw it out. Only then was I able to begin anew; establishing a training method built on impartial science and mutual respect.
I used clicker training to re-teach guide work. She learned retrieve, and tug based tasks to help with my other disabilities. Her favorite chore was the laundry, and she would empty the dryer all day long, if she could.
Mill'E-Max made great improvement. We worked fluidly as a team and things were going along in their normal routine way, when we needed to evacuate for hurricane Katrina. We ended up in Memphis, TN. and when the levees failed, that is where we stayed.
I didn't evacuate to Memphis because I had a support system in place; I evacuated to Memphis because it was the city closest to New Orleans which was not forecasted to sustain damage from the storm. I got on the last train leaving the city and my choices were limited.
So there we were, me, Mr. Pawpower, Bristol, Gracy, Mill'E-Max and Rudy in a strange city full of unknowns. There was not a day that passed that I did not thank the powers that be for Mill'E-Max. She was the rock to which I unashamedly clung. She remembered where places were even after going there just once. She navigated me through this strange city and was always there for me, no matter what. When you are in the middle of a protracted crisis situation, your brain doesn't work like normal; or at least mine does not. If you ask me now, to recall those first few weeks of exile, I won't be able to tell you much of anything. I was not myself, I was not able to be strong for my dog, so she was strong for me. She remembered where my hotel room was, where the grocery store was, later, where my new apartment was. She remembered all kinds of routs to all kinds of places. She sat through countless meetings for food stamps, unemployment, and FEMA benefits. We would frequently be in waiting rooms for hours, and the displaced children would flock to us. The stories of pets lost, or left behind fell from their lips, along with their tears. I was there to listen, and Mill'E-Max was there to lay a paw, or her head on a small knee and to look up with her brown eyes. She quietly lay close as their tears wet her fur. I will never be able to repay her for the gift of her steady patience during this time.
We eventually moved back to New Orleans and in March of 2008 she was diagnosed with advanced degenerative joint disease in her right knee and upper patella. It was devastating. We were both completely broken. She loved working and I loved walking along beside her at full speed. It was necessary for her to stop doing work outside the home on a daily basis. One of the hardest parts of choosing to work with an assistance dog, is putting their needs first. Even when it hurts them, and they would rather work, you put the needs of their physical body first. It was hard because as with Bristol, I couldn't explain to her why she was no longer taking long walks with me.
Thankfully, she was still able to do her indoor work-- retrieving, locating, and tugging. She loves to do these tasks and we've nicknamed her the "house elf."
One of Mill'E's jobs is to wake me up in the morning. One day, I decided to try and fake her out; what would she do if I wouldn't wake up? She tried everything she knew. She rolled around atop me, licking every exposed inch of skin. This didn't get a response. She then removed my pillow, and blanket. I continued to pretend to be sleeping, in the hopes she would leave me alone. Once she had removed all of the covers, she left, and I sighed, very satisfied at out smarting her. Or at least I did until she brought her water dish into the bedroom and dumped its remaining contents on my head. I do not try to fake her out any more!
Mill'E-Max loves emptying the dryer. I think she must have been a jock in her past life because nothing gives her quite as much pleasure as tugging a towel from the dryer, and then spinning to snap me with the end.
I miss walking with her. People would call out warnings when they would see us charging down the sidewalk. She would wait until the last minute to dart me around an obstacle in our path, but she never ran me into anything. She was very aware of traffic and I knew that I could trust her to stand between me and whatever was coming my way.
She will be 9 years old this October and she is still as full of zest and love for life as she always was.
When I first read the following poem, I thought of her. The author is unknown, but I think they must have had a dog like Mill'E-Max in mind when they wrote it.
I asked for strength that I might rear her perfectly;
I was given weakness that I might feed her more treats.
I asked for good health that I might rest easy;
I was given a "special needs" dog that I might know nurturing.
I asked for an obedient dog that I might feel proud;
I was given stubbornness that I might feel humble.
I asked for compliance that I might feel masterful;
I was given a clown that I might laugh.
I asked for a companion that I might not feel lonely;
I was given a best friend that I would feel loved.
I got nothing I asked for,
But everything that I needed.
Author unknown
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
All About Gracy
Some of you may be asking yourselves "Gracy who?" Whereas many of you already know who Gracy is. However since I'm doing this "all about" feature, I have to include her even though she mostly lives at my friends house these days.
In 2002, I began doing volunteer work at a kill shelter in the city where I lived. I had just moved into a huge house and the landlords didn't care that I was "the crazy dog lady." I was then able to begin fostering dogs in my home who weren't doing well in the shelter environment. However I wanted to adopt a dog-- not just foster one. Bristol had some weird dog social issues which needed to be addressed sooner rather than later if she were to live with me and my new guide when she retired. Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but out of harness, Bristol was a bossy bitch who had no idea how to have appropriate social interactions with other dogs. I decided that we needed a pet dog in our family who would help her learn these things.
I started my search and on the first day at the shelter, I fell in love with a beautiful yellow lab. She was awesome and so pretty and even though I couldn't take her out of her cage because she was still in quarantine because she had been found abandoned, I knew I wanted this dog. Yes, I was a shallow idiot back then. I waited the mandatory two week period for someone to claim her, and nobody did. Meanwhile, I visited her daily when making my rounds at the shelter. She shared her kennel with the saddest looking black dog I'd ever seen. She was filthy, covered with huge open sores and was not doing well in the shelter. I snuggled her too because she was just so pathetic. However she wasn't my dog, and I waited for my yellow lab to get the green light for release.
The day finally arrived. I went to the shelter, sprung the yellow dog from her kennel and instantly knew that this would never work. She was extremely dog reactive, and I couldn't have a dog like that around my guide dog. Back in the cage she went and because I felt bad for her, I took the dirty black dog out for a little love. She was sweet and instantly warmed up to Bristol. My fellow volunteers encouraged me to adopt her. However, see above, re: shallow! She was dirty and sad looking and not the image I had when I saw myself bringing home my new dog. I really felt bad for this dog though, so I decided to clean her up a bit in hopes she'd get adopted if she were a bit more presentable.
While readying her bath, I looked at her file. Her name was Jewel, she was a border collie mix who had been turned in by her owners for chasing the chickens and eating their eggs. I put Jewel in the tub and tried to clip all of the hair away from her open hot spots. I shampooed her, and when I was done, both my friend and I were covered with black fur. Once she was clean, I put her on the grooming table to brush out some of the undercoat. During this entire process, Jewel submitted quietly to the hands and warm water.
When I began brushing her, I started to sing. This was a ritual which had started with my first dog, that of music and grooming. I went through all of my old favorites and when I was done, I ended with the song "Amazing Grace."
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
which saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found.
Was blind, but now I see."
As I finished the first verse I had what would probably be called "A lightbulb moment from Mother Universe." I knew this was my dog and that I would be leaving with her that day and that her name was Gracy because it was grace which brought us together.
Gracy couldn't come home with me that day because she needed to be neutered. Two days later I picked up an even more pathetic-looking black dog(although still clean) from the vet office at the shelter. She had been spayed, vaccinated for every canine disease known to man, and treated with antibiotics for kennel cough. I took her home in the Elizabethan collar (aka the cone of shame) and put her in my bed where she stayed for the next four days only leaving to take trips outside to relieve. I fed her ground turkey and probiotics and vitamin C. I took her off the meds they gave me and treated her with homeopathy. A week later I had an entirely different dog.
We began taking walks together, Bristol guiding and Gracy on the right. It wasn't long before Gracy started modeling her behavior after Bristol's. There are scientists and dog people who will tell you that dogs don't learn behavior by watching other dogs and I say that they have never worked with border collies. This is the way they seem to learn best.
I knew Bristol was retiring probably within the next year so began tossing around the idea of training Gracy as her successor. Even if she didn't work out as a full-time guide, it would still be a great experience for me to have as a trainer.
Back then, I still subscribed to the "yank and crank" school of training which involved chain collars and harsh leash corrections. It is how I was taught to train, and was the only way I thought guide dogs could be trained. These methods did not go over well with Gracy. The more she screwed up, the more I corrected and the more she shut down. Sometimes we'd do great together but sometimes our relationship turned into a modern day "War of the Roses."
I had moved to New Orleans by this point and made the choice to wash her out as a guide because I just didn't know what to do. She was a great pet but I couldn't handle the not knowing if she'd work for me or not, the inability to take correction and my own irritation with the entire process.
I began training Mill'E and some events in Mill'E's situation lead me to have a sort of Training renaissance. I realized that there was more than one way to skin a cat and began using exclusively clicker training.
One day, I decided to see how Gracy would react to this new method and it was like her inner light came on.
As my disabilities progressed, I decided that it would be beneficial for everyone if I had two working dogs at the same time. I don't mean that I take two dogs everywhere I go-- I mean that I have two dogs so that one dog can guide, and one dog can help out at home. Because I'm Deafblind I need a dog to do sound alerts, and because of my vertigo I needed a dog to do retrieve and carry-based tasks. It is really not fair to ask one dog to work both jobs for a person who is as active and busy a I am.
Gracy blossomed under the new method of training and I began using her as a guide more and more. We traveled for work and pleasure together, via train and plane and bus.
One of my favorite stories of Gracy happened while in an airport. Now Gracy was a farm dog who liked to chase small animals. We had some wild chickens in our neighborhood (don't ask me how we had wild chickens in the heart of the inner city because I had no idea). She had been known to escape from the yard and to chase said chickens which was no surprise seeing as that's what got her sent to the pound last time.
So we're in this airport and I'm relaxing between flights and talking to the lady next to me when suddenly she began describing the following events.
Apparently birds had gotten into the airport and would fly around. Well, one of these birds saw Gracy just laying there and decided to investigate. It landed about 18 inches away from her and walked a complete circle around her, with its little bird head cocked at an angle, just staring at her. I was very worried about what she'd do but I stayed calm and gave her the cue to stay. The bird inched closer and closer, and Gracy didn't so much as twitch a whisker. Eventually it flew away with all of its feathers intact.
Another time I had met my good friend Lisa in the Philadelphia airport. She and I, with our two guide dogs had planned to fly on to a conference together. We made it to our gate, got our dogs settled at our feet, when a lady with one of those little dogs in a carrier sat down across the row from us. The little dog saw our dogs and commenced to barking its little dog bark. "Yip! yip! yip!" Several minutes later, a person with a German Shepherd guide dog entered our gate area. The dog got settled on the floor. Then the GSD began barking back at the little dog in the carrier who was still yipping. So it sounded like this: "Yip! Woooof! yip yip! woooooooooof!! Woof! yip yap!" Gracy had, in the past, been a very vocal dog. She was whiney and tended to bark when startled. At home, she loved nothing more than a good bark fest. However she, and my friends dog lay quietly at our feet while the other dogs yipped and barked until they called our flight.
In 2008, Gracy began showing more and more signs that she wanted to retire. I wanted to let her do that if it was what she wanted, however I knew that she wouldn't be happy to live in the city in my house with its tiny yard. I had moved to New Orleans with my friend Barb and she had had known Gracy since day one. Barb lived in a less densely populated part of the city and owned a huge piece of land with ponds and gardens and trees with squirrels. Barb wanted to take her and I made the very hard choice to let her go.
Now Gracy has a happy retirement getting back to her farm dog roots. She guards the property, keeps tabs on the squirrel and rodent population-- reducing it when she gets the chance and shares her yard with a Bouvier and an Am Staff. Every couple of weeks she comes to stay with us for a few days and we get a chance to love up on her and for our other dogs to see her also.
Gracy has always had a special relationship with Bristol. For many years it was just Gracy, Bristol and me. They were the best of friends and as Bristol ages, I want her to be able to spend lots of time with her border collie buddy.
Gracy was one of the hardest dogs I've ever worked with, however she was one of the dogs who made me grow the most as a trainer. She will be ten in May, and she's starting to get gray around the muzzle now. Ever since I got her from the shelter, she has had the oddest nose; it is dry and pebbly like lizard skin. It's how I can tell her apart from Laveau, by the nose, since they're both black. One of Gracy's nicknames is "The Cheez." I don't even remember how she became known by this moniker, but she will answer to "cheez" or "cheez wizard."
This entry has made me miss her; I may have to call Barb and ask for a visit this weekend!
In 2002, I began doing volunteer work at a kill shelter in the city where I lived. I had just moved into a huge house and the landlords didn't care that I was "the crazy dog lady." I was then able to begin fostering dogs in my home who weren't doing well in the shelter environment. However I wanted to adopt a dog-- not just foster one. Bristol had some weird dog social issues which needed to be addressed sooner rather than later if she were to live with me and my new guide when she retired. Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but out of harness, Bristol was a bossy bitch who had no idea how to have appropriate social interactions with other dogs. I decided that we needed a pet dog in our family who would help her learn these things.
I started my search and on the first day at the shelter, I fell in love with a beautiful yellow lab. She was awesome and so pretty and even though I couldn't take her out of her cage because she was still in quarantine because she had been found abandoned, I knew I wanted this dog. Yes, I was a shallow idiot back then. I waited the mandatory two week period for someone to claim her, and nobody did. Meanwhile, I visited her daily when making my rounds at the shelter. She shared her kennel with the saddest looking black dog I'd ever seen. She was filthy, covered with huge open sores and was not doing well in the shelter. I snuggled her too because she was just so pathetic. However she wasn't my dog, and I waited for my yellow lab to get the green light for release.
The day finally arrived. I went to the shelter, sprung the yellow dog from her kennel and instantly knew that this would never work. She was extremely dog reactive, and I couldn't have a dog like that around my guide dog. Back in the cage she went and because I felt bad for her, I took the dirty black dog out for a little love. She was sweet and instantly warmed up to Bristol. My fellow volunteers encouraged me to adopt her. However, see above, re: shallow! She was dirty and sad looking and not the image I had when I saw myself bringing home my new dog. I really felt bad for this dog though, so I decided to clean her up a bit in hopes she'd get adopted if she were a bit more presentable.
While readying her bath, I looked at her file. Her name was Jewel, she was a border collie mix who had been turned in by her owners for chasing the chickens and eating their eggs. I put Jewel in the tub and tried to clip all of the hair away from her open hot spots. I shampooed her, and when I was done, both my friend and I were covered with black fur. Once she was clean, I put her on the grooming table to brush out some of the undercoat. During this entire process, Jewel submitted quietly to the hands and warm water.
When I began brushing her, I started to sing. This was a ritual which had started with my first dog, that of music and grooming. I went through all of my old favorites and when I was done, I ended with the song "Amazing Grace."
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
which saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found.
Was blind, but now I see."
As I finished the first verse I had what would probably be called "A lightbulb moment from Mother Universe." I knew this was my dog and that I would be leaving with her that day and that her name was Gracy because it was grace which brought us together.
Gracy couldn't come home with me that day because she needed to be neutered. Two days later I picked up an even more pathetic-looking black dog(although still clean) from the vet office at the shelter. She had been spayed, vaccinated for every canine disease known to man, and treated with antibiotics for kennel cough. I took her home in the Elizabethan collar (aka the cone of shame) and put her in my bed where she stayed for the next four days only leaving to take trips outside to relieve. I fed her ground turkey and probiotics and vitamin C. I took her off the meds they gave me and treated her with homeopathy. A week later I had an entirely different dog.
We began taking walks together, Bristol guiding and Gracy on the right. It wasn't long before Gracy started modeling her behavior after Bristol's. There are scientists and dog people who will tell you that dogs don't learn behavior by watching other dogs and I say that they have never worked with border collies. This is the way they seem to learn best.
I knew Bristol was retiring probably within the next year so began tossing around the idea of training Gracy as her successor. Even if she didn't work out as a full-time guide, it would still be a great experience for me to have as a trainer.
Back then, I still subscribed to the "yank and crank" school of training which involved chain collars and harsh leash corrections. It is how I was taught to train, and was the only way I thought guide dogs could be trained. These methods did not go over well with Gracy. The more she screwed up, the more I corrected and the more she shut down. Sometimes we'd do great together but sometimes our relationship turned into a modern day "War of the Roses."
I had moved to New Orleans by this point and made the choice to wash her out as a guide because I just didn't know what to do. She was a great pet but I couldn't handle the not knowing if she'd work for me or not, the inability to take correction and my own irritation with the entire process.
I began training Mill'E and some events in Mill'E's situation lead me to have a sort of Training renaissance. I realized that there was more than one way to skin a cat and began using exclusively clicker training.
One day, I decided to see how Gracy would react to this new method and it was like her inner light came on.
As my disabilities progressed, I decided that it would be beneficial for everyone if I had two working dogs at the same time. I don't mean that I take two dogs everywhere I go-- I mean that I have two dogs so that one dog can guide, and one dog can help out at home. Because I'm Deafblind I need a dog to do sound alerts, and because of my vertigo I needed a dog to do retrieve and carry-based tasks. It is really not fair to ask one dog to work both jobs for a person who is as active and busy a I am.
Gracy blossomed under the new method of training and I began using her as a guide more and more. We traveled for work and pleasure together, via train and plane and bus.
One of my favorite stories of Gracy happened while in an airport. Now Gracy was a farm dog who liked to chase small animals. We had some wild chickens in our neighborhood (don't ask me how we had wild chickens in the heart of the inner city because I had no idea). She had been known to escape from the yard and to chase said chickens which was no surprise seeing as that's what got her sent to the pound last time.
So we're in this airport and I'm relaxing between flights and talking to the lady next to me when suddenly she began describing the following events.
Apparently birds had gotten into the airport and would fly around. Well, one of these birds saw Gracy just laying there and decided to investigate. It landed about 18 inches away from her and walked a complete circle around her, with its little bird head cocked at an angle, just staring at her. I was very worried about what she'd do but I stayed calm and gave her the cue to stay. The bird inched closer and closer, and Gracy didn't so much as twitch a whisker. Eventually it flew away with all of its feathers intact.
Another time I had met my good friend Lisa in the Philadelphia airport. She and I, with our two guide dogs had planned to fly on to a conference together. We made it to our gate, got our dogs settled at our feet, when a lady with one of those little dogs in a carrier sat down across the row from us. The little dog saw our dogs and commenced to barking its little dog bark. "Yip! yip! yip!" Several minutes later, a person with a German Shepherd guide dog entered our gate area. The dog got settled on the floor. Then the GSD began barking back at the little dog in the carrier who was still yipping. So it sounded like this: "Yip! Woooof! yip yip! woooooooooof!! Woof! yip yap!" Gracy had, in the past, been a very vocal dog. She was whiney and tended to bark when startled. At home, she loved nothing more than a good bark fest. However she, and my friends dog lay quietly at our feet while the other dogs yipped and barked until they called our flight.
In 2008, Gracy began showing more and more signs that she wanted to retire. I wanted to let her do that if it was what she wanted, however I knew that she wouldn't be happy to live in the city in my house with its tiny yard. I had moved to New Orleans with my friend Barb and she had had known Gracy since day one. Barb lived in a less densely populated part of the city and owned a huge piece of land with ponds and gardens and trees with squirrels. Barb wanted to take her and I made the very hard choice to let her go.
Now Gracy has a happy retirement getting back to her farm dog roots. She guards the property, keeps tabs on the squirrel and rodent population-- reducing it when she gets the chance and shares her yard with a Bouvier and an Am Staff. Every couple of weeks she comes to stay with us for a few days and we get a chance to love up on her and for our other dogs to see her also.
Gracy has always had a special relationship with Bristol. For many years it was just Gracy, Bristol and me. They were the best of friends and as Bristol ages, I want her to be able to spend lots of time with her border collie buddy.
Gracy was one of the hardest dogs I've ever worked with, however she was one of the dogs who made me grow the most as a trainer. She will be ten in May, and she's starting to get gray around the muzzle now. Ever since I got her from the shelter, she has had the oddest nose; it is dry and pebbly like lizard skin. It's how I can tell her apart from Laveau, by the nose, since they're both black. One of Gracy's nicknames is "The Cheez." I don't even remember how she became known by this moniker, but she will answer to "cheez" or "cheez wizard."
This entry has made me miss her; I may have to call Barb and ask for a visit this weekend!
Monday, April 4, 2011
All about Bristol
Thinking about my blog-- I realized that many readers don't have a very clear picture of each of our dogs, how they came to us, and their individual stories. I decided to remedy this because even if everyone else finds this dead boring; I can still come back and read it and remember them as they were. Since she's the oldest, I'll start with Bristol.
Bristol is a thirteen-year-young female golden retriever. She was my guide dog and worked from July of 1999 until August of 2003. I received her from a program after my first guide-- Rhoda-- died of cancer when she was three.
I really didn't want another dog. I needed another dog because I had just begun experiencing bouts of profound hearing loss and I wasn't safe with a cane. It was a struggle to love this dog who was so different from my first. Rhoda was aloof and frequently distractible. Bristol loved everyone, but was very focused when she worked. When she wasn't working, she wanted to be right next to me, and that hasn't changed at all.
When I got her from the guide dog program she was very ill and malnourished. She struggled with serious health concerns which were brought on by the diet she had eaten as a puppy, and which the program continued to recommend. Ear infections, skin infections, chronic vomiting or diarrhea. It was a living nightmare.
Once I got her home from the guide dog school, my vet took one look at her and told me to send her back. "She's got two, maybe three years before she will have to retire." He was very matter of fact about it, but I couldn't stand sending her back there.
In between vet visits, and the many medications we tried to fix her various problems, I did research. I read about diet, about vaccine reactions, about herbs and homeopathy. I made the choice to put her on a raw diet in summer of 2001.
The only problem with that? She wouldn't eat it. She was normally not a big eater anyway but she seemed especially opposed to the idea of eating raw meaty bones. I didn't give up and eventually got her to eat raw. Once she got all of the cereal grains and vaccines out of her system, I had a different dog. She was actually healthy! It was amazing.
We traveled all over the country together. She was very laid back about everything. She didn't care where we went, or what time we would leave or come back. The most important thing to her was that she was with me. Whether she was guiding in an airport or on a hiking trail, she did her work with so much care and style.
One of my favorite stories of Bristol is about the day we took a hike. I went with a friend and decided to let my friend take me sighted guide so that Bristol could run around off leash with my friend's dog. We were walking down a wooded trail, when suddenly I felt the world fall away from under my feet. I fell at least fifteen feet and landed in a patch of thorny bushes which were growing on the side of a cliff. If those bushes hadn't cushioned my fall; I would have died because the cliff was hundreds of feet high. I remember the feel of the thorns stabbing into my hands, knees and feet. I remember looking down and seeing the green tops of trees on the ground far below. I looked up and saw several feet of very steep cliff between me and the trail above. I called for my friend and she knelt down on the side of the trail, poked her head over and told me that due to her back problems she would be unable to get me out. Forget about the fact that she hadn't been paying attention in the first place and "sighted guided" me right over the cliff to begin with.
I sat there, feeling my ankle swelling and pondering my situation. I heard the rustle of bushes, and looked up to see Bristol, channeling her inner mountain-goat, climbing down to get me. Boy was I ever glad to see her. I put my hands on her shoulders, pushed with my feet, and with Bristol walking backward and me pushing along like a snake, we made up the cliff and onto the trail. We both were covered with thorns and I spent the next six weeks in an ankle brace.
Bristol's favorite activity was swimming. It was actually by accident that she learned to swim. One summer, I was at a pool party. One gentleman had partaken of the available alcoholic beverages to excess and this led him to think that it would be very funny to throw people into the pool. He scooped me up, and threw me in. Bristol came running in after me, and sank like a stone to the bottom. She did not know how to swim and I dove to the bottom and brought her back out. I determined that she needed to learn to swim so I took her to the river and taught her how. Once we moved to New Orleans and moved near the dog park on the levee, she spent many happy afternoons swimming in the river.
I could always count on her when I got lost. Once I attended a large conference with hundreds of other blind people and guide dog teams at a hotel in another state. We hadn't even been there an entire day, when I decided to look through the exhibit hall which was a gigantic room, packed with people, dogs, white canes, and assistive technology gizmos being sold by many venders. I strolled around for a few hours just taking it all in. Once I decided I had seen my fill, I wanted to leave. Only by that point I was so exhausted and confused-- I didn't know how to get out. Bristol took over, wove me through crowds, down halls, found elevators and I pressed the button for our floor. Once out of the elevator, she went straight to our room and nudged the door handle with her nose.
She retired in August of 2003 from degenerative joint disease. Retiring her was honestly one of the hardest things I have ever done. She didn't want to retire, I didn't want to have to work with another partner. I cried every day for a year when I would have to leave her and go off with Mill'E-Max or Gracy. I felt guilty and desolate and when I would come home to find her laying in the same spot on the floor where she was when I left her it nearly did me in.
We did a lot of massage, tried many herbs and dietary supplementation. Eventually she regained the use of her leg. She still guides from time to time-- little trips to the mini mart or the corner store. She still loves to work.
In 2006 she was diagnosed with uveitis as a result of Toxoplasmosis. She was on antibiotics and herbal concoctions for two months. She lost all of her night vision, but regained it after treatment, although she still sees a veterinary ophthalmologist every few months to keep tabs on her eyes.
She is deaf, has thyroid disease and high blood pressure, but other than those things which are typical of her age and breed, she is a pretty healthy old lady.
She is still willing to go anywhere with me and when I'm at home, she is always by my side. I wake up every day thankful for all the gifts she has brought to my life and glad she has stayed so long to share them with me.
Bristol's name, in one of the old English dialects means "A bridge, or a meeting place."
This is the song that will always remind me of her.
Bridge Over Troubled Waters
When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Bristol is a thirteen-year-young female golden retriever. She was my guide dog and worked from July of 1999 until August of 2003. I received her from a program after my first guide-- Rhoda-- died of cancer when she was three.
I really didn't want another dog. I needed another dog because I had just begun experiencing bouts of profound hearing loss and I wasn't safe with a cane. It was a struggle to love this dog who was so different from my first. Rhoda was aloof and frequently distractible. Bristol loved everyone, but was very focused when she worked. When she wasn't working, she wanted to be right next to me, and that hasn't changed at all.
When I got her from the guide dog program she was very ill and malnourished. She struggled with serious health concerns which were brought on by the diet she had eaten as a puppy, and which the program continued to recommend. Ear infections, skin infections, chronic vomiting or diarrhea. It was a living nightmare.
Once I got her home from the guide dog school, my vet took one look at her and told me to send her back. "She's got two, maybe three years before she will have to retire." He was very matter of fact about it, but I couldn't stand sending her back there.
In between vet visits, and the many medications we tried to fix her various problems, I did research. I read about diet, about vaccine reactions, about herbs and homeopathy. I made the choice to put her on a raw diet in summer of 2001.
The only problem with that? She wouldn't eat it. She was normally not a big eater anyway but she seemed especially opposed to the idea of eating raw meaty bones. I didn't give up and eventually got her to eat raw. Once she got all of the cereal grains and vaccines out of her system, I had a different dog. She was actually healthy! It was amazing.
We traveled all over the country together. She was very laid back about everything. She didn't care where we went, or what time we would leave or come back. The most important thing to her was that she was with me. Whether she was guiding in an airport or on a hiking trail, she did her work with so much care and style.
One of my favorite stories of Bristol is about the day we took a hike. I went with a friend and decided to let my friend take me sighted guide so that Bristol could run around off leash with my friend's dog. We were walking down a wooded trail, when suddenly I felt the world fall away from under my feet. I fell at least fifteen feet and landed in a patch of thorny bushes which were growing on the side of a cliff. If those bushes hadn't cushioned my fall; I would have died because the cliff was hundreds of feet high. I remember the feel of the thorns stabbing into my hands, knees and feet. I remember looking down and seeing the green tops of trees on the ground far below. I looked up and saw several feet of very steep cliff between me and the trail above. I called for my friend and she knelt down on the side of the trail, poked her head over and told me that due to her back problems she would be unable to get me out. Forget about the fact that she hadn't been paying attention in the first place and "sighted guided" me right over the cliff to begin with.
I sat there, feeling my ankle swelling and pondering my situation. I heard the rustle of bushes, and looked up to see Bristol, channeling her inner mountain-goat, climbing down to get me. Boy was I ever glad to see her. I put my hands on her shoulders, pushed with my feet, and with Bristol walking backward and me pushing along like a snake, we made up the cliff and onto the trail. We both were covered with thorns and I spent the next six weeks in an ankle brace.
Bristol's favorite activity was swimming. It was actually by accident that she learned to swim. One summer, I was at a pool party. One gentleman had partaken of the available alcoholic beverages to excess and this led him to think that it would be very funny to throw people into the pool. He scooped me up, and threw me in. Bristol came running in after me, and sank like a stone to the bottom. She did not know how to swim and I dove to the bottom and brought her back out. I determined that she needed to learn to swim so I took her to the river and taught her how. Once we moved to New Orleans and moved near the dog park on the levee, she spent many happy afternoons swimming in the river.
I could always count on her when I got lost. Once I attended a large conference with hundreds of other blind people and guide dog teams at a hotel in another state. We hadn't even been there an entire day, when I decided to look through the exhibit hall which was a gigantic room, packed with people, dogs, white canes, and assistive technology gizmos being sold by many venders. I strolled around for a few hours just taking it all in. Once I decided I had seen my fill, I wanted to leave. Only by that point I was so exhausted and confused-- I didn't know how to get out. Bristol took over, wove me through crowds, down halls, found elevators and I pressed the button for our floor. Once out of the elevator, she went straight to our room and nudged the door handle with her nose.
She retired in August of 2003 from degenerative joint disease. Retiring her was honestly one of the hardest things I have ever done. She didn't want to retire, I didn't want to have to work with another partner. I cried every day for a year when I would have to leave her and go off with Mill'E-Max or Gracy. I felt guilty and desolate and when I would come home to find her laying in the same spot on the floor where she was when I left her it nearly did me in.
We did a lot of massage, tried many herbs and dietary supplementation. Eventually she regained the use of her leg. She still guides from time to time-- little trips to the mini mart or the corner store. She still loves to work.
In 2006 she was diagnosed with uveitis as a result of Toxoplasmosis. She was on antibiotics and herbal concoctions for two months. She lost all of her night vision, but regained it after treatment, although she still sees a veterinary ophthalmologist every few months to keep tabs on her eyes.
She is deaf, has thyroid disease and high blood pressure, but other than those things which are typical of her age and breed, she is a pretty healthy old lady.
She is still willing to go anywhere with me and when I'm at home, she is always by my side. I wake up every day thankful for all the gifts she has brought to my life and glad she has stayed so long to share them with me.
Bristol's name, in one of the old English dialects means "A bridge, or a meeting place."
This is the song that will always remind me of her.
Bridge Over Troubled Waters
When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
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