A pocket-full of hardware, and other randomness

I've been quiet on the blog of late because things have been somewhat hectic. On Monday Bristol went to the vets' for her checkup and lab work. The vet was very happy with her physical exam and said that everything looked great. He drew blood for labs and said they'd be in by Tuesday morning. The labs weren't in until Thursday afternoon. I was not a happy camper and kept calling the vets' office who was probably equally unhappy at being bothered by the crazy obsessive dog lady. Finally they came in on Thursday afternoon and everything was normal. My vet said that she has the blood of a six-year-old dog. For a thirteen-year-old dog, I'd say she's doing pretty darned good.

I had yesterday off because it was Good Friday and I live in predominately Catholic New Orleans. I went shopping and to lunch with a friend.

Today I helped Mister Pawpower assemble our new barbecue grill that I bought yesterday. I am assembly impaired, or something. I do not know the difference between a washer and a wing-nut. Mister Pawpower, however is the assembly master. I was the official holder of the hardware. Once he explained the differences between washers, wing-nuts, nuts, bolts and lock-washers, I was good to go. We got the barbecue grill put together and I screwed the handle onto the lid of the grill all by myself, and I didn't even break anything!

After we finished with the grill, we went to the store for beer, but alas, they don't have their liquor license as of yet. This is very sad because in my humble opinion, beer is an integral part of any proper barbecue. Hopefully we can solve this problem by tomorrow which is the big day.

We used to live in another house about three blocks away from our current one. Our neighbor was this elderly lady who was at least eighty-five years young.
Well one day, shortly after we moved in, Mister Pawpower and I decided to do a barbecue. We had some friends over and Mister Pawpower took the charcoal, the lighter fluid and the matches outside. He had just lit the coals and the flames were kind of high when our neighbor stepped outside. all of the color drained from her face when she saw the blind man with the matches and she yelled "OH SWEET LAUD!!" You could tell that her horror of the blind man playing with fire was doing battle with her proper civilized southern lady sensibilities. The sensibilities won out and in a very calm voice, she said "Ah, you're barbecuing... I see...."
I did not make any sarcastic remarks about her need to overstate the obvious, but instead offered her some food as any proper Southerner would do. She declined and went back into her house.

However she still didn't trust my husband not to burn down the entire block, and our sighted friends frequently saw her twitch the curtain aside to look out the window. Guess she wanted to make sure that our back yard didn't become an inferno while she was unaware.

We have not barbecued yet since we've been in this new house, so the reactions from the neighbors might be interesting.

It's that whole assumption that blind equals incapable. Educating by doing, I guess that's how I'll teach 'em.
I really want to learn to barbecue so Mister Pawpower is going to teach me how to set up the charcoal and set it alight and how to cook on the grill. I'm very excited about this, but I promise not to burn down our house!

Owner Training?

Sometimes people ask me, "What are the qualities that make a person a good assistance dog owner trainer?"
I've been pondering this quite a bit, actually so thought I'd blog about it.

Disclaimer number one: This is my blog so these are my views. My ideas and observations may not align with another owner trainers views on the subject.
Disclaimer number two: I think the word "good" in the question stated above is too ambiguous. I prefer the term "effective." I am not in the business of deciding if anyone else besides myself is an "effective" trainer.

So what are the qualities, according to me, which make an effective owner trainer? I'll list the most important ones and then go into greater depth on each one.
• love of dog training
• willingness to learn
• patience
• a working knowledge of the applicable assistance dog laws in your country

• good orientation and mobility skills (this is guide dog specific)
• ability to keep accurate records
• ability to be honest with yourself
• a backbone

Love of Dog Training:
There is a very big difference between getting a dog from a program and starting from scratch with a dog who may not even know its name. A dog from a program will have learned obedience cues such as sit, down, stay, and loose-leash walking, or LLW. The program dog may have a few bad habits such as scrounging for food, or dog distraction, but your program dog should have most of its training completed.

People who have never handled a completely green dog have no idea what they're getting into. People who have worked only program dogs and who have had no other dog experience may be in for a very rude awakening if they attempt to owner train using the skill set taught by the programs. Programs don't really focus on teaching you to train dogs; they teach you how to communicate with your already trained dog. They may teach you how to train things like how to follow a person or how to target, but a green dog is just that, green.

If you are going to owner train, you have to want to be involved in the process. This could include everything from house-training to teaching the dog its name. You only get to do the public access stuff once the basic obedience, appropriate behaviors such as toilet training and food refusal are fluent.

Training a dog is hard, back-breaking work. It is hot, and sweaty in the summer, and cold and icy in the winter. Dogs don't care if you're tired or busy or that you "don't feel like it." If you want a dog to behave consistently, you need to train consistently.
Willingness to Learn:
Your dog will teach you things about yourself and the training process. Sometimes you aren't going to like the lessons. Owner training is very humbling. If your dog isn't responding or learning, then you need to look for a new way to teach what you want. You may need to go to obedience school with your dog. I have done this with all of my dogs. Sometimes I didn't even really like the trainer much, but I learned something about my dog or myself or about the training process every time I went. As an owner trainer, I'm wrong sometimes. Wrong about what my dog can handle, wrong in my approach, or wrong in my actions. You have to be able to learn from your mistakes and the first part of learning, is admitting that there is an issue.

PATIENCE:
Owner training is a long process. Be patient with your dog and yourself. Patience actually starts before you get a dog. I first learned about patience when looking for an assistance dog candidate. If you go with the first dog you like because you want a dog now! You may end up washing out that dog, and having to start again. Be patient, do research, slow is fast as my friend Karyn over at

<"Pawsitively-k9"> likes to say.

A Working Knowledge of the Applicable Assistance Dog Laws in Your Country:

When you owner train, you're on your own. When you run into access problems, there is no program to back you up, or to tell you what the laws are. Thanks to the wonders of the world wide web, this information is easily accessible, however. You will want to know these laws before you even make the final choice whether or not to owner train. In some contras your dog must come from a an official program, and people with disabilities do not have the right to brain owner trained dogs into places of business. Know your rights and responsibilities.

Good Orientation and Mobility Skills:
This is guide dog specific. If you don't know where the hell you are, or how to get to point B from point A, you are going to have a hard time training your own guide dog. All guide dog programs insist upon good orientation mobility skills before a person is accepted for training with a guide dog. They have good reasons for this. I think it is even more important as an owner trainer to be comfortable with your environment, and be able to navigate it without regular problems. This is not to say that you should be perfect. Heck, I get lost all the time. However I have good problem-solving skills and know how to get myself unlost, if that is even a word. I'm not talking about some "superblindy" who never makes an O&M mistake. I'm talking about a good set of travel skills, and the ability to stay calm and problem-solve. The ability to keep an accurate map in your head is a definite plus, but not a requirement.

Ability to Keep Accurate Records:
If you get into an access denial situation, you could appear in front of a judge who may want to know if your dog is really trained to do work, or perform tasks which mitigate your disability. If you have a program dog, then of course the program trainers will probably come down and testify on your behalf. They will also be able to show written records of your program dog's progress through the training.
If you are an owner trainer, you don't have anyone to do this for you. Keep a training log. Make videos of your dog working in various situations. Keep all documents such as certificates of completion from an obedience school. These certificates may not prove that your dog is an assistance dog, but it will show that you have been training your dog for X amount of time. Do not make the mistake of buying some kind of "certification" for your assistance dog from some schmuck on the internet. In the united States, there is no "certification" and any "certification" you may buy is only worth the paper its printed on. The company who sells you this "certification" won't come down and prove to the judge that your dog has been trained. So keep records!

Ability to be Honest With Yourself:
Sometimes a dog isn't suitable for assistance dog work and you may have to wash it out and start again. In the records you've kept, be honest. Lack of truthfulness with yourself will only come around to bite you in the butt in the end. It may take a while (see Patience, above) but be honest, and if a dog isn't fit for the work, do yourself and the entire service dog community a favor and don't take it into public. I'm not talking about a dog who has its off days, because no dog is perfect. I'm talking about a dog with a serious issue like reactivity or health problems.

A Backbone:
Owner training has become more widely accepted over these last five or so years. However, you are going to run into people who have issues with it. It could be anyone from your family, friends, other people with disabilities or assistance dog handlers. I've met some trainers from programs who have been pretty unpleasant. I've also dealt with all of the people stated above, who at one time or another had a problem with owner trainers and owner training, for a number of reasons. If this is something you want to do, if you've done your research and are determined to do it, you should be aware that you're probably going to encounter resistance, and sometimes outright hostility. If you can't handle that, then reconsider.

When you owner train your assistance dog you are the trainer, the advocate, the public relations, and the handler of your dog. You may have friends and fellow trainers who will advise and help you, but ultimately, you are responsible. If you can't handle that, reconsider.

I owner train because I love the process. I love dogs and dog training. I love the hours of work involved. When I stop loving it, then I will get a dog somewhere else.

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!

Live What's Given

While looking at blogs today, I read a post from our friends over at
<"Ruled By Paws">

She wrote about some of the positive ways blindness has impacted her life. She had read another person's blog talking about these same things and this inspired her to write her own post. The original blogger ended their post with the words "Live What's Given." The posts I have read have encouraged me to write about my own disability.

I was born blind. I went to public school, and my family treated me like any of my other four sisters. Ever since I could remember, my goal was to be a musician. I played many instruments-- guitar, drums, and piano but my true love was singing. I took private voice lessons, sang in choirs, and when I graduated high-school, I packed my bags and went to music school. During the third year of music school I went to bed one night, and woke up the next morning profoundly deaf.

It would not at all a melodramatic statement for me to say that I felt like my world was over. I didn't read braille fluently, all of my books were on tape. I couldn't listen to music, I couldn't read, I was afraid to leave my house. The doctors didn't know what was wrong with me. They tried antibiotics, steroids, ear drops, nose drops, and nothing worked.
Eventually I was diagnosed with
<"Meniere's Disease">
This is a progressive inner ear disease which causes hearing loss, vertigo and tinnitus or ringing in the ear. Most people have it in one ear, but I number among the 5% who has it bilaterally.

This disease caused my hearing to fluctuate from day to day. I'd be profoundly deaf for a while, and then gradually my hearing would come back. However not to the level it was before. One doctor told me I'd have about ten to twenty years before I became profoundly deaf, while another doctor told me that I may not lose all of my hearing. Meniere's disease is the great unknown.

Obviously I couldn't be a music student any more. I was devastated by this because I had never wanted to be anything else. Life, however doesn't stop just because you think it should. I moved on and eventually went to school for a marketing degree (which I hated but I hated everything so...)
In 2003, I packed up my life and move to New Orleans. In 2005, our city was devastated by hurricane Katrina and the subsequent failure of the federal levees and we lost everything. I spent seven months in Memphis, aka Elvisland, and hated every moment of what I saw as forced exile. Eventually I was able to come back home to New Orleans.

On March 26, 2006, I arrived in my new (to us) home in the big stinky. By the middle of May of that same year I was irreversibly, profoundly deaf. Doctors were puzzled but eventually they decided that allergies to the great amount of mold in the city at this time, had triggered my Meniere's disease, and caused such severe damage that the hearing wasn't coming back.

I could no longer use the phone, have conversations with people, hear the fire alarm, read traffic on the street or teach large classes at work. I was too deaf in my right ear to benefit from a hearing aid, but could use one in my left, so I began the long process to try and persuade the government that they needed to buy me one, since my insurance would not.

People had all kinds of ideas about how I should live my new life. Stay home, they said. "You might get hit by a car, let us go to the store for you."
"Get a cochlear implant, then you can be normal again."
"Go home and let your family take care of you."

I was not having any of that. I made up my mind that I was going to learn American Sign Language (ASL) and that I was not going to live the rest of my life being afraid to leave my house, and that I was not going to get some surgery just so that I could be "normal."
Many people told me that I shouldn't bother learning ASL.
"You're blind, you can't see it! Deaf people won't like you, they won't talk to you because you are blind. You aren't going to find anyone who will teach you, or who will talk to you. Just get a cochlear implant!"
I refused to listen, and began work to advocate for ASL lessons from the Department of Vocational Rehabilitation.

In October of 2008, I met my ASL teacher and began learning. Earlier, in April of 2007, I met a deaf woman here in New Orleans and she began taking me to Deaf and Deafblind events all around the city and the state.

The people at these events didn't live their lives in fear, they didn't live them apologizing to the world for their deafness or their deafblindness. They signed, they had friends and families and had rich, active lives full of love and fun and personal growth. At first, when I went to these events I was terrified. I felt awkward and like a huge fumbling moron. I was just sure that everyone was staring at the weird deafblind lady with the dog who was trying to sign. But I never met with a word of unkindness or cruelty. People were patient, and they taught me by their example to be proud of who I am, to live what's given and to do it loud!

In September of last year I was accepted to the Seabeck Deafblind retreat in Seattle, Washington. Not only was I accepted but I was asked to teach a tea making class. I was so nervous. I'd been studying ASL for two years by then, but I was just so afraid of making a mistake. That week in Seattle was unforgettable. I met Deafblind people from all over the world. I participated in activities like tandem biking, boating and even dancing. People came to my tea making class, and I did not make an ass out of myself, and what is more, people said that they liked it! They liked me! When I made signing mistakes, people patiently corrected me, and I learned so much from their kindness.

In June of last year I got an SSP who helps me go shopping, takes me to the doctor and helps me fill out forms, and does many other things with me. The SSP makes my life so much easier.

I use interpreters now for large meetings at work and it is a huge reduction in my stress level.

My deafblindness has changed my life, it has brought me into contact with so many wonderful people who have given of themselves with no thought of what "they'd get out of it." What is more, I have found strength inside myself that I didn't even know I had.

I remember those first weeks after I came back to New Orleans. The distinctive post-levee-failure aroma, the sidewalks crowded with the sodden, moldy remnants of what had been, someone's life. The stories I heard day in and day out of waiting of roof tops for rescue, of floating in filth-infested waters on kitchen appliances, of the ones who didn't make it. Then I lost my hearing, after losing everything I owned, or nearly.

Deciding to live what you are given is not a choice you make once and then move off into the "great happy ever after." When you decide to live what's given, it's a choice you make every morning. You can choose to stay in bed, to bury your head in the pillow and hope it goes away. Or you can decide to get up and get on with life. There are days I took the bed and pillow rout, I won't lie. But at the end of those days, I wasn't a better person for having done it.

People ask me, would I have still moved back to New Orleans if I had known that the mold in this city would leave me deaf in six weeks. My answer is yes. I would rather be deaf in New Orleans than hearing anywhere else in the world.
The novelist, and New Orleans native Poppy Z. Brite said:
"If you belong somewhere, if a place takes you in, and you take it into yourself, you don't desert it just because it can kill you. There are some things more valuable than life."
Hurricane Katrina and the failure of the levees was a dark and horrible time. We all lost so much. However, as I look at my life today, living in a place I love, surrounded by people I love, with services which allow me to live a free and independent life, I would say that I am luckier than I have any right to be.

Bitches in Brace

Since I was a complete slug this morning, laying in bed with my book and a cold bottle of tea, the dogs were rampy as hell by around noon. My lazing about had abruptly come to an end; whether I willed it or no.

The sky was blue and the sun was shining so I decided to take all three of my bitches for a walk. Once my dogs figure out the concept of loose-leash walking, or LLW, I start taking them on walks with other dogs. All of my dogs are now very used to the way we do things and each knows her place.

Mill'E-Max is the designated guider. She wears the harness, halti and leash and walks on the left. She takes this very seriously and on these walks she does a fantastic job at staying focused and finding the best path which will accommodate all of us. Laveau and Bristol wear a brace. It is a V-shaped piece of equipment with an O-ring at the bottom of the V. Nylon straps make up the sides of the V and each end terminates in a bolt snap which attaches to the rings of Bristol's and Laveau's collars. I attach a leash to the bottom O-ring. Using a brace, I can walk two dogs with one leash.

We took a ten or so block walk around the streets in our neighborhood. Spring has truly arrived and here in the swamp, this means that things are growing rapidly and that vines, shrubs and trees are already crowding the sidewalk. Mill'E-Max did a great job of picking the best way for us all, and when I needed to go right, Laveau would pull slightly ahead of her LLW position, and exert a small amount of tension on the leash so I could feel which way to go. Bristol walked between Laveau and Me. The only issue I encountered was Laveau's need to sniff everything because she wasn't guiding. She seems to have two modes; working, no sniffing, and not working, sniff everything. This issue will need to be addressed, because it is neither safe nor necessary for her to sniff everything. It's not safe because she could easily eat something off the ground and since I can't hear; I can't tell the difference between nose down to sniff, or nose down to eat. I'll be doing a lot of clicking and treating for head up, llw, face forward.

Bristol was pretty tired when we finally made it home. She used to be able to go for miles and miles, but for a thirteen-year-old dog, I'd say ten blocks is pretty good. I think these walks are good for her; she's experiencing some muscle weakness in her hind end, and the more we can do to strengthen those muscles the better she'll be.
Once we got home, Laveau tried to take a swim in her water dish. This resulted in water all over my hall, all over Laveau and an almost-empty water dish. Once I cleaned up the floor, and cleaned the dish (because who really wants to drink out of a dish which has been used for a foot bath) it was cold water for the dogs and cold tea for me!


I have an insane jones for nachos so once I cool down and Laveau gets a chance to rest, we're off to the mini-mart for nacho fixings.


Happy Saturday!

Helen and Me

Helen Keller is probably the most well-known deafblind person of our time. Born in a century when people with disabilities were institutionalized, kept at home with their families or forced to beg on the streets, Helen accomplished so very much in her lifetime.

The way the public views deafblind people and many of the opportunities we have now are a direct result of the work of Helen Keller and Anne sullivan.

Using the manual alphabet, Anne would spell words into Helen's palm. Helen's first comprehension of language was memorialized in the movie "The Miracle Worker."

Helen was the first deafblind person to graduate college. She spent her life educating others and bringing awareness to the issues of deafblindness.

There is a very rare film which shows Anne Sullivan explaining the process she used to teach Helen Keller to speak and to speech read using her hand. You can see the video
<"here">

At first it seems like a wonderful thing, encouraging her to speak, and to speech read. I would agree that having as many tools as one can in your "communication toolbox" is a smart idea. But honestly, something about this video bothers me; it bothers me very much.

I feel like Helen is treated like a circus performer in a show. Not there to be of real benefit to others but to "show" what she can do and to "inspire" people. Hearing people think of speech as the "normal" way of communicating. We all want to be "normal." But what is "normal" worth when it doesn't fully meet our needs?Speech reading is hard to do and is an impractical skill for most deafblind people to acquire. However the general (hearing) public feels inspired when they see it. But how much did the ability to speech read by touch really improve Helen's life? Was it more a benefit to the hearing/sighted people around her, to be used as some kind of spectacle?

I know how it feels to be treated like an object on display. When I'm in public, minding my own business people stare at me. They stare at the dog, at the braille PDA, at my hands as they sign and as they touch the hands of my friend or SSP. I deal with the staring, the intrusive questions and constant interruptions because it is the nature of my existence. If I want to be out in public at all, I have to accept the fact that people feel like it is their god-given right to ask me personal questions and invade my personal space. I don't have to answer their questions and I usually try to be polite, but firm when I make it very clear that I'm busy and don't have time to talk right now. However in professional and personal situations I've been asked by people to "put on a show" for others so they can see what "it is like to be deafblind." I understand Helen's need to educate, but at what cost?

Helen really never had a life of her own beyond that of "the famous deafblind woman." People never seemed to see her as an ordinary person. She was always amazing! inspirational! clever.

She is not amazing and inspirational because of her deafblindness, no more than I am. What made Helen special was her drive to learn, her ability to connect with all different types of people, her constant striving for knowledge and self-improvement.

I can't help but be sad when I think about Helen Keller. Would she have wanted to do something else with her life? Something that didn't involve her deafblindness? Was this need of hers, to be able to speak, and to speech read, born out of a desire to be able to better blend in with everyday folks?

I sometimes wish that I could talk to her-- to ask her questions and to tell her what a difference she has made for all of us. She will never benefit from the work that she did, but I will.

Helen Keller was a pioneer. She had no deafblind role-models because she *was* the deafblind role-model. Every day I thank the universe that I was born in a time of great technological advances. Because of the internet, I have met many of my Deafblind role-models both in person and online. Through their example I have learned to be proud of who I am. I have learned that it is OK to be different-- to sign in public, and that if people stare, so what. I have learned that I am not just a deafblind person. I am a deafblind person who is a teacher, a wife, a dog trainer, an herbalist, a pack leader, a friend and a role-model in return.

When people meet me, I want them to see the whole picture-- all of the things that I am and am not. Deafblindness is an important part of who I am, but it is not everything I am.

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

Ramblings of a synesthete

Lately I've been thinking quite a bit about writing and cooking. Both of these favored activities of mine are inextricably linked. I think about writing when I cook, and I frequently write about cooking. The two things are the same in many ways for me. Both letters and words, as well as ingredients for cooking, can be used to make something which is enjoyed by myself and others. The process of creating, and the end product itself are very important. Rarely in life do I enjoy the journey as much as the destination. With writing, and cooking however, I can say that the journey is at least half of the pleasure.

I have
<"Synesthesia">
This condition is neurological in nature. Synesthesia is the stimulation of one sense evoking the involuntary stimulation of another. I can "taste" words, "smell" music, and "see" the colors of days, weeks, months and years. When I read, I enjoy the very act of reading for not only the story's sake, but because reading plunges me into a colorful land of lush scents and powerful tastes.

I have at least ten different types of synesthesia. The one I talk about the most is Grapheme/Color synesthesia. I also experience Grapheme/Gustatory synesthesia. words, letters, and numbers all have their own unique texture, scent, color, and taste.
The letter "B" is kind of peachy colored, and very soft like old warn velvet. It smells fresh-- like spring-- but doesn't have a taste. The letter "Y" is very bright red in color, is kind of slimy (but not bad slimy more like fun slimy) and it tastes very strongly sweet. My least favorite letter is "U" because it is gray, rusty in texture, smells like decay and tastes like old pennies.
A word will most often be a blend of its component letters. So the word "May" is dark blueberry purple-blue for "M", light green for "A" and red for "Y." However the first one or two letters in a word tend to have the strongest influence over the word's general appearance, texture and taste. Because I don't like the letter "U" I really avoid words like ugly, understand, or umber. Even words like just or cure are not very attractive because the "U" is so close to the start of the word that it muddies the rest of the word. I almost gave Laveau a different name because of its final letter. However because her "U" comes at the end it is bearable-- most of the time.

Words can also have their own associations independent of their component letters. Take the word "Tuesday," it tastes strongly of oatmeal cream pies and is squishy and I like it very much. Even though it has a "U" I still love tuesdays and every time I say or read, or see the word Tuesday in ASL, I taste oatmeal cream pies. I am rather fond of oatmeal cream pies so this is a positive association. The word "Didactic" has the taste, texture and scent of green apples. Like the kind of apples which are so tart they make you pucker and your teeth hurt when you bite into them. The component letters of this word in no way suggest this association, and the word's definition itself has nothing to do with the way I experience it. It is truly a pity that I don't have a reason to use the word didactic more often, because it is one of my favorite words.

Sometimes I want to insert a particular word into a phrase not because it would be appropriate to use for the topic at hand, but because that word evokes such a strong synesthetic response relating to the topic I'm discussing.

Being a synesthete has strongly influenced the way I view the world. All of my senses are bound together and engaging in a hobby which most people would find boring, such as reading the dictionary, is for me, a fun and exciting experience. Just like I love to go shopping for new and unusual herbs or ingredients, I very much enjoy reading the dictionary to learn new words. I do it because I like expanding my vocabulary, spicing up my writing but also because the words themselves, are for me, works of art and I love experiencing them.

I could go into my kitchen, take a head of letups, chop it up, add some tomatoes, baby carrots, some celery and an onion. I could pour some Kraft Ranch Dressing over the whole thing and would have, what most folks would consider, a perfectly respectable salad.
I would much rather work with red spinach, baby Romaine, Nappa Cabbage, sun-dried tomatoes, red peppers, Greek olives, snow peas, red onion, and some lovely lemon basil Feta cheese topped off with a hand made gorgonzola dressing.
This is what I think a salad should be, made with care and skill.

Writing and reading are the same way. It is a craft-- an art form-- and something which should give as much pleasure to the writer as to the reader.

I can't explain what it is like to have synesthesia to someone who doesn't have it. All synesthetes will not experience letters, numbers, music and other stimuli inn a universal way. Each synesthetic experience is unique-- just like we are all unique. (and there goes that "U" again!)
For me, my synesthesia brings the world into sharper focus-- I imagine synesthesia is almost the same thing as experiencing movies in 3d.

It can also be very distracting sometimes. Especially if I learn a new word or phrase-- I can get so focused on "experiencing" that word that I tune everything else out and pay little attention to the actual meaning of said word or phrase. This got me into quite a bit of trouble in school as a kid. I could never explain why I would not understand new material sometimes. I didn't have a word for synesthesia and just assumed that everyone had the same sensory input going on in their head as I did.
I think it would be fun to write a book and include all of my favorite words. It probably would not make logical sense at all, but it sure would be wonderful to read.

C'mon feel the noise!

Lately I've been noticing that the world has become a much more quiet place. I'm not trying to be a smart ass either; things just seemed to be harder than usual to hear. I scheduled an appointment with my audiologist to get my hearing aid, otherwise known as "The Babelfish" turned up louder.

My SSP picked me up and we drove to the appointment in his car. Laveau usually rides on the floor between my feet in the foot-space of the passenger seat. However when I ride with friends or my SSPs who don't mind, she rides in the back seat so she can look out the window. Laveau loves to rest her chin on the shoulder of the driver and look out the front window as we're driving down the road. I swear she is either evaluating the skills of the drivers. or she is learning to drive by watching. Either way, she loves watching over my driver's shoulders.

We pull up at the Audi's office, go inside and wait to get called back. Eventually my audi comes to get me and she has an audiologist in training with her. They fiddle around for a while and crank up the volume on ye old Babelfish. It is almost maxed out. Once it is maxed out, I'll have to get a more powerful babelfish. This used to be the most powerful one on the market but they are making one even more powerful now. I'm amazed at technology. I also needed to get my streamer fixed. A streamer is a small box I wear around my neck which can use bluetooth to connect my hearing aid to my iPod or computer. I broke mine so got a loner while mine is getting repaired. When the audi handed me the loner, she said "This one is white." I just kind of looked at her because I didn't know that the color was important. Apparently mine is black and she wanted me to know that this one was a different color, or something. The audiologist in training went to change my hearing aid battery; only she didn't tell me what she was doing. She just came over, took my hearing aid out of my ear and started messing around. I got a little grouchy about this because it is rude, especially when dealing with a deafblind person, to just start manipulating a person's body or objects on their body without first explaining what you are planning to do. Apparently they don't teach them this in audiology school so I had to tell her. It is common sense to me, but I guess people are just used to being able to see that they don't think about it.

After the volume on my hearing aid was increased, I was reminded once again of how noisy the world is. Not loud-- just noisy. Everything makes a sound. I don't know how hearing people stand all of the racket without the ability to just turn off their ears!

As we were driving down the road to the pharmacy, I kept looking around trying to figure out what all the noise was. I can still only hear out of one ear so although sounds are louder now, I still can't tell where they are coming from and it is very annoying. Also, everything makes noise! Cars, air conditioners, lawn mowers, people walking, and just lots of other sounds that I have forgotten about. It always takes me several days to adjust to all of the noise when I get my hearing aid turned up.

My loss is progressive and eventually a hearing aid won't benefit me at all. I didn't get a hearing test today but I'm profoundly deaf (it is the only way in which I am profound lol) and profound hearing loss is the highest grade there is, so I'm just becoming profounder and profounder (ok ok more and more profound) as the years progress.

After we left the audis, I went to the pharmacy and then rewarded myself with a trip to
<"Angelo Brocato's">

My SSP and I sat down to enjoy a cannoli with a cup of cafe au lait. It was amazing, as always! Then I got a quart of their lemon ice gelato to take home and share with Mr. Pawpower.

I think I'll spend the rest of the day with my hearing aid off and reading the newest Jean M. Auel book "The Land of Painted Caves."

ahhh, silence, ice-cream and books! This is the life.

I'm Gonna Clear My Heaeaead! I'm Gonna Drink That Suuuun!

It's a beautiful day here in the big moldy. I spent it at home-- unable to work because I can't wear my hearing aid for extended amounts of time due to a chronic and raging ear infection. Well, I had an ASL lesson, but that was just down the road at the coffee shop. We sat outside during the lesson and then I went home and did not want to go inside. I got out the little end table, my iPhone, braille display, iPod and huge amplified headphones. I set everything up on my porch and Laveau and I set to having an afternoon out of doors.

I cranked up my iPod as high as it would go, and listened to my favorite Indigo Girls album. I read email, and Twitter, and blog posts, and played hang man all while humming quietly along with the music.

One of the biggest truths about deafness is that quiet becomes subjective. I learned this noble truth when Mr. Pawpower texted me to say that he could hear me singing, from inside, over the air conditioning and the hammering of the neighbors; he could hear me. I could not hear myself singing, and what I thought was a bit of quiet humming had become a neighborhood serenade. Oh well, at least it was good music, and Mr. Pawpower said that I hit all the notes and that I sounded better than the other people on our block who sing loudly. The problem is, most of said neighborhood singers participate in this hobby when they are intoxicated. So to say that my singing is better than that of an inebriate is a rather back-handed complement if ever there was one.

Now that I've succeeded in humiliating myself, I have come inside, only to realize that I have sun burned the holy hell out of my face. Being a red head really sucks sometimes.

I put Noxzema on my face only to have Mill'E-Max decide that Noxzema is the new flavor Du Jour. Now I have to hide my face like a fugitive to avoid being turned into the canine version of an otter pop.
I just can't win!

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

This morning, my husband, Mr. Pawpower and I some how got into a conversation about our first bicycle experiences as children, and this inspired me to write about mine here.

I was born with
<"Optic Nerve Hypoplasia/Septo Optic Dysplasia">

This is a congenital brain malformation which can cause, among other things, blindness, and short stature because the pituitary gland is damaged and does not produce growth hormone. I stopped growing when I was around three or four years old and did not begin growing again until I started receiving human growth hormone injections at the age of eleven.
My parents always encourage and expected me to be just like everyone else. I played with my sighted sisters, and our sighted friends. I was basically an ordinary kid, with the exception of not being able to ride a bike because there wasn't one small enough for me.

Once I began growth hormone treatment, I started growing rapidly. Before long, I was tall enough to reach the pedals on my sisters bike.

I have always had especially crappy balance, and learning to ride a bike-- even with training wheels-- was quite a challenge. I had to focus on the bike, focus on my environment with my hearing and my very limited sight, and coordinate my arms and legs to move around objects in my path. After a while I got pretty good at the whole training wheels thing.

It was time for the moment of truth... The training wheels were removed and I spent many hours in the summer between sixth and seventh grade getting on the bike, pedaling a few feet, losing my balance, falling off the bike, getting up and repeating the entire process.

I will always remember the first time I actually rode for a period if time longer than a minute. The sun was just setting and my mom had called us girls in to get baths and get ready for bed. I begged for "just one last try."

I got on the bike, determined as hell that I was going to do it this time. I started off-- heading west, toward the setting sun. I focused on pedaling, keeping the handlebars straight, looking ahead, and keeping my balance. I wove around like an inebriate, but eventually I did it, I was riding the bike. I rode round and round and round our street, laughing my head off and so proud of myself. Unfortunately, I got distracted by the thrill of it all, lost my concentration, and hence, control of the bike. I flew ass over teakettle and landed in a heap in the road, tangled up with my sister's red bike, still laughing like a maniac.

I practiced riding the level streets at my mom's house. When I got good enough so I wasn't falling on my face every other time, I decided to take my new bike-riding skillz to my father's house to try it out on the streets there.
My father lived in a subdivision, at the very top of a pretty steep hill. I was confident that I could handle it-- after-all, two weeks had passed since I had last fallen off my bike at my mom's house.
I started off at the top of the hill, clutching the handlebars for dear life, and focusing on the street ahead. I pushed off and began pedaling. Because of the grade of the slope, my bike began picking up speed, rapidly. I got about half way down this very long hill when I made the startling realization that I was no longer in control of the bike-- gravity had taken over. I went faster and faster, the handlebars began swiveling back and forth and it was all I could do to maintain control of this mad beast of a bike. Unfortunately, in my effort to slow the bike down, I neglected to watch where I was going. This led to my face, meeting a mailbox at the bottom of the hill with a great deal of force. The mailbox stopped me in my tracks and I flew off the back of the bike which continued on for a few more feet before falling over like a wounded pony. It hurt, it hurt a very great deal. I do recall a substantial amount of blood being shed.
The neighbors were horrified; the little blind girl riding a bike! What were her parents thinking! I cleaned off the blood, retrieved my bike, and lined up at the top of the hill once again.

This glimpse into my childhood tells a lot about my character. Call it determination, call it stupidity or stubbornness, or just plain force of will. Whatever it is; I possess it in spades.

In december of that year, I turned thirteen. I sang in the school choir and we had a concert on my birthday. I remember going home once the concert was finished, expecting to enjoy a bit of birth day cake and some presents. My father told me to go into my room and change into my pj's first. I was rather surprised when the rest of my family followed me up stairs. I opened the door to find my very own bicycle assembled at the foot of the bed. It was a Huffy. It was the palest pink. It was one of the best birth day presents I think I have ever received. It was a lesson to me that if you work hard, get up when you fall, clean up the blood and continue pressing onward that you can make your dreams happen.

A Consecutive Kind Of Life

I just finished a book called "Of Such Small Differences" written by Joanne Greenberg. The story is told from the point of view of a Deafblind man in his mid-twenty's. It was written in the mid 1980's so it is not, from a technology standpoint, very relevant to now. All of the characters in the book appear to use
<"The Rochester Method">
with some ASL signs thrown in at times. I think the author of the book is hearing, so it isn't a "real life experience" of an actual Deafblind person; such as the books written by Helen Keller or Robert Smithdas. It's very obvious that the author did her research and for its time, the book is pretty accurate.

People ask me all the time, "What is it like to be deaf and blind?" and reading this book helped me to answer that question more fully, I think.

Hearing/seeing people have multi-tasking lives. Take one of my best friends for example. I've seen her in her kitchen, whipping up a marinade with one hand, while her other hand holds a phone. She is scrolling through her text messages while talking to her husband or kids. There is a TV on and in between stirring the marinade, reading texts, talking to her family, she manages to catch what is on the television and she laughs at a joke, or swears at yet another hopeless politician. This same friend gets into her car and drives. She is talking to a coworker on the hands-free phone, while taking notes and yet she manages to spot one of her kids squirting the other with a packet of ketchup she found on the floor. This is normal, this is everyday life for most people, all of this multitasking.

A deafblind life is a consecutive life. When I cook, I am cooking. I cannot take my phone into the kitchen because it is connected to my braille display which is very fragile, and if it breaks the repairs will take at least a month. It is vital to my independence for me to have a working braille display so I try very hard to keep it clean and that means keeping it out of the kitchen. If I need to write down a recipe, I write it in hardcopy braille on sheets made of thermoform which is a kind of plastic. This way if I spill on the page I can take a damp rag and clean it off with the braille being no worse for the experience.
When I am cooking, I am focused on cooking. I can't have a conversation with my hands because more than likely, my hands are buried to the wrist in ground meat or dough. Cooking, like everything for me, is a very tactile process. I can't hear tv, I can't hear music unless it is patched through the TCoil on my hearing aid, and through a neck loop to my iPod. I hate wearing my hearing aid at home so that means no music. Cooking time is for cooking.
When I'm done with cooking, I can then have a conversation with my husband, and then I might open up my computer and look at a website for the news, read my email, pay some bills.
When I'm done with my computer I put it down, move to the phone and braille display to check texts there. My friends who text find this very frustrating. When you are hearing/sighted, texting is instant. You get a text, and you pull your phone out of a pocket, quick tap out a message and put the phone back; moving back to the task you were just doing. My phone is an iPhone connected via bluetooth to a braille display. This setup is the size of a video cassette; remember those, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth? :) Its very size means that I can't just put it in my pocket. I can't briefly check messages and just move on to what I'm doing. If I'm in the other room, or even across the room from my phone I don't even know if I've gotten a text unless one of the dogs or my husband tells me. It takes longer for a deafblind person to have a text conversation unless I've decided to sit down and make texting my focus for that period of time.

When I walk places, I am paying attention to what is around me; the feel of the sidewalk, the positioning of the sun, the textures my arm encounters when I walk. These are all things which give me confirmation of my location. When I get to the street, I pick up my tactile mini-guide which has been hanging from a cord around my wrist. It is a small unit-- about the size of one of those containers of Airborne you buy at the drugstore. It vibrates when it detects obstacles in my path. The nearer the obstacle, the stronger and quicker the vibration. I use a tactile Mini-Guide to help me read traffic patterns so I know when it is safe to cross the road. When the cars are going in front of me, I will feel the slow-quick-slow, slow-quick-slow pattern of vibrations as the cars move by. When the cars to my side are going, I won't feel any change because my path is clear to cross.
When I'm walking, this is the time for me to listen to my iPod. I turn it off at street corners so I can focus on making a safe crossing, but otherwise, walking time is music time for me. It is very hard for me to have conversations either in ASL or spoken English while walking because if I'm going to sign while walking, it is best for me to go sighted guide with the person I'm chatting with. I don't like going sighted guide because I feel like I already give up too much control of my life to too many people. When I walk, I want to do it myself with my dog. Sometimes I will go sighted guide with people I trust a very great deal, usually at Jazzfest with my ASL interpreters, sometimes with my SSP if we need to talk and walk at the same time.

I can't really communicate in spoken English because I hate using my hearing aid on its regular setting when I'm on the street. I can only use amplification in one ear, as the other ear can't hear at all. This means that I don't hear in stereo. Hearing in stereo is what gives hearing people the ability to locate sounds, and use sounds to orient and navigate. Having the use of one ear means that I can hear sounds-- usually only the loud ones like noisy car engines or cars backfiring or police sirens. But because I have no ability to tell where the sound is located, all those loud sounds seem to be right on top of me. I feel like I'm about to be run over at any given moment. Because I am blind, I can't rely on my vision to tell me otherwise. The entire experience is terrifying and makes me cringe away involuntarily which just confuses the hell out of my dog who can't figure out what the problem is.

It is better for my nerves if I just set my hearing aid to TCoil, which blocks out all sounds except for what is coming through my neck loop from my iPod. I can walk and enjoy music while Laveau takes care of the hearing and the seeing. I still need to be oriented-- have an idea of where I am and where I'm going, but I don't need sight nor hearing to do those things.
I think my life would make most hearing/seeing people nuts. It would probably seem very methodical and slow, without enough stimulus. Then again maybe not. I find that living this way helps me to be present in the moment. I think that Buddhists call this mindfulness. For the most part-- deafblind people live very mindful lives.

Kiss me, I'm Irish!

Saturday I went to the St. Patrick's day parade. This is one of my two favorite parades all year. My friends came to pick Laveau and I up about an hour before it started. We like to get good seats, find beverage (usually of the malted-grain variety) and scope out the men in kilts. Ok, truth be told; I like men in kilts-- my friend enjoys describing them to me. So we are both happy.
Only my friend's husband decided that he wanted to park in a more residential area and not in an area where all the action was taking place. So after setting up our camp chairs, my friend, Laveau and I headed out for beer and men in kilts, hopefully in equal measure.

We soon met up with some people who were friends with my friend and they offered us some beer. We stood around on the sidewalk and drank and talked. We eventually took off, beer in hand, to fulfill the other half of our mission; the finding of men in kilts.

Let me just stop and say here what a fabulous job Laveau did. She followed my friend, and wove me through crowds of people, children on their ladders, brass bands lining up for the parade and barricades. People called to her, patted her head as she walked by and she just ignored everything.
Eventually we got to the parade staging area and found some men in kilts, with bagpipes no less. There must be some obscure law of physics which states that that a man's sex appeal increases about a hundred-fold if he is wearing a kilt and playing a bagpipe. Or maybe I was a Scottish Highlander in a previous life. Either way, I think kilts and bagpipes should come back into style.

We needed more beer before the parade began, so it was off to a cafe for a bottle of Abita and a little sit down before we attempted the trek back up to where my friend's husband was sitting with our camp chairs.
We sat and chatted for a while, then took our beers and began walking the several blocks back to our spot.

We made it there in time for me to get Laveau settled between our two chairs and for me to get a good standing spot behind the barricade.
Then it started. Floats and marching clubs, and school children. People threw cabbages, carrots, candy, and mardi gras beads. Oh and underwear. I was given a pair of bright green bikini panties complete with shamrock. I immediately stuck them on Laveau's head because they would look much better on her than on me, that is for sure. Then I was gifted with a green lace garter which went on Laveau's neck, along with the shamrock beads. I also got lots of paper flowers and drunken smooches from the marchers, some of them even had kilts on. Do you see why I like this parade now?

Through it all, Laveau lay down and watched everything. She actually really enjoys watching parades.
When it was done, a loose dog came running up to her barking. I was nervous, but immediately dropped the harness handle and lengthened the leash. The other dog immediately calmed down and began greeting Laveau who greeted back with enthusiasm.

After that, we got in the car and headed home.
I still have to use the cabbage in my fridge.

Is that a tennis ball in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

It was a beautiful, sunny spring day here in the Big Moldy. The temperatures had finally risen to acceptable levels. By "Acceptable" I mean 70° F. It was a perfect dog park day. On Friday, I had requested an SSP for today in the hopes of a day just like this one.

Before I go any further, I should probably explain what an SSP does. An SSP, or Intervenor as they are called in Canada, is someone who works with a person who is deaf blind. The SSP communicates and describes items in the environment to the deafblind person in which ever method the deafblind person chooses, e.g. ASL, print on palm (POP), spoken English through an amplification system, etc. My SSP does things like, go to the grocery store with me and sign the store sale paper, and prices to me, and inform me of the different items available. Sometimes my SSP goes to vet appointments with me, and help read and fill out forms, describe what the vet is doing during an exam, and let me know if any aggressive or problematic dogs enter the waiting area before we see the vet..

Today was dog park day, and it was all about fun! The person who is my regular SSP is hearing. She is attending a local interpreter training program to become a certified American Sign Language interpreter. She couldn't come today as she was busy so I got a different SSP. The one I had today was Deaf, but sighted, and thankfully a dog lover! :)

I decided to take Bristol and Laveau. I made dog treats, loaded up my bag with towels, water for the dogs and people, and the all important tennis ball! Laveau is queen of the tennis ball and next to working, fetching the ball is her favorite activity and she would do it all day if she could.

We have an "Official Dog Park" but it's kind of far from my house. Instead we go to the levee along the Mississippi river which has been the kind of unofficial dog park for years, now.
We parked in the lot, unloaded the dogs and removed leashes. My SSP was a great describer of things and immediately told me that Laveau took off like a shot to visit with other dogs. Bristol, who is 13 and who takes life a bit more slowly, walked with us over the railroad tracks, across the bike path and up the levee to the top. by the time we reached the path on the top of the levee, we had thrown the tennis ball for Laveau at least! five times and she was in the process of getting her ya ya's out in grand style.
It is hard to use ASL tactually and walk at the same time. :) We would walk, then stop to talk and throw the ball, then walk some more, and rinse, repeat!
We saw some pretty brown, black and white Pitties, a big chocolate brown Mastiff, a rust Doberman, and some kind of skinny houndy-looking dog I couldn't identify and which my SSP didn't see to describe as he was throwing the ball for Laveau yet again. We walked the levee and went down to the other side where the dogs took a dip in the river. Then we walked through the woods, and back to the top of the levee. My SSP was really great at describing the scenery and other dogs.
We met some Labs on the way back, and someone was riding a big brown horse on the bike path which runs parallel to the levee.
We toweled off the dogs, loaded back up in the car, and headed home where the dogs got frozen knuckle bones and I had a nap! All that tennis-ball-throwing wore me out!
WAGS!

Hot Dog; Smart Dog!

Last night, Mr. Pawpower made groceries and some how, when we were putting everything away, we lost a package of hotdogs. We looked and looked but just assumed that they'd been put in the freezer with other meat for the dogs' meals. We didn't think much more about it-- having bigger metaphorical fish to fry.

This morning, Mister Pawpower needed Mill'E-Max's help bringing things from the fridge to the table for breakfast. He called her and she came to me first, but my hands were full so I told her to go to him. I thought this was strange. She went over to him, and plopped the missing package of hotdogs into his hand. They were mostly intact, with a little puncture from a canine when she was holding it. Our house is still cold enough (lack of central heat/air comes in handy) that they're fine.
I'll be making dog treats with them this afternoon. I guess I should have asked her to find them when I first noticed they were lost. Boy Mill'E-Max is sure a handy dog to have around! :)
WAGS!

There's a first time for everything!

Today I got my first tattoo. It was something I had planned for a very long time. It took a while to coordinate my schedule with that of my ASL interpreter and SSP. Finally! We found a date we could all live with. Then I went on the hunt for an artist. The first place I tried wouldn't accept relay calls from people who are deaf or hard of hearing, so that disqualified them. Eventually, I ended up choosing NOLA tattoo. I made a great choice!

I arrived around 12:30 and met my interpreter and another friend.
I handed the artist a rough sketch of what I wanted and he "made it pretty" while I sat and chatted with everyone. Then my interpreter read me the fifty-bazillion forms that I needed to sign which basically said that I don't have a blood clotting disorder and I am not on drugs or drunk and that I don't hold the tattoo company responsible should my leg fall off from the tattoo.

My tattoo artist was called Lad and he did a great job. He first traced the design on my leg and got it centered right. My interpreter and friends told me that it looked fabulous. After he got the design centered right, I handed Laveau off to my friends and I climbed up onto this padded table. The interpreter interpreted everything he said. He turned on the tattoo gun thing and started.

I was expecting it to be much more painful than it was. Everyone kept telling me how much it was going to hurt and other people kept expecting me to chicken out. It really didn't hurt bad at all. from 1 to 10, I'd say the pain was around a 2, sometimes a 2.5 or 3 if it was on the bone.
My tattoo took almost two hours. It was a lot of fun to lay there and chat with friends while he inked me up. My interpreter gave me regular progress reports on the status of the tattoo.
The design I chose was five paws walking up the side of my calf. In the center of each paw is a letter in braille. Each of the paws stands for each of my assistance dogs, and the first initial of each dog is inside each paw. I have a piiiiicture!
Sorry I don't know how to post it here but have a link to my
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After the tattoo was finished, he put soap on it and that burned like all hell. Then he stuck a bandage on it and gave me care instructions.
Then my friends and I left for Sushi, and in my case, beer.
It was a super awesome experience and now I am addicted and have begun plotting my next piece!
Laveau was really good during the whole thing. She watched every move of the artist, and when my tattoo was complete and I got off the table, she ran up to me and wrapped her front paws around my neck in a huge hug. Poor dog was worried.

In the Kitchen With Mill'E-Max and Me!

Life has been so crazy lately and for me, there is no better way to relax and decompress from the insanity than spending good quality time in the kitchen. Mill'E-Max is my canine kitchen helper. She assists with things such as throwing away trash, carrying things from the refrigerator to the table where I work, and picking up things that I drop. She makes the entire cooking experience go much more smoothly.
Yesterday and today were both long kitchen days. Yesterday I made chocolate peanut butter rice krispie treats and a huge salad. Today I made a crock pot lasagna and will make french bread to go with it.
I have an unusual kitchen situation in that I don't actually have a stove and oven. My house didn't come with one and I have not purchased one as yet. This requires much creativity on my part, but I don't mind as I enjoy finding different ways of doing things.
People have been asking me for the recipes of the lasagna and the rice krispie treats so I thought I'd post them to my blog. I'm different than most cooks in that I don't measure things very carefully. Well truth is, I don't own a single measuring cup. I'm very much a member of the "eye ball it and guess" school of cooking. I believe that in the kitchen that exactitude is over rated. I realize that the majority of folks don't do things this way so I've tried to give measurements for the recipes I post. I don't know how right they are, so if you make something and you feel like it needs a bit more of this, or not as much of the other, then by all means go with your gut! Taste liberally and don't be afraid to add your own unique touches to what you cook. I think of these recipes as more of a kind of guideline.
Exactitude is overrated!

Rox'E's Rice Krispie Treats
Ingredients:
4 cups mini marshmallows
10 oz dark chocolate chips
1/3 cup crunchy peanut butter
4-5 cups rice krispies
Method:

In microwave-safe bowl combine chocolate, marshmallows, and peanut butter. Mix well and cook on high for two minutes. Stop and stir, microwave for another minute if needed.
Dump rice krispies into bowl of chocolate mix and stir. Drop by spoonful on to wax paper and let sit to cool. You can also press into 9x13 pan, but I find that the wax paper thing works better because I can feel each cookie to make sure everything is mixed evenly.

Mama Mill'E-Max's Crock-pot Lasagna
Ok ok, Mill'E didn't cook this, but she helped out enough that I named it for her! and I did let her lick the spoon after everything was finished...

Ingredients:
1 lb italian sausage (I like the kind with lots of fennel!)
1-2 lbs ground beef
1 lb mozzarella cheese
1 small container ricotta cheese
1 large container small curd cottage cheese
1 onion
1 large or 2 small portobello mushrooms
1 package lasagna noodles) you need the kind that don't need to be boiled)
6 cups spaghetti sauce (either home made or store bought)

Method:
on the stove, or on a grill, cook the ground beef and sausage using seasonings of your choice. Drain and break up the meat.
Grate the mozzarella; reserving 1/3 of it in its own bowl.
In large bowl combine cottage cheese, ricotta and 2/3 of the grated mozzarella. Mix well.
Chop the onion and mushrooms and add them to the cheese mixture mixing well.

Add half of the spaghetti sauce to the meat and mix well.

Coat a 6.5 qt crock-pot with olive oil (I used basil infused olive oil)
Once pot is thoroughly oiled up, put down a layer of meat and sauce mix. Follow that with a layer of lasagna noodles. You may need to break the noodles to cover the entire area; this is fine to do. On top of the noodles, place a layer of the cheese and vegetable mix. Repeat the layering.
Once you do another layer of meat, pasta and cheese, use 1.5 cups of the reserved sauce, then do another layer of noodles. Use the remaining sauce to cover them. Then take the remaining 1/3 lb of mozzarella cheese and sprinkle on top.
Your crock-pot should be full but not over flowing. If you notice that you may have remaining mix, you can add that before doing the final layer of sauce and cheese.

Bake on high for 4-6 hours or on low for 7 hours.

We're having the lasagna with french bread brushed with basil infused olive oil and an herb mix of garlic, oregano, basil, chili, and red pepper as well as a light dusting of parmesan.
To go with it I made an iced tea which consists of a mix of green tea, lemon peal, peach leaves and melissa. It's very light and refreshing.

I am very satisfied with my morning's work, I even cleaned the kitchen so when it's time to make the bread everything is ready!
I wish I could cook like this every day!
Happy cooking, y'all!

Vengeance is mine, sayeth Laveau

My guide dog Laveau is a pound puppy. Even the best and most wonderful pound puppies come with their share of baggage. This is why I so desperately wanted to obtain my next dog from a reputable breeder-- it was my hope I could get a really great dog with very few issues.
But life didn't work out that way and I ended up with a funny black Doberman mix from the pound. She left her pound experience behind largely no worse for the wear, except for ... "The Food Thing®"
She must have been starving when they found her. She lived at the pound for five weeks and when I adopted her, you never would have known she was getting regular meals at the pound; she was so skinny.

For the first two months I had her it seemed she did nothing but eat. I let her eat as much as she wanted and once she figured out that yes, this raw chicken is actually food, she realized that the whole prey animal thing was a really fabulous idea!
She ate and ate and ate. I had to watch her like a hawk in the house because if it was food, she would eat it.
We worked on the concept of "Doggie Zen." This means that if you want something (like food) you must ignore it.
She became very good at ignoring food, and after a while I built up trust that she would behave herself.

But sometimes... Sometimes she backslides!

Yesterday I needed to run some errands. I decided to take Mill'E-Max since she hadn't gone out in a few days and I knew that Laveau would have a full work day on Sunday.
I've now worked with Laveau enough that I feel safe leaving her free in the house when I'm gone. Usually she will take all of my dirty clothes out to the front room, make a nest, and snuggle down in it to watch the door and wait for me to return home. I don't care if she does this-- she doesn't damage my clothes and hey, we all have our little idiosyncrasies, right?
Mister Pawpower and I harnessed up the dogs, leaving Laveau and Bristol home alone.
Now, Laveau may be very well trained, but I'm no fool. I usually close the kitchen door when I go, and yesterday was no exception.
I didn't know that at some point Laveau had taught herself to open the door...
Do you see where this is going? Do You?

I was gone for maybe 90 minutes. I return and unharness the dogs. I noticed that Laveau didn't make the usual pile of clothes by the door and wondered about it. Nothing looked out of place. Clothes were still in the hamper, kitchen door was shut, everything seemed the same as when I had left.
Until I found the empty bag of cheese Chex Mix on my pillow.
While I was gone, Laveau opened the kitchen door, took the half-eaten bag of Chex mix off the table, carried it out of the kitchen, shut the door, climbed up on my pillow on my bed and finished said bag of Chex mix. If she had only managed to throw the bag in the garbage, I never would have known and would have just assumed that my husband, Mr. Pawpower, ate the last of the snack food.
I know it wasn't Bristol who did this. Not because Bristol is perfect-- (well she's almost perfect) but because Bristol can't get up on our high bed.
This just goes to show, you can train and work, but dogs will be dogs, and they're always going to have an Achilles heel! Apparently Laveau's is Cheese Chex Mix!

Brissy Makes a break!

It was a beautiful day for a walk. I have had a cold for the last week or so and by now I also had a raging case of cabin fever. Mister Pawpower and I decided to walk to the near by coffee shop and then to hit the mini-mart on our way back home. I harnessed up Mill'E-Max and he walked with Rudy. We shut the door and headed out, enjoying the warmer temperatures and the Monday sunshine.
I noticed that Mill'E-Max was walking kind of hesitantly; she didn't want to get me too close to Mr. Pawpower and his dog. I just brushed it off as her being extra careful. We made it about two blocks before Mr. Pawpower, who was in the lead, came to an abrupt halt.
He had felt something brushing against his right leg ever since he had set off, but every time he reached his hand down to try and find the mystery object, there was nothing there. Until he tripped over it. Well, it wasn't an *it*, it was a she. A very old, white-faced, furry, bossy, crafty *she*.
Bristol decided that she was not going to stay home; sometime between when I left and when we shut the door, she snuck out and very carefully walked with us to the coffee shop. She stayed by Mr. Pawpower's right side, until something on the sidewalk caught her attention. She was so wrapped up in investigating that she forgot to pay attention to us, and Rudy, Mr. Pawpower's dog, stopped to point her out to him.
We debated on running her back to the house, but lox and bagels with strong tea were whispering to me and we were only a half block away.
We decided to just let her tag along. I waited outside on the patio with Brissy and Mill'E-Max while Mr. Pawpower and Rudy went inside for the afore-mentioned goodies. We all sat outside, enjoying the morning and feeling bad for Laveau who was the only one left at home.
After we finished our breakfast, we walked to the market and once again, I waited while the boys went inside to complete the shopping.
I think all in all, Bristol is very satisfied with herself. She may be getting old, but the brain appears to be working overtime.
Crafty dog! Gonna make me as gray as she is.

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
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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.

Randomness

This has been such a very sad and horrible weekend for so many. All over the news are descriptions of shooting and killing and anger. Yet in my world there has been contentment and peace and productivity. Watching everything that has gone on outside has made me so grateful for my, at the moment at least, quiet life.
I am praying for everyone-- for the victims of all the shootings and their families, for the shooters themselves. I wonder what can make someone so full of hate that they could take another's life.
Yesterday I spent the morning out in the sun, with Bristol on the grooming table and brushes in my hands. I spent time with her in the simple act of reconnecting and enjoyment of our shared bond. I had my "Goddess playlist" on my iPod and was at peace. At that same time, in Arizona, a gunman opened fire and killed a bunch of people; one of them only nine years old. A new life just begun, and ended in senseless violence.
The outside world seems so big and full of pain sometimes. Yet all is quiet at home.