Perfect After All

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

An Even Dozen

Today is Bristol's and my twelfth anniversary as a guide dog team. Ok, she's retired, but she is still my partner. I've been thinking quite a bit about everything we've done together, and it is really amazing that one little dog can have such a big impact on a person's life. I got Bristol six days after losing my first dog, Rhoda, to lymphoma at age 3 and a half. To be honest, when I first met her, I couldn't imagine myself ever meshing well with this goofy and very demonstrative little red dog. I was used to Rhoda's aloof mannerisms and high-drive nature.

Our first year together was mostly about me getting over the loss of Rhoda, and trying to figure out what, exactly was wrong with Bristol. If she wasn't having ear infections, her skin was infected. If she wasn't vomiting-- usually in public-- she was having diarrhea, thankfully always in the grass! It was scary and frustrating. Some how, in the midst of all of the sadness and fear for her health, I handed my total trust and my heart over to her, and we've never looked back since.
I couldn't even begin to describe all of the places we've gone together, the changes she has brought to my life, and the deep bond we share. So to take a leaf from two of my favorite bloggers, Brook and Jess, I give you....
Twelve Facts About Bristol:

1. She only weighed 37 lbs and was 16.5 inches tall when I got her from the guide dog program.
2. Bristol was supposed to be a breeder dog for said guide dog program, but thankfully didn't pass the tests for breeders!
3. Bristol's favorite treat is jelly beans. Because of her tendency toward yeast, she can't have many, but she had some today!
4. Bristol has ridden in a boat, a horse-drawn carriage, airplanes, trains, buses, and streetcars. But her favorite form of transportation remains the gulf carts at the airport.
5. Bristol loves to swim. She will swim for an hour or more if you let her.
6. Bristol has helped with the training of at least 5 other guide dogs.
7. Bristol used to go deer hunting with me, and when we shot one, she would try and drag the entire carcass back to the truck by the leg. Needless to say, that wasn't happening.

8. When I first introduced Bristol to raw meaty bones and organ meats, she hated them and went on a hunger strike. Now she eats them with gusto-- even the liver!
9. Bristol is largely deaf now and apparently her bark has changed since she can no longer hear herself barking. She now has a Deaf Accent!
10. Bristol's favorite game is tug of war, and she will win almost every time because she never gives up!.
11. Bristol gave me away at my wedding but my honeymoon cruise was the first time I ever left her behind; I took Mill'E-Max instead. I had to call my friend who was watching her when I made port in Jamaica just to make sure she was alright.
12. Whenever we get new dog gear, Bristol has to be the one to try it on first. She stacks herself and grunts at the person holding the new harness, leash, or vest until they put it on her and let her parade around wearing it. And of course all of the people have to mention, frequently and loudly, how beautiful they think she is wearing the new gear.


I honestly don't know if we'll make it to thirteen years. So today we will celebrate enough for a long time, and then live each day as if it were the only one we had.
Thank you Bristol, for everything. You are the very best!


He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds;
my other ears that hear above the winds.
He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea.

He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason
for being

by the way he rests against my leg;
by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile;
by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him.
(I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not
along to care for me.)

When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive.
When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile.
When I am happy, he is joy unbounded.

When I am a fool, he ignores it.
When I succeed, he brags.

Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful.

He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion.

With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace.
He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant.

His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and
unknown things.

He has promised to wait for me...whenever...wherever--
in case I need him.
And I expect I will--as I always have.

He is just my dog.
-- Gene Hill

The Difference Is Her

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

A Team of Three

This is a subject I've been interested in exploring on the blog for a while now. Heaven knows, many people are curious about it. Having multiple working assistance dogs at once-- why would anyone want to do such a thing? How does that work, and does it effect the "bond" with your dog if you have more than one? These are some of the questions I get asked pretty regularly.

I started off as a guide dog user with blindness being my only disability. For the first 4-5 years of my guide dog-using career, I only worked one dog at a time. I had a mild-moderate hearing loss and my guide dogs performed some very light sound alert work, but that was it. Around 2003, my hearing started to worsen, and after 2006 all bets were off. Not only am I Deafblind, but the inner ear disease which causes the deafness also causes some very severe balance and mobility issues. I also deal with chronic vertigo. This means that sometimes I literally cannot tell where the floor or the ceiling are. The vertigo effects my proprioception which is the body's ability to know where its parts are in relation to each other. Lets take feeding yourself as an example. People don't need to look in a mirror when they feed themselves because their body "knows" where their mouth is. Your hand has the fork, it lifts the food from the plate, and into the mouth. You don't need to look to know where your mouth is. My proprioceptive abilities vary from day to day. I've been in and out of intense physical therapy to try and improve these issues, but even at their best, they still have impact on my life.

All of that long and probably boring explanation serves as background to my need for two dogs. My dogs are now not only responsible for guiding me from point A to point B, but they need to serve as an aid to balance and mobility as well. Sometimes I cannot articulate direction at all. I try and avoid working my dog when I'm like this but the nature of my disease is that it fluctuates. I can be feeling just great, and the next moment be unable to stand independently. I usually have very little warning. When this happens, I need my dog to make decisions about where to go, to find me a place to sit so I can take meds, and to ignore me because when I try to give cues usually I'm pointing in the completely wrong direction from where I want to go. This doesn't even begin to cover the work my dogs do in the home. This includes alerting to sounds, retrieving dropped objects, bring objects from me to someone/somewhere else, loading and unloading bags/baskets/the dryer, and providing balance assistance or rescue work. There have been times when I've gone out into my own back yard to hang laundry and have then experienced a vertigo attack which leaves me unable to find my way back in the house. It is then necessary for one of my dogs to come find me, and lead me back inside. That is a lot of work for just one dog.

I live a very active life. I have work, community activities, my own home business to help run, and the regular life errands we all must do. This does not even take into account a social life. I like to stay as active as I can. Dogs who work for a person with multiple disabilities tend to burn out more quickly than a dog who has a less stressful job. If I had just one dog, she would be "on call" from the moment I got up in the morning, all day long, until I went to bed. Any time there was a sound, or if I dropped something, or needed assistance, she would have to come running. It wouldn't matter if she had just spent twelve hours out of the home with me, guiding and helping me stand upright. I don't think that's altogether fair to the dog. If I were more sedentary, it might be different, but I'm not.

I have an "inside dog" and an "outside dog." They each know the other's skill set to some degree. Although Laveau has a great deal of catching up to get to Mill'E-Max's level of "inside work." But in all fairness, Mill'E-Max has had more years to perfect it. Laveau does the guiding, balance/mobility and hearing work when outside. She accompanies me to work, and to other places in the community. She loves her job and is very good at it. But when we are done for the day, and the harness comes off, She is off for the night. She can play with the tennis ball, or with the other dogs, and just be "a regular dog." Mill'E-Max takes over inside. She goes into the kitchen with me when I cook, helps retrieve things or bring things to the table. She goes into the herb room with me when I'm making products and does the same. She does play with the other dogs and has fun, but the difference is that if I need her, she stops and comes to help me with whatever I need and then goes back to doing whatever she was doing. She loves her job. When I come in the door with Laveau, she is there to greet us, ready for her turn to work.

Occasionally I will take Mill'E-Max out and let her guide. This is because Laveau has some separation anxiety issues, and we are slowly teaching her that it is ok to be left home alone. I want to continue to work on her "being left alone" skills, so once a week or so, I take a trip with Mill'E-Max and leave Laveau at home. It is important to do because eventually (like in eighty years) Laveau will have to retire, and will need to be comfortable with being left alone at home.

As for "the bond" I don't feel any less bonded to Mill'E-Max who has always worked in tandem with another dog, than I did to Rhoda, my first dog who was my only dog for the entire time I had her. The bonds are different because I am a different person now, as compared to when I had Rhoda. Also, Rhoda was my first dog, and the relationship with your first dog is usually different because they were "the first" and you did a bunch of "firsts" together. I don't think the human heart has a finite capacity for bonding. Just because you work two dogs at once doesn't mean that your love for them is less because you are "splitting" the bond. We can love, and be bonded to, many different beings, for many different reasons, and in many different ways. Bristol and Gracy worked together in the way Mill'E-Max and Laveau work together now, and I never felt it harmed them in any way. In fact, I felt like it benefited them because it allowed them to share the responsibilities of helping me, and it gave them another dog friend.

Laveau, Mill'E-Max and I have a three-way bond. I love each of them and have a relationship with each of them, but they also love each other and have their own very special relationship.

It may not be "the norm" but it works for us, and as long as everyone is happy at the end of the day, that's what counts!

For the Fab Four

I wrote this on January 7, 2008. This marked my tenth anniversary of being matched with my first guide dog, Rhoda. At the time this post was originally written, I was working Gracy, a border collie mix who has since retired and who is living with a friend across town, although she still visits frequently.
January 7, 2008
"And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and
crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them."

Isaiah 42:16-- (KJV)

Ten years ago, January 7th 1998 was a day that changed my life forever. I was at the campus of Guide dogs for the blind in San Rafael California. Around 2 in the afternoon I was introduced to someone who would have one of the biggest impacts on me and on my future.

"The trainer told me that I'd be receiving a female yellow Labrador retriever, her name is Rhoda."

Rhoda, I thought. It sounds like the name of a Jewish house-wife with a fondness for pink furry bathrobes and big hair curlers.

No, not so much. She was wild. If I knew then, what I know now, I wouldn't have taken it nearly so personally that my guide was a complete spaz.
She was the bad dog of the class. All of those people who have been to a guide dog school know what I mean. She wouldn't lay still in lecture, she wouldn't heel by my side. At meals she was constantly diving for food, crawling around under the table and generally causing massive disturbance where ever she went.

Her guide work was horrible; she ran me into a parking meter on one of our first trips. This was hardly a dog to inspire my confidence.

Time passed, we went home. She broke away from me, ran across the road and treed a squirrel our first week home together.

She ate plants in the clothing store where I shopped. She peed at Catholic Mass.
I really tried everything the guide dog school told me to do and after a while things started to jell.

I lost my hearing for the first time. I was diagnosed with a brain tumor and was so ill from the medication to treat it.
She was there through everything. She was diagnosed with lymphoma when she was 3 and a half and died a year and a half almost to the day that we came home from guide dog school.

I wanted to die too; she had been my best friend through so much and after those first few turbulent months she turned into an amazing dog.

The last thing I asked of her before I set her free was to find me another dog. "Please find me a dog who will help me, who will lead me and love me and who will be patient with me because my heart is broken and I surely won't love them right away."

Six days later I met Bristol. She may have had her health problems but her guide work was flawless from the beginning. She loved me when I didn't love her; even when I didn't love myself.

She worked from July of 1999 until August of 2003 when degenerative joint disease shortened her working career.

Gracy and Mill'E were next each teaching me so much; each adding their own personalities to our work together.
They learned by watching Bristol. Sometimes I would come around a corner, and find the three, all laying or sitting in a circle. I can imagine Bristol giving lectures on appropriate public access behavior or the way you indicate a curb with the most amount of style and finesse.
All of them have changed me. Rhoda's illness and subsequent death, Bristol's chronic health struggles have both set me on the path to becoming a herbalist. The fallout after Mill'E's multiple dog attacks and Gracy's emo-border collie idiosyncratic way of learning forced me to adopt another way of training all together.

Rhoda taught me how to laugh, at myself, and at her. Bristol taught me what it means to truly break down all of the barriers in my heart and put complete trust in someone outside myself. Gracy has taught me, and continues to teach me patience, that and to put my shoes up on the dresser if I want to find them in the morning. Mill'E has taught me how to teach in a positive way and to lighten up, for crying out loud.

I would not be the same without them, and hope that I will never have to walk the path of life alone without a dog.

Ten years have come and gone so fast. I am excited to know what lessons and adventures the next ten will bring.

"And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.
Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, "he who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who
ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet."
But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades
of grass;
And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible."

Taken from The Prophet
By Kahlil Gibran