Trust Your Dog
Sep. 28th, 2024 10:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muchtooarrogantLJI Week 10.5 Write Off: Trust Your Dog
I graduated from high school in 1988, and started taking college classes that very first summer after receiving my diploma. Today, more than thirty-five years later, I'm not really sure what all the rush was about, but there I was, learning how to live alone and travel independently.
Before I moved out, my dad had somewhat tentatively suggested that I could continue living at home and attend classes at the local branch of our community college at night, but that didn't at all mesh with the grand adventure I had mentally created for myself.
"How would I get back and forth?" I asked him. Our small town didn't have public transit.
"I could drive you," he offered.
"I'll be taking a full course load," I informed him, "and I'll be traveling back and forth between college and wherever I live a lot."
I gotta give my dad credit, once he saw that I was determined to move out on my own, he was committed to the project, and helped me find a relatively inexpensive apartment close to a bus route that would get me where I needed to go. I didn't understand then of course, but now, with two kids of my own, I'm amazed at his ability to so easily release me to my own life adventure. Of course, he had raised three kids before me, the eldest of whom was also blind, so that undoubtedly helped.
Up to that point, I would've classified myself as a pretty good traveler. (Traveler in this case referring to walking about on foot.) Okay, who am I kidding, I would've classified myself as a superb traveler! In defense of my own arrogance though, I had gone through some pretty intense training in cane use and travel techniques throughout my middle and high school years. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, my last O&M instructor would occasionally set up a two hour block of time—one class period plus my lunch hour—drive me into an urban area, give me some very limited information about where I was, and then challenge me to travel to a particular destination. Remember, this was the 1980's, so no phones or GPS, kids. Sometimes it was simple, "Go straight this many streets, turn right, travel this many streets and turn left …" but other times it involved the phrase of doom, "Solicit Aid."
What was soliciting aid? Asking someone for directions. The methodology back then—I have no idea what it is today—went something like, "There are times when you're going to be lost or disoriented. When that happens, it's important that you have the confidence to locate an individual, ask for directions, and put those instructions into practice."
The first three years after moving into my apartment were spent honing my travel techniques, and learning some very valuable life lessons. For example:
More importantly though, I had the opportunity to interact with other blind people, and some of them used dog guides. (A lot of people more commonly use the term "guide dogs," but Guide Dogs for the Blind is the name of just one school. Dog guide is the correct term when referring to all dogs that are guides.) When I traveled with a cane, no matter how familiar the environment may have been (see the third bullet above), I was always quite literally feeling my way with every step. With a dog guide, the dog would be in a harness, and I would be holding on to the rear part of the handle connected to that harness.
Observing my friends, I learned that The dog walked in front of them, and was trained to watch the ground and stop for steps leading up or down. It would lead them around obstacles, including crowds of people, and would usually stop if they were about to run into something like low hanging branches. (Paying attention to stuff above their heads was really tough for the dogs though.) They could stand in lines without constantly tapping the person's leg in front of them as cane users tended to do, and could even have the dog follow a specific person, always assuming they could find a sighted person they were willing to trust.
But for me, the real selling point was the speed at which they were able to travel. It totally blew walking with a cane out of the water, and anyway, I loved dogs! So, in the summer of 1991, I traveled to the Seeing Eye, although not by foot this time, to obtain my first dog guide.
Obviously, I knew that working with a dog guide would be different, but for someone who had traveled independently throughout their entire life, learning to place my trust in a canine companion was very disconcerting. During the three weeks of training, one of the most commonly repeated phrases from my trainer was, "Trust your dog!" At the time, I didn't know that the expression was frequently used in the context of search and rescue dogs, but given what dog guides can do, it makes sense. In this context, trusting your dog meant if they stopped, you stopped. If you were crossing a street and the dog turned into your legs and pushed you back, you should step back, and preferably in a snappy manner too.
Of course, the dog wasn't always right. Sometimes it could be distracted by another dog, a person, the proximity of food, or unexpected wildlife like squirrels. Before any of us arrived at the Seeing Eye, the most important person in our dog's life had been their trainer. Once we were introduced to them a few days into training, they became our responsibility, but the dog didn't know that. Oh, they liked us well enough, but they weren't bonded to us yet. And so, whenever we were sitting in a room for the first week or so and a trainer walked through, all the dogs they had trained would stand up, and the trainer would announce, "Your dog's distracted." At that point, we would be expected to have them lie down again. Yeah sure, good luck with that.
The daily training routine was that around six of us would go out in a van with our trainer twice a day to walk a route. We would drive to the beginning of the route, and the trainer would watch two of us walk the route with our dogs while the other four stayed in the van. Then, the next two would walk the route, and so on. After the first week or so, the routine changed. Suddenly, people with dogs started running by us while we were walking the route. Other times, a roving car would pull in front of us while we were attempting to cross an intersection. The stakes were suddenly higher, and as handlers we needed to know whether our guide was distracted or warning us about something.
In my naivety, I had mapped out all the benefits of working with a dog, but hadn't considered any of the complications. Yes, they definitely made traveling much easier, but you had to stay on the lookout to be sure they weren't distracted. Ideally, they should be taken outside on a schedule several times a day to use the bathroom on leash, and you were expected to bag their waste. This was not only the right thing to do, but would also let you know whether the dog was sick. Because they were service animals, they should be allowed to enter public places and accompany you on public transportation, but some people would inevitably object to that, and we were trained in how to respond and given a small booklet of laws in each of the fifty states.
If it sounds like it was a lot to absorb, it was. Still, when I returned home after the three weeks of training were up, I was excited to begin my new life with my very first Seeing Eye dog, Mac. I was confident that I had learned what I needed to know to be an expert dog guide handler, and as I worked with Mac over the next few years and we developed our relationship, that confidence grew.
As for challenges and unexpected surprises, yeah we had those too. Occasionally, I would call a taxi because I didn't want to bother with taking the bus, would walk out once the taxi arrived, only to have the driver spot me, realize I was their fare, and drive off after they saw that I had a dog. My family had to adjust to me having Mac as well. One afternoon, I was hanging out at my Aunt Catherine's house, sitting on the couch with Mac at my feet. My cousin Jonny came in, spotted me, walked over and grabbed me by the shoulder to say "Hi!" Mac, who was normally quite calm and expert at ignoring other people around me, stood up and growled. I think poor Jonny almost had an accident in his pants.
One day at college, I was walking out of my last class and realized that I had a decision to make. There were two different buses I could take to get home; the first option was a bus that came by about once an hour and would drop me off about two blocks from where I lived. The second option was a bus that came by every fifteen minutes and would drop me off about half a mile from where I lived. I normally took the hourly bus because it made the walk home very simple, but I was tired, it was hot, and I damned well didn't want to wait that long for a bus.
As it turned out, Mac and I only had to wait a few minutes for the bus I had chosen, and had a very pleasant ride to our stop. I hadn't ever walked this way home before, but knew what street I needed to take, and wasn't worried. One annoyance was that the street I'd be walking along for the majority of the route didn't have a sidewalk, but with a little investigation I discovered that there were several businesses on the street with sidewalks in front of them, and so decided to follow the building line for as long as I could, and return to the side of the street once the sidewalk ended.
My plan decided on, I was strolling briskly down the sidewalk I had found when Mac suddenly came to an abrupt stop. I urged him to continue forward, since it seemed like the building hadn't ended, but his feet remained planted firmly in place. Did I mention that it was hot, and I was anxious to get home? I gave the "Forward" command again, this time gesturing with my hand to give the command extra "Umph!" Nothing.
It was then that I committed the cardinal sin of dog guide handlers. I dropped the harness handle, kept the leash wrapped around my wrist, and stepped in front of Mac. I immediately plunged about six feet to the ground. Fortunately, I landed on my feet, didn't twist or break my ankle, and also didn't pull poor Mac over the edge with me. I stood there stunned for a few seconds, and then turned to face Mac. He was still standing on the sidewalk above me, but lowered his head and sniff my hair as though to say, "I told you to stop."
The next thing I heard was my Seeing Eye trainer's voice, as though she was standing there right next to Mac. "Trust your dog!"
I did finally make it home that day, somewhat shaken and well stirred, but none the worse for my adventure. I would continue to investigate new routes, and did eventually find a safer alternative I could use, but was considerably more cautious while traveling. Mac was an excellent guide and amazing companion, and my only regret is that my time with him was so short. I worked with him until he was six years old, and then lost him to kidney failure. We had so many incredible adventures together, and he taught me valuable lessons I'll never forget.
Author's Note
When I told my wife, Lizbeth, what I'd be writing about for the tiebreaker, her comment was, "Oh, that's BS!"
"What do you mean?" I asked, very shocked.
"Before Sweetie," she answered, and began to laugh.
Yes, tis true, the adventure you've just finished reading all happened before I met her. BS indeed!
Dan
I graduated from high school in 1988, and started taking college classes that very first summer after receiving my diploma. Today, more than thirty-five years later, I'm not really sure what all the rush was about, but there I was, learning how to live alone and travel independently.
Before I moved out, my dad had somewhat tentatively suggested that I could continue living at home and attend classes at the local branch of our community college at night, but that didn't at all mesh with the grand adventure I had mentally created for myself.
"How would I get back and forth?" I asked him. Our small town didn't have public transit.
"I could drive you," he offered.
"I'll be taking a full course load," I informed him, "and I'll be traveling back and forth between college and wherever I live a lot."
I gotta give my dad credit, once he saw that I was determined to move out on my own, he was committed to the project, and helped me find a relatively inexpensive apartment close to a bus route that would get me where I needed to go. I didn't understand then of course, but now, with two kids of my own, I'm amazed at his ability to so easily release me to my own life adventure. Of course, he had raised three kids before me, the eldest of whom was also blind, so that undoubtedly helped.
Up to that point, I would've classified myself as a pretty good traveler. (Traveler in this case referring to walking about on foot.) Okay, who am I kidding, I would've classified myself as a superb traveler! In defense of my own arrogance though, I had gone through some pretty intense training in cane use and travel techniques throughout my middle and high school years. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, my last O&M instructor would occasionally set up a two hour block of time—one class period plus my lunch hour—drive me into an urban area, give me some very limited information about where I was, and then challenge me to travel to a particular destination. Remember, this was the 1980's, so no phones or GPS, kids. Sometimes it was simple, "Go straight this many streets, turn right, travel this many streets and turn left …" but other times it involved the phrase of doom, "Solicit Aid."
What was soliciting aid? Asking someone for directions. The methodology back then—I have no idea what it is today—went something like, "There are times when you're going to be lost or disoriented. When that happens, it's important that you have the confidence to locate an individual, ask for directions, and put those instructions into practice."
The first three years after moving into my apartment were spent honing my travel techniques, and learning some very valuable life lessons. For example:
- When you've ventured out to the apartment complex laundromat carrying a basket full of clothes, and subsequently hear a group of people traveling towards you down the sidewalk, do not politely step aside to let them pass without first checking what you're stepping into. Doing so could very easily result in a twisted ankle and even dirtier laundry than you started with.
- Folding canes are very convenient, but occasionally the internal elastic cord holding the pieces together wears out, leaving you with a handle connected to nothing. Carry a spare!
- Never become overconfident in your knowledge of the environment you're traveling through! Sighted people will scatter the most insane and unexpected shit in your path to trip you up.
More importantly though, I had the opportunity to interact with other blind people, and some of them used dog guides. (A lot of people more commonly use the term "guide dogs," but Guide Dogs for the Blind is the name of just one school. Dog guide is the correct term when referring to all dogs that are guides.) When I traveled with a cane, no matter how familiar the environment may have been (see the third bullet above), I was always quite literally feeling my way with every step. With a dog guide, the dog would be in a harness, and I would be holding on to the rear part of the handle connected to that harness.
Observing my friends, I learned that The dog walked in front of them, and was trained to watch the ground and stop for steps leading up or down. It would lead them around obstacles, including crowds of people, and would usually stop if they were about to run into something like low hanging branches. (Paying attention to stuff above their heads was really tough for the dogs though.) They could stand in lines without constantly tapping the person's leg in front of them as cane users tended to do, and could even have the dog follow a specific person, always assuming they could find a sighted person they were willing to trust.
But for me, the real selling point was the speed at which they were able to travel. It totally blew walking with a cane out of the water, and anyway, I loved dogs! So, in the summer of 1991, I traveled to the Seeing Eye, although not by foot this time, to obtain my first dog guide.
Obviously, I knew that working with a dog guide would be different, but for someone who had traveled independently throughout their entire life, learning to place my trust in a canine companion was very disconcerting. During the three weeks of training, one of the most commonly repeated phrases from my trainer was, "Trust your dog!" At the time, I didn't know that the expression was frequently used in the context of search and rescue dogs, but given what dog guides can do, it makes sense. In this context, trusting your dog meant if they stopped, you stopped. If you were crossing a street and the dog turned into your legs and pushed you back, you should step back, and preferably in a snappy manner too.
Of course, the dog wasn't always right. Sometimes it could be distracted by another dog, a person, the proximity of food, or unexpected wildlife like squirrels. Before any of us arrived at the Seeing Eye, the most important person in our dog's life had been their trainer. Once we were introduced to them a few days into training, they became our responsibility, but the dog didn't know that. Oh, they liked us well enough, but they weren't bonded to us yet. And so, whenever we were sitting in a room for the first week or so and a trainer walked through, all the dogs they had trained would stand up, and the trainer would announce, "Your dog's distracted." At that point, we would be expected to have them lie down again. Yeah sure, good luck with that.
The daily training routine was that around six of us would go out in a van with our trainer twice a day to walk a route. We would drive to the beginning of the route, and the trainer would watch two of us walk the route with our dogs while the other four stayed in the van. Then, the next two would walk the route, and so on. After the first week or so, the routine changed. Suddenly, people with dogs started running by us while we were walking the route. Other times, a roving car would pull in front of us while we were attempting to cross an intersection. The stakes were suddenly higher, and as handlers we needed to know whether our guide was distracted or warning us about something.
In my naivety, I had mapped out all the benefits of working with a dog, but hadn't considered any of the complications. Yes, they definitely made traveling much easier, but you had to stay on the lookout to be sure they weren't distracted. Ideally, they should be taken outside on a schedule several times a day to use the bathroom on leash, and you were expected to bag their waste. This was not only the right thing to do, but would also let you know whether the dog was sick. Because they were service animals, they should be allowed to enter public places and accompany you on public transportation, but some people would inevitably object to that, and we were trained in how to respond and given a small booklet of laws in each of the fifty states.
If it sounds like it was a lot to absorb, it was. Still, when I returned home after the three weeks of training were up, I was excited to begin my new life with my very first Seeing Eye dog, Mac. I was confident that I had learned what I needed to know to be an expert dog guide handler, and as I worked with Mac over the next few years and we developed our relationship, that confidence grew.
As for challenges and unexpected surprises, yeah we had those too. Occasionally, I would call a taxi because I didn't want to bother with taking the bus, would walk out once the taxi arrived, only to have the driver spot me, realize I was their fare, and drive off after they saw that I had a dog. My family had to adjust to me having Mac as well. One afternoon, I was hanging out at my Aunt Catherine's house, sitting on the couch with Mac at my feet. My cousin Jonny came in, spotted me, walked over and grabbed me by the shoulder to say "Hi!" Mac, who was normally quite calm and expert at ignoring other people around me, stood up and growled. I think poor Jonny almost had an accident in his pants.
One day at college, I was walking out of my last class and realized that I had a decision to make. There were two different buses I could take to get home; the first option was a bus that came by about once an hour and would drop me off about two blocks from where I lived. The second option was a bus that came by every fifteen minutes and would drop me off about half a mile from where I lived. I normally took the hourly bus because it made the walk home very simple, but I was tired, it was hot, and I damned well didn't want to wait that long for a bus.
As it turned out, Mac and I only had to wait a few minutes for the bus I had chosen, and had a very pleasant ride to our stop. I hadn't ever walked this way home before, but knew what street I needed to take, and wasn't worried. One annoyance was that the street I'd be walking along for the majority of the route didn't have a sidewalk, but with a little investigation I discovered that there were several businesses on the street with sidewalks in front of them, and so decided to follow the building line for as long as I could, and return to the side of the street once the sidewalk ended.
My plan decided on, I was strolling briskly down the sidewalk I had found when Mac suddenly came to an abrupt stop. I urged him to continue forward, since it seemed like the building hadn't ended, but his feet remained planted firmly in place. Did I mention that it was hot, and I was anxious to get home? I gave the "Forward" command again, this time gesturing with my hand to give the command extra "Umph!" Nothing.
It was then that I committed the cardinal sin of dog guide handlers. I dropped the harness handle, kept the leash wrapped around my wrist, and stepped in front of Mac. I immediately plunged about six feet to the ground. Fortunately, I landed on my feet, didn't twist or break my ankle, and also didn't pull poor Mac over the edge with me. I stood there stunned for a few seconds, and then turned to face Mac. He was still standing on the sidewalk above me, but lowered his head and sniff my hair as though to say, "I told you to stop."
The next thing I heard was my Seeing Eye trainer's voice, as though she was standing there right next to Mac. "Trust your dog!"
I did finally make it home that day, somewhat shaken and well stirred, but none the worse for my adventure. I would continue to investigate new routes, and did eventually find a safer alternative I could use, but was considerably more cautious while traveling. Mac was an excellent guide and amazing companion, and my only regret is that my time with him was so short. I worked with him until he was six years old, and then lost him to kidney failure. We had so many incredible adventures together, and he taught me valuable lessons I'll never forget.
Author's Note
When I told my wife, Lizbeth, what I'd be writing about for the tiebreaker, her comment was, "Oh, that's BS!"
"What do you mean?" I asked, very shocked.
"Before Sweetie," she answered, and began to laugh.
Yes, tis true, the adventure you've just finished reading all happened before I met her. BS indeed!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 12:44 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 08:57 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading, and I'm glad you enjoyed my story.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 09:01 pm (UTC)Yes, Mac was a very good boy! :)
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 09:01 pm (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-29 11:50 pm (UTC)I like that Lizbeth marks your timeline as before and after you met her. It seems quite fitting!
no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 01:04 pm (UTC)LOL Yeah, Lizbeth was very proud of her BS comment.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 08:53 pm (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 05:46 pm (UTC)I actually used to know a lot of blind and low vision people during my time with the CNIB. One woman I met there told me about her training on the subway, and that her instructor would intentionally try to distract her and get her to forget what stop she was at (this was long before station announcements were a thing).
One of the friends I made there fosters puppies for the first year -- she has a little album of each one and where they ended up (though several of them didn't make the cut and got kicked out of dog school).
no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 09:06 pm (UTC)Seeing Eye's close to New York, and we did some subway work too, but my trainer never pulled that trick. LOL I think she sorta figured New York would probably be enough of a challenge for a Texas kid.
Puppy raisers are awesome people, but I've never understood how they can manage the heart-wrenching part of giving the puppies up again, and again, and ... It was really hard for me just convincing myself to go back for a replacement dog after my first guide passed, and after the second guide was even more difficult.
My understanding is that even the dogs that flunk out of guide school are very popular, and that there are long waiting lists just for the opportunity to adopt them.
Could I ask a favor? If you enjoyed my story, would you consider voting for it at this link: Idol Voting.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Dan
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Date: 2024-09-30 05:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-09-30 09:08 pm (UTC)Dan
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Date: 2024-10-01 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-10-01 08:55 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading and leaving such a kind comment.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-10-01 08:28 pm (UTC)I enjoyed learning about the process of finding your dog guide.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-01 09:00 pm (UTC)Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed reading this and appreciate your comment.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-10-01 08:57 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you shared this as your tie-breaker! 👏👏👏
no subject
Date: 2024-10-01 09:03 pm (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2024-10-04 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-10-04 02:42 pm (UTC)Dan