Of Puppies and Prisons

Yes, it has been almost 2 months since I last wrote a post. Shameful. But there was quite a bit going on dog-wise in my life, even as Winter refused to let go its grey, icy grip and let Spring soften the land.

In early March there was Graduation Day at St Francis Service Dogs where 13 dogs were matched. Well over half were matched with children and youth: several with autism, one with Downe's, one a facility dog at a school for children with autism, one a seizure alert dog for a college student, a teenager with CP, one a child with severe and chronic medical problems who actually had PTSD and the dog calms her fears. One a judge with MS where the dog goes to court every day; another went to a lady Episcopalian pastor. Several of the people, or the parents of children, spoke about how their lives have been transformed with a service dog. Needless to say, I ran out of Kleenex about halfway through!

Piper is doing well, but he has some energy and does need exercise, so I hope that works out for who he is matched with (assuming he gets matched). One year old this Sunday, Piper is a big beautiful Lab teen now. However I will not be there to celebrate Piper's birthday with him. We have had a puppy swap, or puppy camp as it is sometimes called. Piper is at the kennels at St Francis Service Dogs over the weekend and from there he goes to Bland medium security prison to spend about 2.5 weeks with one of their advanced inmate-trainers.

On my end, I have Skyler, an endearing black female Lab from the puppy prison program at Bland. She is about 13 months old and her hormones are going berserk-o right now. From mid-February thru March she was in heat, then the day I got her, she was found to be having a false pregnancy, as evidenced by her swollen nipples. Wrangell, my handsome yellow male therapy dog of 9 years, is entranced with Skyler. He basically told me, "I have a great idea. Let's keep her for good and Piper can stay wherever he went. Deal?" The old gentleman tried mounting her a few times, but Skyler had that one figured out. She simply sat down...and that was that. Smart girl!

Since Skyler was raised in the prison system, there are many things that are unfamiliar for her. Like loading into a car. Because prisoners can't drive, of course. Once I got her to put her front paws up, and then tried to help her from the back, she resisted and dropped to the ground. Eventually, she got the idea and settled in her car crate nicely. I find myself trying to imagine what must be going thru her head as she takes in my world, which is so different from her world in the prison.

Yesterday we went to Gretna Health and Rehab where my plan was just to sit in the lobby a few minutes and watch the comings and goings of visitors and patients, letting Skyler take it all in. She was quite excited but not the way some dogs exhibit excitement with panting and pulling and general restlessness. Instead she sat quite still, with her head straight up, brows and ears up, neck tense, swiveling her head, watching all the people, wheelchairs and canes, with great intensity. Once she got used to the lobby, I decided to take her to the first nurses' station, where the plan was to turn around and head for the exit. Well, we got cornered by dog-loving staff and residents within seconds. Skyler circled away from outstretched hands and stationed herself between my legs and the wall, where she peeked out, as if to say, "Not now, thanks." I explained to her admirers that this was her first time here and she wasn't ready for petting. They were understanding. Total time in the facility was about 15 minutes and it was a good session for her.

She loves the fun walks with my two dogs. She is a sniffer so her nose naturally spends a lot of time on the ground exploring. I can imagine the smells in rural Virginia fields, woods and country roads must be very different than those within a prison compound. So she is having an olfactory fiesta.

My therapy dog group is really growing. We are now involved in visiting 8 nursing/rehab/assisted living homes, 3 libraries, a school for children with autism, a day facility for mentally handicapped, and starting this month, a regional hospital. As the acting liaison between the therapy dog teams and the facilities this is all very exciting and challenging for me. There are a wide range of needs and a wide range of dogs (about 15 teams) to meet those needs. Trying to keep abreast of who goes where and when keeps me on my toes!

I hope this helps explain why I've been a delinquent blogger. 

Dorian on Youtube

The three month probationary period is up and I am now free to try to contact guide dog Dorian's new furever partner, Carlene. In preparation for this I have been fashioning a video of Dorian's early life with me the puppy raiser, a span of time which lasted exactly one year. One year that went by too too quickly!

Every time one of my pups is matched, I try to give their new partner a CD video, in a slide show format set to music. Also I give them a little story book of their dog as a puppy. What with all the weather days, I have had more time to spend on Dorian's video than normal. And, for the first time ever, I have put something on Youtube (with Sam's help of course).

Here is the link to Dorian's Early Life as a Southeastern Guide Dog in Training:

http://youtu.be/lBgPzLuFzS0

Hope you enjoy it.

Farewell Marcella and Max

Marcella and Max were a team. Marcella was a strikingly tall, slender black lady, Max a gentlemanly, long-legged blue standard poodle. They appeared made to order for each other. Marcella made it clear that Max's coat was blue. In his early years Max had been black, then turned to a gun metal shade of grey, in poodle circles known as "blue".

They were a team, yet last weekend, family and friends were shocked to discover Marcella and Max had perished in a house fire. Together. I imagine if Max had been given the opportunity to escape, he would have chosen to stay to the end with Marcella.

Two and a half years ago, someone gave me Marcella's number. "She heads up a therapy dog group that visits nursing homes around Danville on Tuesday mornings. Maybe you could take Emmy on an outing with them." Emmy was my Southeastern guide pup in training and almost one year old. As a puppy raiser, I was always looking around for interesting, educational places to work her. A nursing home and some exposures with other dogs might be a good thing.

So I gave Marcella a call. After introducing myself, giving a little background, we launched into a dialogue sharing and swapping favorite dog stories for almost an hour. It was quite delightful. Although not face to face, I felt relaxed and at ease with her. She told me I was most welcome to join the group at next week's visit, and I did.

So began my adventure into the world of therapy dogs. Within a year I had registered as a therapy dog team with my career-changed yellow Lab, Wrangell. As the official Tester/Observer for Therapy Dogs Inc, Marcella and Max were the ones to put us through our paces. Observing us on three different occasions, Marcella signed off our paperwork, and with congratulations, passed us as a team. I was so proud the day Wrangell wore his orange vest with patches stating "Therapy Dog" and "I'm Friendly - Please Pet Me" and his official TDInc tag. Wrangell took to therapy dog work with the same heart that he takes to a Wubba in water. He can intuitively handle people of all ages, shapes and sizes, temperaments and dispositions. Nothing phases him.

Emmy, CeCe and Dorian, my consecutive guide dogs in training, all fell under Marcella and Max's tutelage and guidance, as we winded our way down halls and carefully navigated our way under hands bent with age and voices dry as the wind. Marcella and I liked to take our time as we visited. We let the residents set the pace. When we entered the facilities, time slowed to another dimension.

I loved Marcella's ever-present chuckle-laugh and yet she had a strength. She had not merely traveled but actually lived in several foreign countries. As her father was an ambassador, she grew up in Africa. At present she spent her summers in Arizona, where she kept a horse and rode in the desert. You felt this lady had seen a lot, good and bad, yet loved life, her family and Max.

And so it was unsettling when, week by week, the group noticed her pace become slow and labored. She became unsteady and started using Max for support. When Marcella and I now walked the halls we didn't go as fast, or as far, but we still enjoyed ourselves, our dogs, the residents. Sometimes Marcella seemed confused, or overly forgetful. The group worried about her. She went to doctors who could not conclusively say what was the cause.

Sometimes Marcella would turn to me and say in a serious voice that I needed to become a TDInc. Tester/Observer. I would laugh her off, but somehow I knew she meant it, that she was handing it off to me. Last summer I finally applied and was accepted as T/O. I was thrilled. Around the same time Marcella went on vacation. When fall arrived the therapy dog group looked for the tall black lady with the tall blue poodle, but Marcella and Max never joined us again. I talked with her on the phone and her condition, she said with a laugh, was no better. "Those doctors only prescribe me aspirin. They haven't a clue."

Then last Saturday night, the news about Marcella and Max and the house fire. It is still under investigation. Her husband was on a trip and there was no one home with her except their two dogs. What happened that night may never come to light. I pray she and Max fell asleep, and the fire's fumes kept them under. More than a friend, Marcella was a mentor, a kindred spirit. Between us, running strong and true, was this common thread - our deep love of dogs.

The Head Halter: A Love/Hate Relationship

Piper in Hobby Lobby picking out dog bed material.

 Although I've raised puppies for guide dog organizations for several years, it wasn't until I switched to raising for St Francis Service Dogs that I started using the Gentle Leader, generically known as the head halter. To date I'd had plenty of experience walking dogs with flat collars, martingale-type collars, chain collars and Easy-Walk harnesses. Each one has its pros and cons. But the head halter was something new altogether.

 A dog's head halter reminds me of a horse hackamore. The hackamore is a type of training equipment often used to transition a young horse from halter to bridle. Briefly, it allows you to guide the horse not by a bit in his mouth, but by pulling reins attached to a noseband. The noseband exerts pressure on the horse's nose, chin and face.


 
For a dog the Gentle Leader works on a similar principle. The leash is attached to the nose loop, and when the dog pulls away from the handler, pressure on the dog's nose redirects his forward momentum, causing the dog to slow down or turn towards the handler instead. In that sense it makes walking a strong, active young dog much easier and less strenuous, which is great for the handler.

Piper at 4 months having lunch, wearing the Gentle Leader.

However from the first time Piper wore a Gentle Leader, at about 10 weeks old, he disliked it. He rubbed his head on the floor, on my legs and shoes, on the furniture, he tried to peel it off with his paws. Not being blessed with opposable thumbs, this was not possible. When I mentioned Piper's distaste for the halter, the trainer suggested I put the GL on whenever he was about to do something pleasant, like at mealtimes, chew time, fun walks, etc. This I religiously did but Piper wasn't buying into the Gentle Leader = Good association. You know the saying, "To call a spade a spade?" If Piper could talk he would have his own name for the Gentle Leader and I don't think he'd use either the word "Gentle" or "Leader". Maybe it's good dogs can't talk.

Piper at the Lynx train station, Charlotte, NC

Piper is nine months old now, and wears the Gentle Leader most times we work together. When it's first put on, what follows is intermittent head rubbing, snuffling and snorting along with some comments from the audience present such as, "Is that a muzzle?" and "Oh, has he been bad?" and "He really doesn't like that, does he?" You learn to gracefully shrug off these comments. Eventually Piper settles down in his GL and walks reasonably well. And the GL does give me great leash control. But somehow I can't help feeling it changes his personality. Piper seems a different dog with the GL on, not as happy and bright as he would be otherwise. However, Rules is Rules, and Piper, just like all the other service dogs in training at St Francis, must learn to use the Gentle Leader. It's a fact of life.





There is an important reason the school trains their dogs in the use of head halters. While a puppy raiser or a trainer can be capable of managing a young dog on a leash, when the dog is matched with a disabled person, loose-leash walking may start to fall apart. And dogs can quickly sense when to take advantage of a person. So their new partner needs to have tools to fall back on, one being that the dog can be easily walked on a Gentle Leader.

St Francis PR outing to downtown Roanoke.  Dogs L to R:  Newton, Shasta, Bijou (hidden), Lexi, Joli, Piper, Jeter.

This makes sense I suppose. It is encouraging when I notice Piper forgets he has the GL on for long stretches and life is good. Maybe it's my imagination, but these episodes seem on the increase. Head halter or no, Piper does LOVE working. Wearing his Gentle Leader may be a little daunting, but as one dog aficionado told me, "It's kinda like getting used to wearing a bra." Ha! Glad there's no leash attached to one of those!

Piper and I join a Southeastern Guide Dog outing to downtown Charlotte. Piper is seated between Patti (L) and Beverly (R). The guide dogs in training are wearing martingale collars.

  

Meeting Sam and Self-Control

Sam and young Piper last June

Sam and Piper in December

Piper is head-over-heels in puppy love. However, the object of his ardent affection and undying love is not some canine cutie, but my son, Sam. Sam has been a key player in Piper's young life since the little pup was seven weeks old. Together Sam and I have taken Piper on local expeditions and excursions, and he has witnessed Piper's growth through many awkward, laughable stages. Often at the house, Piper and Sam just hang together on the floor, Piper sprawled on his back, sparkling brown eyes fixed on Sam. When Sam is absent any length of time, Piper sits on the front porch with his head resting on a low rail and eyes dreamily fixed on the driveway, for all the world as if he's waiting for his special man to drive up.

Although Piper is my close partner and we have amazing times together, Sam is something special - the absolute light of his life. As Piper's raiser, handler and teacher, I don't see anything wrong with this. On the contrary, I think it is wonderful Piper can forge strong attachments with other people since close relationships are an important facet of a service dog's life. In fact, I am rather relieved. As a small puppy Piper tended to be rather aloof and independent and I used to worry about him giving people the cold shoulder.

Piper loves the cold and ice.

Not the problem anymore. More recently, when Sam's visited our house or we've visited the library, where Sam does IT work, Piper is beyond ecstatic - he is a whirling dervish of dog blissfulness. These meet and greet sessions used to be overwhelming, noisy and even painful. "Shush, Piper! You're in the library!" and "Oh, sorry, did Piper get you in the face again?" So, it came about that I turned Piper's infatuation into a training opportunity to teach my teenage dog the fine art of self-control.

One day when I heard Sam drive up, instead of letting Piper hurl himself at the back door, I quickly snapped on the leash. As Sam walked in, I positioned myself with Piper on the far side of the room and told Sam to stay by the door and wait quietly. With Piper weighing in at 65 pounds of solid muscle, our slick floors gave me a big advantage. He couldn't get a solid purchase to claw and haul himself over like a lassoed bull. Because I stayed rooted in one spot, Piper finally decided to pay attention and cooperate. Reaching Sam was his big reward.

The aim was for Piper to sit on a loose leash and check in with me, though it was fine if he watched Sam as well. When Piper was ready for permission, I'd softly say, "Piper, you want to Go Visit? Let's Go." We'd take a step or two forward. This is when Piper would try to launch himself again, at which point I would anchor myself again and we'd started the calming-down, checking-in-with-me process all over again. Whenever he completely ignored me, we'd play Monopoly:  Go Directly to Jail, Do Not Pass Go, meaning we'd retreat to the far corner and start all over. "Hmm," thought Piper, "that didn't work like I wanted."

To move forward, he had to exercise self-control by walking at my pace and not surging ahead. Reminding him with "Eee-asy" helped. In fits of starts and stops, we slowly advanced across the room toward the prize - Sam. Finally, finally he calmly reached Sam. I released him with a "Go Visit", and they had a glorious reunion, where Piper lifted his muzzle, laid back his ears and molded his body around Sam's legs. He let out a little groan of pleasure. It was too cute. I gave Sam and Piper a minute of howjadoo-time, then called Piper away with a treat and lots of praise. Over to the far side of the room we retreated and did the whole exercise again.

By the third repeat, Piper got it, loose-leash heeling nicely across the room with only minor stops and reminders to walk easy. Success! At the start of this exercise I had to exert quite a bit of control over Piper, but it progressively switched to Piper understanding he needed to control himself. The big payoff was after the third repeat Sam and Piper got a nice, long visit. Sweet!

Piper last Tuesday at Riverside nursing home. Starting to figure it out!

After doing this exercise with the ultimate challenge (Sam), Piper shows way more self-control when visiting strange or familiar people in all types of settings. I ask the person to stay put while I bring Piper calmly to them and he visits with my permission. Usually the greet is short and sweet, and Piper is called away with a treat and praise. Now Piper has clear-cut guidelines for greeting people, and he's not confused about what's expected of him. And I don't have a rowdy, possibly unsafe situation with a 65-pound teen dog dervish. Teaching high drive Piper self-control during the puppy/teen stage makes him a joy to be around:  for me, Sam and those future loves of his life.

Peter Piper....

A few of the Danville Therapy Dog group (Therapy Dogs Inc) dressed in their Christmas regalia. L to R:  Piper, Megan, Bonnie, Maggie and Bolt. Piper is not a registered therapy dog, he just tags along for outings.

As well as raising a puppy for St. Francis Service Dogs, I am also heavily involved in therapy dog work. It started about two years ago when I heard about a nearby therapy dog group that met on Tuesday mornings at nursing/assisted living homes for a hour. Each Tuesday of the month the group, consisting of between 6 and 10 therapy dog teams, went to a different facility. At that time I took my guide puppy, Emmy, and discovered that I enjoyed this work very much, besides its providing a great opportunity for my puppy to train around a variety of well-behaved, "working" dogs, including Irish Setters, dachshunds, Belgian sheepdogs and Pomeranians.

Since then I have taken each of my guide/service pups on therapy dog outings and find that some are natural-born therapy dogs - and some are not. My sweet, loveable guide pup, Emmy, enjoyed the excursions down rabbit-warren hallways and into rooms, but seemed to just be humoring me when it came to interacting with the residents. She would obediently sit, stiffly set her head in their lap in an obligatory fashion, then give me a sideways look as if to say, "Ok, I put my head here. She petted me. Now...can we go?"

In contrast, my over-the-top guide puppy, CeCe, who had such a difficult time with self-control when I took over her raising at the age of 9 months, turned out to be a natural at therapy dog work. Excited about everything, she seemed to intrinsically empathize with the nursing home and rehab residents resting in wheelchairs and beds. Her body would calm and her head sink with a sigh into their laps. Lifting her eyes to gaze up softly, she seemed to be saying "As long as you want me to stay, I will." What! My jaw dropped the first time I saw her do this. Dogs will amaze you.

Piper's "Good Meter" is in the green zone!

Since Piper was a little smidge he has been coming with me, off and on, to Tuesday therapy dogs. Initially his visits consisted of just five minutes of greeting a few therapy dog teams in the lobby. Later as Piper grew, we would walk partway down the main hall, say hello once or twice, then leave. As he got older I had to keep a close eye on what I call his Good Meter. I imagine a meter sticking out of Piper, with a needle and gauge that goes from green (Good Boy) to red (Caution:  Time to Go Now). When he was younger the green area was very narrow indeed, and the needle could quickly rise into the red "Time to Go Now" zone. We would take our cue and head for the exit. Now at 8.5 months, Piper stays in the green Good Boy zone the full 50 minutes or so, walking many halls, navigating tight spaces between tables, beds and chairs in rooms, and passing other therapy dog teams in close quarters. He really enjoys these times in the facilities. However when our visit is done and we gather at a lunch place, an exhausted Piper is happy to sack out under the table.

Now I need to qualify that Piper is NOT a perfect gentleman when he first comes in the facility door. He is Happy! Excited! Ready for Action! Yeah! It is my job to get all that good enthusiasm under control, so we can safely and comfortably interact with the residents and staff alike. So the first few people-visits we hang back. If a person wants to see Piper, then Piper sits politely a few feet away and does some obedience. Amid exclamations of awe and wonder he gets a cookie (he likes that part). When I feel the edge is being worn off his excitement, he moves in closer to a person's side, while I make sure to have my hand under his collar. Thus steadying Piper, the person can then pet for a minute or so. Several greeting sessions later, mixed with obedience, and hall and room navigation, Piper is now at the point where I can relax control a little. He is getting the idea this is all about "easy does it" for which you get lots of attention and treats.

I enjoy therapy dog work on many levels. It is fun and

challenging to work Piper safely in a facility where we are there for the express purpose of brightening someone's day. Also occasionally I find myself caught in a Kodak moment that can oscillate between poignancy and hilarity, as I observe the unique chemical magic between my dog and a strange person. One such moment was this Tuesday.

Piper and I were making the rounds through the home's large exercise room, when I noticed a lady slumped over in her wheelchair. Having just finished her workout, she was waiting to be wheeled back to her room. The woman looked completely done in, her body askew, head down on her chest, eyes closed. Her therapist stepped behind her and straightened her up in her chair. When she opened her eyes, I asked if she'd like to say hello to the dog. She weakly nodded, yes.

Piper came over and sat next to her, his head on a level with her resting arm. She slowly slid her hand over and stroked the top of his head and weakly asked, "What's his name?" I told her his name was Piper, as in Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. She kept stroking him, and then she started the tongue twister:  "Peter Piper..." Yes, I said, that's right, so you know it too. She kept going, very slowly, "...picked a peck of pickled peppers."

As we talked she told me she had a stroke three months ago, back in September. She said it happened in her yard and there was nobody there but the neighbor's dog, whom she often fed biscuits. The dog then alerted people to her plight, which she thinks may have saved her life. As she says this in a low voice she keeps stroking Piper's head and fingering his ears. Piper stayed very still. Before saying goodbye, together we finish the tongue twister:  "Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?" As she showed me her name on her bracelet, asking Piper and I to visit again, I noticed her voice was much stronger, her eyes were bright, she smiled.

First Christmas!

The therapist wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, winked at Piper and I, and wheeled her away. A moment in time. Mr. Piper, I hope you have many, many more of these moments where you charge the batteries of someone who needs you. At 8 months old, you haven't even had your first Christmas or birthday. You have no idea how important someday you could be to someone. You are just beginning your lifelong work. Yet, Peter Piper, Tuesday was an auspicious beginning.

Piper with his dog family:  Hazel (L) and Wrangell (R)

Twas the Eve of Thanksgiving

Twas the Eve of Thanksgiving

Twas the Eve of Thanksgiving

when I saw with much dread,

I had no more pie filling

and was all out of bread.

So I called to my pup

and we sprang to the car,

Heading off to Food Lion.

It was not very far.

Why this won't take long,

with my service pup...but

the day before Thanksgiving?

Was I crazy or what?

Dash away, with pup Dorian
My stocks to supply.
Back home we will be
In the wink of an eye. 

First stop is the bread aisle.

Stocking shelves by the way,

was a man - would you know,

he had something to say?

"Your dog looks so spoiled!"

"Just look at him lay

Sprawled there on the floor.

What a silly display."

As I'm mulling this over 

My mind in a fog,

He asks if I brought in

My own personal guard dog.

"Of course," I think dryly,

"grocer stores scare me silly.

All shoppers should bring one!"

(Ah no - not really).

Dash away, dash away

come Dorian, away!

Escape from this madness,

Almost Thanksgiving Day!

Over by produce,

Hover two ladies who spy

my approach with the puppy

And one gives a cold eye.

"Dogs should not be

in this store," she pronounces.

As a cat on a bird

she stalks and she pounces.

"These pups have a purpose."

I attempt to explain.

Yet to her the best dog

is staked out on a chain.

Dash away, dash away,

To the aisle with the cream,

If we don't escape soon,

I surely will scream.

"Mommy, a dog!"

Shrieks a toddler in tow. 

"Hush, baby!" says Mom. 

In a voice not too low.

"The poor lady can't see

 And the dog is to help."

"Can't she see me read labels?"

I am wanting to yelp.

Dash away, my young Dorian,

I say with a croon,

Our time at Food Lion

Will end very soon.

Yes, soon we'll be home,

and tomorrow we'll pray,

and thank God for His blessings,

this Thanksgiving Day.

For so much we are thankful,

Raising puppies is one.

Interesting, challenging,

NEVER dull...mostly fun!

***This poem is based on an actual experience I had last Thanksgiving Eve with my guide pup in training, Dorian, 10.5 months old at the time, when we did some last-minute grocery shopping. Of course as a puppy raiser, encounters like these can happen often, especially when you least expect them. It happened last Thanksgiving Eve we had all these encounters in a 20-minute period. Now, a year later, I can still vividly remember, and laugh about it!

P.S. I also make sure not to shop that day.

Current service pup in training Piper at 7 months.

A Fine Match

Dorian and Carlene are now a fine twosome and I couldn't be happier. But let me back up, everything has been a whirlwind lately....

Dorian on a billboard. Really!

About three weeks ago, furiously packing for my visit to see Dad in California, I get The Call. You raisers know the one. My Area Coordinator, Joyce, announces the news Dorian has been matched! I am almost speechless, partly because my brain is stuck on a checklist track thinking about all the things I need to take to California:  dog treats (check), Piper's rabies certificate (check), 3-day supply dog food (check, check, check). So it is difficult to switch tracks and I am not prepared.

And yes, I admit, this news grieves me a little. This is surprising, since it is the goal all puppy raisers diligently strive towards, and then wait expectantly for word on. I ask myself, what could be better than learning your puppy has become a guide dog? Though my intellect knows this, my heart sings out the tiniest swan song, "Oh Dorian, this is really good-bye," that is drowned out in the realities of preparation for the days ahead.

Dorian at five months.

When your puppy is matched, the raiser and immediate family members are invited to Southeastern Guide Dogs for Puppy Raiser Day, where you and several fellow raisers have the opportunity to meet their pups' new partners, watch them work a route together, visit, take pictures and have brunch. It is a wonderful, heady morning full of laughter and tears. Yet you are given only two week's notice, so it's a mad scramble to plan the logistics of a 750-mile trip to Florida.

Still surprised over the news, Piper and I spend the next ten days in California enjoying my Dad. Three days after our return to Virginia, Sam and I (and Piper) make the 14-hour drive to Florida for Puppy Raiser Day in the '96 Volvo station wagon.

At Puppy Raiser Day several moments stand out sharply. As we watch from a distance, Dorian appears around the side of the building, guiding Carlene. He stops at the road crossing and lifts his head. Listening, searching, sniffing for a new disturbance, looking for the source, Dorian is alert. He spots our group of raisers, half-hidden behind the foliage, trying to be quiet and not disturb the teams' concentration. I am so proud of him, I could bust. Maybe he is just curious but I sense, at least in part, he is looking around and taking stock for Carlene's welfare. With Carlene's prompting Dorian moves on at a steady pace.

Trainer Joe, Carlene and Dorian doing a route.

Dorian stops at another curb. Ridiculous as it sounds, his stop holds great significance. My puppy stopped at the curb! Goofy, silly Dorian, my clog - part clown, part dog, dubbed my Peter Pan Puppy because I would ask myself a thousand times, "Will he EVER grow up?" Now he is stopping at a curb for someone who needs his eyes. Irrepressible silliness is replaced with solid, focused responsibility. And she trusts him to keep her safe. It is a powerful, beautiful thing.

Later Carlene, Dorian, Sam and I have a great visit together on a bench under the trees. Dorian remembered us immediately, which I knew he would. Dogs do not forget. I love Carlene's energy, enthusiasm and sense of humor. She is so right for Dorian, who exemplifies these traits as well. And I like the way she brags on him proudly, yet later, sensing him wiggling after an acorn, insists he mind her. Blind from birth, she has had several guides over her lifetime. I like that she is experienced, which complements Dorian's tendency to be a tad headstrong. We discover she lives with her adult son, who "has a way with animals", and a pug named Max. Again I am pleased - Dorian will be a part of a household. Southeastern Guide Dogs has done a fine job of training and a fine job of matchmaking.

We swap stories, laugh and talk about our favorite subject, Dorian, of course! Carlene has decided to keep the long version of his name - Dorian, rather than Dori. Although the sponsor named him after Marine sergeant Dorian _____ who was wounded in Afghanistan, the sponsor asked the name be shortened to Dori. As his puppy raiser, I preferred the more masculine-sounding Dorian, and Carlene feels the same.

Too soon the time is up and we say our good-byes. Dorian will be flying home next week with Carlene to Rochester, New York. She was worried about whether he would like snow, which unlike Virginia, comes in feet, not inches. I assured her that Dorian as a puppy loved playing in the snow. Also his two plane trips with me should hold him in good stead guiding her home. We hug a long moment, then away they walk. Together.

Dorian, the day you left my care I prayed you would fly to new heights. Now I am filled with gratitude and the absolute certainty you have! May God bless you and keep you, both you and your fine new partner, Carlene.

We visit Pat Allen, Tom and her guide Dave, who we raised in 2008-2009. Dave is 5 now, and he and Pat work as a docent team at the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, giving art tours. She says their tour is one of the most popular at the museum.

Westward Ho! Piper on US Airways Flight 461

Part II - Piper on US Airways Flight 461

Kung Fu Panda and the yawning chasm.

Continuing with the story started in Part I of Westward Ho, Piper and I walk down the jetway from the gate to the airplane. When we get to the plane entrance however, Piper stops cold. Where the tunnel and the plane door meet there is an obvious threshold, with a 1 to 2-inch gap where daylight and fresh air leak thru, and a change in elevation of maybe an inch. To Piper there is something highly suspicious about all this. I imagine a warning sound going off in his brain:  "Ah-oo-ga - proceed with extreme caution!" I step over the threshold, keeping his leash slack. Piper momentarily sniffs the ground then summoning his courage, he soars Kung Fu Panda-style over the yawning chasm, landing on the hard floor of the plane and sliding up to the flight attendant, interrupting her cheery "Welcome aboard!" in mid-sentence. The momentum of his entrance carries him, skittering, to the front of first class, where several passengers raise their heads. Acting nonchalant, I step in front of Piper and lead him down the aisle, past the first class section to Seat 5A in steerage (I mean regular class).


Seat 5A is a bulkhead window seat that US Airways thoughtfully assigned me when I first made the reservation and told them I was traveling with a service dog in training. Way to go US Airways! My new neighbor in the middle seat immediately introduces himself as Steve and asks if he can help me. You know, I have flown close to 30 times with the dogs in training and have always sat next to a friendly or neutral person. What are the odds of that? Steve kindly takes my pack and stashes it for me while I introduce Piper to his new surroundings:  a 2-foot by 2-foot square area at my feet. Piper is still learning how to lay quietly at my feet for extended periods of time, so I know a 5-hour flight in a small space is going to be a challenge for him. But I am confident he can do it!

He lays down, I sit down. Within minutes I look down to see him licking the floor, as if saying "Hey, this rug is delicious!"
"No, Piper, leave it."
He does, then proceeds to lick the adjacent wall below the window.
"No, Piper, leave it."
OK. He stops. "Good boy!"
Moments later, he is licking the seat legs where they attach to the floor. To Piper, his new space seems to be one big lollipop.
"Piper, NO!"
Piper looks at me questioningly. Obviously, he is not generalizing that when I mean Leave It, I mean leave the whole space alone.
I get out his blankie and arrange it rather awkwardly under him, then get him a toy slathered with peanut butter. Now he is quite happy to direct his attention away from taste-testing the airplane.

All is bliss and happiness. The plane takes off. Steve and I chat about service dogs a few minutes. He is a Very Nice Man. After awhile he gets out a thick paperback book and starts reading. Piper finishes his peanut butter treat and pops up.
"Hi, how's it goin'?" he asks.
"Fine. You are a Good Boy, but now Settle."
Piper looks blankly at me. Temporary amnesia has set in.
"Piper, Settle."
The amnesia is the long-term type. Time to up the ante.
"Piper," I say in my Low but Serious Voice, while I point my index finger at the floor. "Settle."
Piper looks at my finger, as if I am condemning him to Hades. And does not move.
"I prefer to Sit," he seems to say.
 
I am well aware that my neighbor, Steve, just inches away, is probably listening in on this mini-drama. I pull down on Piper's collar. Piper is a stone statue. I pull one of his front legs out. Stone statue. I pull the other leg out. He collapses into a stiff rigid line on the floor, invading Steve's space. I bodily slide him over. I tell him to Wait. I lean back in my seat.
Up pops Piper between my legs. "Hi, how's the atmosphere up here?"
My patience has flown the coop. Well aware that Steve is inches away, and that just minutes ago I bragged on what a great boy Piper is, I up the ante again. I pounce on Piper, wrestling him down and growl, "SETTLE!"
Taken by surprise by my intensity, Piper finally, really relaxes into a nice Settle. He looks up at me as if to say, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

All is well, Piper decides he was tired anyway and falls asleep. I lean back and relax and soon fall asleep too. Much later I wake up, my neck stiff from sleeping in a chair with a headrest for a bigger person. I lean forward, elbows on knees, holding my head in my hands. I look down at Piper and half-doze. I can see Piper is in a REM (rapid eye movement) cycle and is starting to twitch his paws. Soon he starts emitting little squeaks. Then an occasional shudder along his back, like a horse getting rid of a fly. This is almost as entertaining as the movie the airline didn't show. I wish I had my book, but it is miles away, stashed overhead in first-class somewhere. Sigh. I watch as Steve sneaks a hand over to pet Piper on the head. He thinks I'm asleep - funny!

Now I am really bored. Two hours to go. I order some ice and wake Piper up. We play my idea of a  fun game where I put ice inside a Kong and I hold it while he gets the ice out and chews it up. Piper is sleepy and could easily drift off if I would let him. But I am still bored, so we walk up to first class and stuff ourselves into the telephone booth-like restroom. Piper is very OK with this. Well, that was fun, now what? Piper looks at me with sleepy eyes. I tell him to Settle and he plops happily down. I amuse myself by looking out the window at the myriad twinkling lights as we descend into Los Angeles. Soon I can see the arteries of criss-crossing highways, with blood cell-like cars pulsing along them.

The plane lands. Passengers start to stand up and pull down their luggage. Behind me two children peek over the top of my seat to tell me how good my dog was during the flight. I take their compliments with a smile and thank-you. Only Piper, Steve and I know what really went down in Seat 5A on US Airways Flight 461.

Westward Ho! Piper at RDU Airport

Last Saturday six-month old service pup in training, Piper, reached a special milestone - his first air trip - from Raleigh-Durham, NC to Los Angeles, CA. As his raiser, I would say it was a journey worth writing about. In fact so much happened I am splitting the story into two posts:  Part 1 - Piper at the RDU Airport, and Part II - Piper on US Airways Flight 461.

Part I - Piper at the RDU Airport
Our flight from Raleigh-Durham was scheduled to depart at 4:10 on a Saturday afternoon. Although we left the house with plenty of time to spare, a terrible snarl on I-40 caused by a combination traffic accident / UNC football game made our airport arrival a little too close for comfort. At the parking lot we "parked" Piper, then Frank and I walked in and went thru ticketing and check-in on US Airways in record time. As I started to thread my way thru the maze of ropes and posts at the security entrance, a TSA agent motioned me to a much shorter line for the flight crew. Yes! I turn and wave good-bye to Frank who smiles from the departure entrance and gives me a thumbs up.

In order to pass thru the security check, I decide to keep Piper's leash, collar and vest on (I live to regret this decision). So I put Piper in a Sit/Wait, walk thru the scanner myself, and then call Piper through, which he does like a pro. Piper needs to be checked, wanded and patted down, but first we have to wait till they call Al over. I am guessing Al is the dog-check man. Arriving, Al is a large, friendly security agent whom Piper takes an immediate and serious liking to. However when Piper curls himself into a "C" around Big Al's legs, it definitely makes Al's dog-check job a little tricky. Peeling the encircling dog from off his legs, agent Al next unzips Piper's vest pockets and digs thru the poop bags and rabies certificate stashed inside. As he stuffs them back and zips the pockets shut, Piper reacts with a "Whoa, that tickles!" and twists onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly for scratching and inspection. Thankfully Al has seen (or had) enough and gives us the OK to leave. Piper follows me reluctantly with a backward glance at his new friend while I make a mental note:  next time remove the vest and send thru on the conveyor!

After collecting my belongings, we grab the elevator, and head down the concourse toward our gate. I like the RDU Airport. It is not very big, yet the terminals have high, sunny spaces that make you feel as though you're already airborne. On this Saturday afternoon it is blessedly quiet. Checking our gate, we discover we still have a half-hour before boarding, so I decide to familiarize Piper with the concourse surroundings. Yet I notice as we walk along that Piper's ears are pulled slightly back, his head is just a little too low, and there is not a nice looseness to his gait. Instead of walking with me, he is a little too far in front and staring fixedly ahead. Basically, Piper's body language says "I'm not so sure about all this." So I spend several minutes engaging and relaxing Piper until I see the sweet sparkle return to his eyes, and the flash of his toothy grin reappears. Once again he is enjoying his day at the airport and we're a team as he loosely trots at my side. That's my boy!

I love watching Piper's reaction (or lack of) as we meet odd and interesting airport personalities. There is The Cowboy, clunking along in his 8 gallon hat, with white toes on his boots so long and pointy he could skewer a horned toad. Piper gives him a perfunctory glance. Later my pup observes a little boy dangling a strange doll that looks like a cross between the Phantom of the Opera and a skeleton. Piper's gaze takes in the little guy and his toy and moves on, as if giving his dog stamp of approval that every preschooler should have a cadaverous doll for a best friend. Come to think of it, some of Piper's best playthings are bones....

Soon the loudspeaker blares that it's time to board and off we start on Part II of Piper's journey westward across America.

Dogtoberfest!

Every year St Francis Service Dogs puts on an outdoor festival at "The Farm", celebrating dog-lovers and their best buddies. Dogtoberfest is also a fundraiser, with proceeds going towards the running of the school. Frank and I, with 6-month service pup Piper in tow, headed up to Roanoke on a bright October Saturday to check it out and...we had a doggie blast!

What did we find? All sorts of activities for dogs and their owners to try out, including Fly Ball, agility rings, several fun dog games, a doggy day spa, caricaturists, and PawCasso (a matted photo of your dog surrounded by his paw prints).

 


There was a Parade of the Dogs in costume, a blessing of the animals, a DogGone Good Diner and service dog and police dog demos. Of course there was St Francis merchandise for sale as well as other vendors.

Piper gets a pedicure from a St Francis trainer.

Piper gets a pedicure from one of the St Francis trainers. I usually do his nails, but wanted him to experience having them done in a different setting. I've also done his nails in the back of my car by the grocery store.

We bought tickets and Piper tried out the agility ring. In charge of the two agility rings was Connie, Piper's weekly trainer. Piper recognized her immediately and had no problem going in and out of tunnels, clearing low jumps and trotting along a board-walk. Piper loved it. Then he cooled off under a hose spray.

In a shady spot, we hung out and watched the amazing array of dogs walking by. Everywhere were dogs of every shape, size, breed and color imaginable, some in costume. What struck me was how dogs and people mingled, played, sniffed (the dogs) and explored without so much as a growl or hey-you bark. I guess everyone was too busy taking in the sights and having fun. It was great training for Piper to sit calmly and watch the dog-world go by. I wonder what he thought looking at all those dogs. Did he recognize them as part of his "family"?

Soon we packed up Piper and headed home. Down a country road, I snapped this fall picture of an old farm house "afloat" in a field of tobacco - a perfect day.

The People in Line Behind Me

When you raise a puppy and you're out in public, you try your best to project a good image. You vigilantly keep Puppy from sniffing the lower shelves at the grocery, from blocking a busy doorway at a store, from tugging towards an interesting person passing by, from squirming as you stand in line. But of course, nobody (me or Puppy) is perfect. Sometimes it can feel like you and Pup are against the world, that the eyes watching your movements may be a little harsh and unduly critical. That is until you get a pleasant surprise.

Yesterday Piper and I had a package to mail at the Danville post office. Normally we go to our tiny p.o. in Chatham, but today, running errands in "the big city", we stop at their large main post office. We take our place in line, and Piper plops down and takes five. After an already busy morning doing his best effort at Being Good with the therapy dog group at an assisted living home, he is rather tuckered out. A middle-aged couple drops into line behind us. Soon we are chatting about service dogs and all the jobs they do, how far along Piper is in his training and the usual things a PR discusses to interested, friendly people. It does make the time go by. As we talk the line lengthens and stretches out behind us. Every so often, the line moves and Piper obligingly rises up, moves forward by my side, and plops down again.

Piper last weekend at "Dog Days", a sale at a local greenhouse business. Every year I set up a table and tell people about service/guide/therapy dogs. People bring their pets. It is much fun and a great exposure for Piper.

Finally our turn. The clerk behind the counter calls us, and we walk over to the high counter. "Is that a dog you have there with you?" she asks, just a little too sharply I think. As she leans forward she reminds me of a disapproving judge at his bench in court. "Well, yes, he's a service dog in training," I answer. Her eyes narrow. "Do you have a disability?" "No, I don't, he's in training to be a service dog. I am training him." "Well, if you don't have a disability, then he can't be in here. I will go ahead and wait on you this time, but I don't ever want to see you bring a dog in here again."

Oh, groan. It's as if you can see the shades roll down and the shutters slam shut on her face. There is no reasoning with a person like this. Still I make one last feeble attempt. "How can a service dog do his job if he isn't allowed to train in facilities like this?" I ask. But she isn't considering anything. If I had more time, I would ask to speak to her supervisor, but it has already been a long morning, I have more errands to run with Piper and am in no mood for a fight. Since I normally don't come here anyway, why even bother? I pay the postage on the package and turn to leave.

As I start to walk away, I pass the line of people. The line I had so recently stood in. I see their eyes resting on me and my service pup who walks calmly by my side. I head outside, walk Piper along the edges of the parking lot, then give him some water A lady appears and she tells me how sorry she is I got treated that way inside. I guess she heard the whole thing. She is upset and ready to go back in, and wait in line to speak to the supervisor. We talk a little, say good-bye and I thank her for being supportive.

Later that afternoon I get a call. It's the same lady from outside the p.o. She did indeed go back in the building, waited in line and talked to the supervisor. The supervisor said - get this - SEVERAL other people had complained about the way Piper and I were treated! Wow, I thought, it was the people in the line behind me. And they cared enough to stand up for me, Piper and assistance dogs everywhere, when I was too busy and tired to try. How awesome is that?

It makes me take a fresh look at the public:  the anonymous people in line, in the crowd, the ones we think don't notice us. Or maybe we think they watch with a critical eye as we work our service pups with faltering steps up the ladder towards their important future role. Yet in fact this anonymous public often secretly and silently watches with approval, and is surprisingly ready to spring to our defense when the going for us gets tough. You guys at the post office Tuesday morning, I don't know you and I'll probably never see you again, but I just have to say "Thanks" to the people in line behind me.

Summer Magic and Therapy Dogs

As a therapy dog, Wrangell enjoys being surrounded by admiring fans.

It is early June, the beginning of summer. Yellow Lab Wrangell, sporting an orange vest with a Therapy Dogs Inc. patch, walks into one of the rooms at the day facility for the intellectually disabled in Danville, VA. Therapy dog, Prissy, a perky little black Pomeranian smartly dressed in the latest dog fashion and her handler, Betty, join Wrangell and I making the rounds between the tables. Several people sit at tables doing puzzles, drawing and playing games, but the activity stops abruptly as soon as we enter. Most of the people are just a little nervous and prefer to watch the dogs. A few braver ones tentatively touch, talking low, cradling the dogs' heads in their hands, fingering soft velvet ears and coarser fur across their backs.

In one of the game rooms occupied by residents,

far back in the corner slumped behind a large round table, sits a solitary man about thirty years of age. Although the man does not seem to notice the visiting dogs, as I slowly approach with Wrangell, he grasps his lunch bag and becomes agitated. One of the staff turns to him. "Joel, would you like to pet the dog?" Holding onto his lunch sack for dear life, Joel makes an unhappy sound. His tense body signals loud and clear - No, absolutely not. Wrangell and I retreat, and the staff lady gives us a faint smile and shrug. It's OK. Never push a dog on anyone, you do not know what sort of experience they may have had. Better to step back and give things time.

In the photo at right, Wrangell tries out a noise machine at the facility. He listens to the different noises made when he steps on the colored blocks. Fun!


As the summer progresses and our two therapy dogs continue their weekly visits to the facility, we start greeting people by their first names and making genuine friends. Relationships between the residents, staff and the dogs bud and blossom. The rooms fill with smiles and laughter. Over time the dogs learn which ones like to gently rough them up, which like to lightly caress them and with which they need to be ever so still as a mouse. Joel watches from his solitary corner, sheltered behind his big round table. Never have I seen him walk or talk, yet I notice how his head and eyes follow the dogs as they move from person to person. Often he clutches his lunch bag, but not so tightly as before.

Early August and a chorus of greetings, like old friends, meets us as we walk the halls and enter the rooms. As Wrangell and I slowly approach Joel, I can tell this time is different. For once his face is open, inviting. We move closer. Leaning toward the big Lab just a little, Joel raises his hand and lightly touches Wrangell on his head. A pat! He quickly pulls the hand away, flashes a grin, then turns as the staff and I in amazed voices congratulate him for what he has just done. Why am I so surprised to see Joel touch the Lab's head? Haven't I seen before the magic therapy dogs work on people over time?

However the next week things have changed again. When Wrangell and I approach I can tell Joel is not as receptive. Yet he does slide over one chair, coming out of his corner, and crouches over a pegboard puzzle, working the pieces. I imagine it is his way of saying, "I am happy you are here." The next week, the last of August, is our final visit to the facility. Somehow it feels like the final act of a play. We promise our summer friends we will come back over the holidays. Understanding, they nod. Finally we enter Joel's usual room, and make our way to the back corner. Then Joel does a curious thing. Instead of extending his hand, he slowly, laboriously, leans down to Wrangell and offers his face. Wrangell gently licks his cheek. Again Joel offers his face, again the dog licks his cheek. With an exhaled breath we all laugh and exclaim, "Hey, Joel, he kissed you!" With a triumphant grin, Joel rears his upper body, leaning way back. His personal victory dance. Although he cannot talk, it is plain what he is feeling inside. It is magic to behold - the mysterious magic that dogs weave as they touch the hearts of people like Joel - and those nearby who get to witness and celebrate.

Note:  Thank-you to Danville-Pittsylvania County Community Services for giving me permission to post this story and the photos.

Therapy dogs Wrangell and Prissy take a break outside the Danville facility. We joke that the two dogs have all the bases covered. Wrangell is large, yellow, short-haired and male. Prissy is small, dark, long-haired and female!

Brad and Wrangell become friends.

Administrative staff enjoy the therapy dogs as much as the day-goers.

You is Smart...You is Nice...You is Important

The movie "The Help" came out in 2011, based on a book by the same name by Kathryn Stockett. I enjoyed both the movie and the book immensely. It takes place in the Jim Crow South of Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960's, and is one of those stories that has many strong, wonderful characters in it - most virtuous and a few wicked. The main character is a black maid, Aibileen, who works for a family struggling to keep up with the Southern aristocratic "Joneses".

To me one of the marks of a good story are lines said worth remembering, adopting and repeating. Although it has nothing to do with dogs, there is one line in the movie I have held on to as a puppy raiser. It is actually spoken in three scenes in the movie, between Aibileen and her little charge, a chubby, sweet 3-year old white girl named Mae Mobley. Mae Mobley does not have it easy. Having had the little girl while still practically a girl herself, her mother is unhappy, preoccupied and icy towards her daughter. So Mae Mobley turns to the maid Aibileen, who not only takes care of her physical needs, but loves her and gently guides her thru the early stages of life, including fundamentals like potty training and sore throats.

The line is first spoken during a very touching part of the movie, when the maid Aibileen tells Mae Mobley in a very soft, intimate, singsong voice, "You is smart....You is nice....You is important." The little girl solemnly listens and repeats after Aibileen as best she can, "...is smart...is nice...is important." Given her young age, you wonder how much of those concepts little Mae can really understand, yet somehow Mae Mobley recognizes the gravity of the words and tries hard to grasp and commit them to memory.

When Piper was a younger puppy he was a double handful of curiosity mixed with a strong helping of independence, and a dash of wildness. To top it off, he was not a napper! There were days when I yearned for a timeout from him, but since my husband was gone on a job and the nearest sitter was miles away, it wasn't going to happen. Sometimes it helped to sit him down in front of me, look into his puppy eyes and recite meaningfully the lines from The Help:  "You is smart...You is nice...You is important." Oddly enough, Piper would listen with great seriousness to the tone of my voice, as if trying to grasp the meaning of my words. Dogs may not know what you say, but they can certainly hear how you say it, thereby getting a handle on your feelings.

Saying those lines was a reminder to me of the importance of what I was doing. By reciting those words and believing in them, I was showing Piper my trust in his ability to fulfill those words. As puppy raisers, I think we all fiercely believe in our puppies and strive with all that we have to see that their smartness, niceness and future importance as service dogs will someday come to pass. We are our puppy's strongest advocates and supporters. Even if our puppies are throwing up or chewing something irreplaceable or embarrassing us in public, we puppy raisers fix or clean it up best we can, forgive, and with unquenchable optimism move on.

These days Piper is a much more well-behaved pup and I am happy with his steady progress. Although I don't need to say the lines out of sheer desperation anymore, I love to recite them to master Piper anyway and it strikes me that they ring with greater clarity as the days go by: "You is smart....You is nice....You is important."