“You are an EGO MANIAC,” the woman shouted, spitting like a llama. I continued to stand, considering how we had arrived at such impasse. Princess and I exchanged glances; the jolly dog obviously felt we should remove ourselves from this creature. Said creature continued to rave. I continued to stand as I was trapped in line between an elderly woman lecturing the teenage checkout boy about how the tip of a water can is called a ‘rose’ and this current demon.
The day had begun nicely enough. JP had worked the night shift so all the dogs had slept in our bed. Seven large dogs require a jigsaw puzzle sleeping arrangement. I feel it is important, reinforcing our pack dynamic. Sometimes I dream their dreams, running through fields and woods, always chasing something just out of reach. In the dreams I have four paws and am light grey in color. I have never bothered to try to figure out what the rest of me looks like, for in canine form, who cares? It is all about how we all smell.
These dreams are in contrast to my own dreams, where I am being chased by something and cannot seem to move quickly. I wonder if the dogs ever dream my dreams, looking down at two naked feet and two hands, feeling the powerlessness of the human form. Certainly they have nightmares from which they must be woken. In contrast a dreaming dog looks peaceful, barking under their breath, paws beating out a slight pattern. Even hour old pups dream like this, and I wonder what they perceive in that sleep state.
The woman was telling me how service dogs were not ‘allowed’ to be dogs. That made me smile, which was unfortunate.
“You think this is funny?” She shrieked.
Well, yes, I did. However I chose to keep my mouth shut, using Mia’s practice of substituting nice words for an unpleasant situation. I thought about gardening, about poultry, said the word sunshine in my mind.

It was humorous that this woman believed my dogs were not allowed to be dogs. As a professional dog trainer I have encountered hundreds of dogs that their owners had turned into neurotic wrecks. Dogs treated like children, dogs that never go outside, dogs that are not allowed to wallow in mud, a beagle not allowed to hunt, the list goes on and on.
Service work aside, the people in the house recognize the dogs as another species. We respect their differences and do not try to make them into people. In turn they respect the fact that I often cook roasts, keep poultry, and allow them to wallow in mud. I am the pack leader, but together we are team. If Coco steals my cell phone, Lizzy finds it for me. Princess helps me round up the poultry, her prize? A few mouthfuls of chicken manure- Yuck!
The woman had some choice comments about the slavery of service work. I was forcing the dog to give up all contact with human kind just to focus on me. Now that made me chuckle, which again had the unfortunate effect of sending the woman into orbit. I was finally paying now; perhaps I would be able to escape. The reason it made me laugh was that Princess really didn’t feel that most people were worth time and effort. She is an excellent judge of character and need. She always checks with me first, but she will make contact with people, a select group of true dog folks and people who are grieving.
Princess has a nose for sadness. It may come from our working at a middle school, but whatever the source, she can pick out a person who needs a cold nose from a mile away. If Princess thinks someone is worth her attention I always stop what I am doing so she can work her magic. It is often the elderly, missing the dogs of their life, or missing their family.
When I worked full time as a Paramedic, these people were very important to me as well, and I was always willing to spend a few extra moments talking to the lonely and alone. I am not trying to make myself look like some kind of hero. It may even be guilt for not spending enough time with my own mother, or misplaced grief from losing my father so many years ago. Whatever the cause, the benefits are huge, allowing me to meet and speak to people who lived in a world that is difficult to imagine today. My personal favorites are the WWII Veterans, a group of folks with some serious stories to share.
My student council helps out with a Council on Aging event, a birthday party for centenarians. My students decorate, entertain, serve the food, and most importantly, mingle. Their task is to ask the elders to talk about themselves. These are middle school students; the ones that the American public believes to be self obsessed devils. The ‘Public’ should see those students getting the elders to talk and tell stories about what it was like when they were young. The kids are fascinated and the elders have a lot to say.
A dog is a strong memory prompt. Princess is delicate enough to gently put her feet up on the elder’s chair so that they may pet her comfortably. This brings out more information, as the elder will recount all the dogs or other animals they had when s/he was a child. It is delightful to listen to someone who is 104 recount their youth. The students are always amazed, remarking later how they can barely remember what they had for breakfast.
I was trying to edge away from the angry woman, but she wasn’t ready to let me go. It is interesting to note that throughout this exchange she continued to try and touch Princess. The dog, of course, would have nothing to do with her. This reinforced the woman’s belief that the dog was being abused.
“Look how she is hiding behind you! You have turned her into a crazy thing.” I did not blame Princess one bit, I would be hiding as well, but there was no convenient hidey-hole. Yet, finally I had my receipt, and was able to carefully back out of the store. The woman did not stop her diatribe, and I like to believe the cashier was being exceptionally slow to give me time to escape. Walking to the car I considered the woman’s key points.

1. Being a service dog makes the dog crazy
2. Service dogs are not allowed to be ‘dogs’
3. Service dogs give up the right to interact with other people
4. Causing a dog to ‘work’ is akin to slavery
5. Having a service dog means that I am a self-serving ego-maniac

Looking down at Princess I could see she was wearing her ‘stupid human’ face. Due to her consistent interaction with the human world, Princess, like most service/working dogs has a vocabulary of at least 100 words, perhaps more. She has made a thorough study of human body language. She is capable of making decisions and forming opinions. This is vital in a service dog, where ‘obedient disobedience’ saves the blind person from walking into an unexpected obstacle. Princess may gravitate to people who require healing, yet ignore people who are behaving in an obnoxious or ‘stupid’ manner. If this sounds as if I am anthropomorphizing, consider that dogs recognize good and bad behavior within the pack, or in a stranger dog.
Cesar Millan refers to the phenomenon as ‘balanced’ or ‘unbalanced.’ These words work for me. A dog or a person who knows how they mesh with the world is balanced. A dog who is given mixed messages, treated like a four footed person, or not allowed to hunt/retrieve/herd will become unbalanced. This woman clearly did not know how to mesh with the world. Not only did she behave heinously with me, she ignored the non-verbal cues from the other people at the register. Our conversation was one-sided, the only thing I had said out loud (politely) was that generally a dog in harness was working, and should not be touched. She supplied the other ten minutes of diatribe. Mind you, this woman was typical for our town, well dressed and well spoken. Adult, attractive, clean and neatly dressed, not looking the part of the harridan.
The dogs needing to be dogs topic was just silly. I considered inviting her up to my house. She could see the dog yard, the dog pool, and the poultry- with attendant poop for eating and rolling in, the acres for walks. My breed likes to pursue and kill varmints. I allow them to mouse in the garage, where they are more effective than cats. Shaping that behavior into herding allows them another outlet for their natural doggy nature. Those that can swim are taken on adventures; which has left my car with a peculiar smell. They do dog shows, obedience, conformation, and agility, and win. That may sound egomaniacal, but this breed is competitive and loves to strut their stuff. And then of course, there is the mud, and the endless holes to dig. No, I think my dogs are dogs.
The interaction with other people item is an interesting one. I have a service dog due to a head injury. I easily lose my balance, have visual disturbances, suffer from excruciating pain, and in general become confused. My symptoms come and go without warning. The dogs are able to pick up on the incoming symptom long before it hits. Princess has a specific behavior that indicates that I should sit down, pull over, or call for help. I have to decide what to do, but she gives me that critical ten to fifteen minutes that prevents a disaster.
I am her main focus, that is her job, but she is also capable of maintaining her eye on me while still interacting with the adoring masses. I say masses as I teach 8th grade science. It would be short sighted of me to prevent Princess from interacting with the students. Teachers are always looking for the ever-elusive ‘teaching moment.’ The dog in the classroom provides a common ground, an area of interest for all. The students are interested in how she was trained, how she perceives my problems, and what it takes to create a working dog. This leads to incredible discussions about training, teaching, the differences in senses in various life forms, and genetics. I wouldn’t trade that, for an interested student is one who learns.
The slavery issue smacks of PETA, or any one of the radical ‘animal rights’ groups. I shall say it now, those groups are local terrorists, and their activities should be made public. An example? At a dog show in Boston, at the old Expo Center, one of these groups snuck in at night and decided to liberate the show dogs from their ‘slavery.’ It was December: these were show dogs, not coyotes, jackals, or wolves. The group released roughly fifty dogs from their crates and shooed them out the door. Most of these dogs were hit by cars, (we are talking the South End of Boston) died of exposure, or were never found again.
I believe that humans and domesticated animals grew up together over many thousands of years. We have developed a relationship that borders on symbiosis. These animals do not require liberation, in fact, that is often a lethal event. My dogs with their short coats and almost naked bellies are not designed to live human-free. I spend a great deal of time and money making sure that they have authentic experiences while remaining safe. I do not believe that my dogs would be happy if they were not asked to work. They line up to be the ‘chicken dog’ of the day, to be my assistant, to wear the harness, either to assist or to pull the wagon. I do not ‘pay’ them for this, it is a choice. Ask anyone who has ever dog-sledded, about how their wild packs of dogs lines up for those harnesses. Ask a person with a border collie or a blue heeler about what that dog would like to do, all day, all night.
The egomaniac thing is the most disturbing. I wondered if the woman had considered that I must be disabled in order to have a service dog. Since my troubles came from a trauma, and are recent, I have a clear perspective. I would love to wake up pain free, hell, I’d love to sleep through the night- but the pain is so intense that often I lie awake, just waiting for the night to end. I would love to go back to working full time as a Paramedic. It would be fun to just be able to leave the house without packing a pharmacy, a dog, and supplies for the dog. I have to worry about everything I eat, whether or not a fan will be blowing on my face in a restaurant, and how to deal with visual disturbances. I would love to have my husband be able to kiss me without worrying that he will set off the pain.
The service dog helps me through the day, but it does not make the symptom pattern go away. Having the dog along also creates a subset of difficulties. When I fly on an airplane, I cannot go to the bathroom as the dog does not fit inside, and she will not accept letting me out of her sight. Think that one over. To put a fine point on it, I am not complaining. I have mobility, I have recovered enough from the head injury that I am capable of deep thought, I can speak again. There are people in far worse states than I, and my dog makes the situation tenable. I am aware that the world does not revolve around me, and as a Paramedic, have deep compassion for people with more significant disabilities. In all ways I am fortunate, my condition is not lethal, I have a supportive family, and I have a service dog who keeps a weather eye out for my symptoms.
In the world of people with disabilities we have a phrase, the rest of you are ‘the temporarily able-bodied.’ Barring sudden medical or traumatic death, all people pass through some phase of disability. I figure I am just getting some early practice. Princess packed herself into the car with a huge sigh. I did a quick check for egomania. It is quite possible that I am an egomaniac, but the blame should not rest on Princess’ soft shoulders.

Comments

[Sebastian]

Ben Franklin summed it up well: "In times of stress, the three best things to have are an old dog, an old wife and ready money." What wonderful creatures dogs are.

[Ellen]

Of course, Old Ben also revered the turkey, another of my favorite creatures. I fell prey to a pair of blue slate poults, who are happily peeping away in the garage. The children of Pete and the red bourbon hen turkey are growing well, approximately half resemble their father, the other half their mother. Turkey color genetics are very odd.