A service dog changes many things. On the plus side, the human partner feels a sense of freedom and safety heretofore denied. The canine partner gets to experience parts of the human world that most dogs never see. Some service dogs are oblivious to the wonders of the human world; others are more like tourists. For the human, a host of new interactions open up, from the positive greetings, to the hostile: ‘you can’t bring that dog in here.’ The dog becomes both the center of loving attention and the target of hostility.

My string of dogs demonstrated all this and more. Medic was the first. He was a ninety pound black and white pit bull with a head the size of the basketball. He was pro to the core, unflappable, supremely confident. His original training was in obedience and therapy work, which made an easy leap to service dog. Medic was one of those dogs that dog trainers dream of, a dog capable of generalizations based on original training. For example, it is difficult to train a dog to avoid overhead obstacles such as low hanging signs. Most non-hunting dogs do not look up.

Training a service dog includes determining what hazards the human will face and how best to avoid them such as crossing the street. Specialty training involves teaching the dog to activate 911, use elevator buttons, and to pick up small objects such as credit cards or tissues. Generalization indicates that the dogs is able to perceive seizures, pain, or other events that may require assistance. It is difficult to ‘train’ for these events, rather, one finds a sensitive dog that can achieve success in the first two categories and then tests the dog against the scenario. Certain dogs will put it together and alert to their human’s distress, either calling 911 or breaking a fall. Not all dogs are cut out to be service dogs of this caliber.

Medic carefully steered me around any and all low hanging objects. He also would appear by my side at home if I were within ten minutes of becoming symptomatic. In crossing the street he would not only watch the traffic pattern, but also the lights. Sometimes I felt that Medic was tied into my nervous system. He was that accurate in responding to my symptoms. When he died of cancer I did not believe another dog could take his place. What I found was that the next service dog doesn’t actually take the previous animal’s role. Each dog creates his or her own place.

The cancer appeared in April, Medic would be dead by late summer. The diagnosis was clear, so I put both Jane and Princess in training. At the time they were four and two years old respectively. At the time, Jane was my high-powered show dog, Princess was still a puppy. Kinky was another option, and had extensive training as a therapy dog, but she was severely arthritic from youthful indiscretions. None of the girls had Medic’s professional attitude. The only time Medic would ever drop his working-man’s look was on escalators, particularly ones with glass sides. Then he would gawk and peer over the side of the escalator as he went up or down. It was his only moment of weakness.

Jane gamely took up the harness. Small and square, she was in no way the impressive companion that was Medic. On the other hand, she was extremely sensitive to my situation and willing to make comments that Medic would not have done. For example Jane will refuse to walk down the stairs with me if I appeared wobbly. She would take me to the Nurse’s office at school if she was not happy with my overall health. Her affect in the harness was morose.

My 7th grade students participated in the training of Princess during the year that Medic was dying. On the days he was too sick to work I would bring Princess in to school and have the kids work with her. Being a service dog in a school is complicated. Not only does the dog have to monitor my condition, it must also pay attention to the students. Service dog purists will cluck and tut over that, and say the working dog must be totally focused on the disabled person. This rule does not apply in the middle school setting. So many of my students are disabled, and they are all adolescents, always in need of affirmation.

Unlike Jane, Princess is a jolly dog. She has a jaunty trot, her tongue hanging out and her tail in the air like a flag. She is a lovely chestnut brown with a tiny pink heart on her nose. Due to the amount of work done with her by students she has a tremendous sense of humor, and will often manipulate the class for a laugh. As long as my physical condition is acceptable, Princess will wander around the classroom. Jane, on the other hand, was attached to me by an invisible umbilical cord. Although she will interact with the students, she will always keep me within a ten-foot radius. Princess moves around the room, touching this student and that. She will come to me and very gently jump up, placing her paws on my hips. Once up she will look over her shoulder at the students. If that doesn’t work Princess will strike a pose. Her favorite is to lie down on her front legs, with her rump in the air, tail wagging furiously. She will hold this pose until she gets the desired response. It never fails to please, so the amount of positive reinforcement received has made this behavior permanent.

Kinky I bring mostly for the students. She is so trained that it is like having another adult human in the classroom. In a recent survey, my students reported that having a dog in the room increases their sense of safety. Kinky is so old that she has no teeth, limps on at least one leg- it switches from day to day- and howls in counterpoint to any musical notes. Despite all this she is completely bombproof. Her favorite spot is to plant herself in the middle of the hallway during passing time. With hundreds of middle schoolers carefully picking their way around her legs, Kink will lay back flat with all four legs and her tail sticking out in multiple directions. Kids that would normally push and shove walk with care and shout to the people behind them, “Look out, Kinky is doing traffic control.” Medic also had done this, and I wonder if he told Kinky to carry on the tradition.
It is Kinky who signs yearbooks, dutifully putting her paw in the ink hundreds of times. She works with the students, teaching them how to train. For example, Kinky can say “yum yum,” and “I love you,” but only if the student cues her correctly. She will bark and howl on command, walk on heel, sit, stay, and lay down for the student who commands correctly. Jane and Princess may do many of these things; however, both of them look over at me to check if it is okay. Kinky actually will obey a student who is presenting an appropriate command. She will also ignore everything if she has made a decision that I take priority due to my illness.

Bathrooms are a sticky subject for a person with a service dog. One needs a stall large enough to accommodate both parties. Forget, for example, going to the bathroom on a plane. Dogs in general find human bathroom habits fascinating and are always glad to be invited into an area with such an array of smells. Medic used to close his eyes and sniff-sniff-sniff, swinging his seriously large muzzle from side to side. He also enjoyed sprawling on the cold tile floor, especially if it were wet.

Women destroy public restrooms; it is a well-known secret. We may talk about men peeing in sinks and such, but I have never seen such mayhem as in a ladies toilet. My personal theory is that it is due to the serious shortage of female only toilets. Women always have to wait, and by the time they get to pee they are pissed off. The sinks never work, or splash, the soap is gone, and the paper towels come out in shreds. I never want my dogs to lie down in this setting, yet Medic was in his glory. Jane and Princess, luckily, share my distaste for the situation and stand, daintily holding up one paw.

Another impediment is the hand driers they so cunningly installed in the bathrooms. I would love to know whose bright idea this was. In a short sentence, they don’t work. All they provide is a place for the women to cluster and bitch about the conditions of the bathroom. For Medic, it was hell. Having begun his life as a show dog, he knew all about blow driers. Baths and blow dryers presented a private hell. The minute the thing began to make sound he would begin to howl, growl, charge and lunge. Anyone watching would have thought he had gone completely mad. My job was to hold on tight to the leash and keep the drier out of his mouth. If he caught it the device was shaken like a rat and flung across the room.

The bathroom driers elicited the same reaction; you could see it in his eyes. Medic’s sense of duty, however, seemed to overcome his desire to rip the drier from the wall, but he would eye they thing with great angst. His energy was such that whoever was actually using the dryer would back away. I would flee the restroom torn between embarrassment and giggles.

It is Princess that makes going to the bathroom a truly unique experience. As I pointed out, human bathroom habits are of great interest to dogs, and Princess is pure tourist. If she were human she would wear lurid Hawaiian prints and wear a camera about her neck. As we walk into the bathroom she perks up and cranes her neck to see everything. If there is a line she sits patiently, looking for a victim. That would be anyone in a skirt. In yet another of her attempts at humor learned and reinforced at school, Princess has figured out that putting her nose under a skirt and giving a swift upward jab creates a lot of fun. At school she particularly targets cheerleaders during booster weeks. The squeaks and squeals feed the behavior.

Needless to say I keep a tight hold on her harness and point out that these are strangers. She looks up at me, all innocence, and if I so much as look away, someone gets goosed. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were not obvious that she was laughing. Most of her victims find it humorous, the others, well, I just pretend I can’t see, or talk, or whatever works best for the moment.

Once we have waited in line we walk down the row of stalls. Princess uses this moment to check out the occupants. She gets down low, almost crawling, and tries to peek under each door. Small screams follow us down the row. Apparently the sight of a brown dog-face, smiling brightly, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, is too much for some people. Originally I tried to stop her, even tried to fake her out by staggering. Princess knows when I am faking, and in her defense, if I am actually sick while approaching the stall she is upright and stalwart, with not a hint of the comedian.

In the stall Princess gets down on her belly and tries to creep into the next stall. She knows I do not want her to do this, but the thrill is too high, so off she goes. The moment when I am managing my bags, clothing, and the toilet is a perfect moment for naughty behavior. It only lasts a few seconds, and then I can rein her back in, but by then she has usually managed to show her cock-eyed grin and googly eyes to the neighbor. More screams, occasional laughter, this is what Princess lives for. Her single best moment involved a woman who actually fled her stall crying out that there was a mountain lion in the bathroom. Fortunately Princess and I made good our escape prior to the arrival of security. Upon arriving home Princess told all the other dogs about her brief stint as a mountain lion.

At work I try to use a bathroom that is actually just a single room, but occasionally I must use the downstairs stall-style bathroom. If I am already in the stall, the usual greeting is “Hi Ellen, knew it was you from the six legs.” Then to Princess, “And don’t you peek Missy.” This comment charges Princess, who will look over her shoulder at me and double blink her huge eyes. I know I should put some time into altering all this behavior. Yet it is her infallible sense of the ridiculous, and her comic timing that make Princess such a great service dog. Chronic pain causes depression, which causes more symptoms. After a while you become unable to determine which things you are feeling are part of the original problem. Princess makes me laugh at least twice a day with her bathroom antics, so that is the price society pays for my pain. So the next time you see a mountain lion in a public restroom, do not panic, just say, “Don’t you peek Missy.”

Comments

[Aaron Doucett]

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