“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 the bed. Multiple large dogs require a jigsaw puzzle sleeping arrangement. I feel it is important, reinforcing our pack dynamic. Sometimes I dream their dreams, effortlessly running through fields and woods, 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 the rest of my appearance for who cares? It is all about smell.
Dog 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 find to dream of in their first minutes.
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.
The people in my 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 we often cook roasts, keep poultry, and allow them to wallow in mud. I may be 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. Standing in front of the cashier now perhaps I would be able to escape. The reason it made me laugh was that Princess really does not feel most people are worth any time or effort. She is an excellent judge of need. She always checks with me first, but she will initiate contact with people, but only a select group.
Princess has a nose for sadness. It may come from working at a middle school, but whatever the source, she can pick out a person in need 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. Sometimes it is a child or teenager, equally lonely. Occasionally it is someone who is in physical distress, or even dying, Princess always knows.
When I worked full time as a Paramedic, lonely elders were very important to me. I was always willing to spend a few extra moments talking to them. I am not trying to make myself look like some kind of hero. It may be guilt for not having spent 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.
The JFK 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 to a receptive audience.
A dog is a strong memory prompt. Princess is delicate enough to gently put her feet up on an elder’s chair so that they may reach her velvet head. This brings out more information, as the elder will recount all the dogs and other animals of their youth. It is delightful to listen to someone who is 104 bringing stories to life. 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 ‘what a 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 unexpected obstacles. 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 Milan 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 all the other people at the register. Our conversation was one-sided, the only thing I had said out loud (politely) was that 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 the woman 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. The dogs like to pursue and kill varmints. I allow them to mouse in the garage, where they are more effective than cats. Simba occasionally enjoys hunting the chipmunks in the ledges behind the house. (He never catches them, and it seems more like a two species game than an actual hunt.) Shaping the desire to pursue 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 was an interesting point. I have a service dog due to a head injury. I easily lose my balance, have visual disturbances, suffer from excruciating pain, and find the world a troubling place. My symptoms come and go without warning. The dogs are able to pick up on the incoming symptom 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 an eye on me while still interacting with the adoring masses. I say masses because 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 anything, 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 and hidden agenda 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.
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, release may be 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 ran a pack of sled dogs, about how their wild packs 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 was 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 both of us worrying if that contact 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, people for whom a dog is not an option. My service 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 that 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. The best way for me to deal with the pain and confusion is to see it as a learning experience. It is also a time for teaching. I try to persuade people with disabilities to look into service dogs for themselves. A certain portion of every day is spent giving simple ‘dog advice’ as most of my co-workers see me as a dog-training guru. That again, is largely due to the amazing behavior of my dogs. Sure, I have trained dogs for a living, and have a pack of interesting and interested dogs, but most of it comes from the dogs.
The breed is talented and intelligent. Despite their reputation, and don’t get me wrong, this was a breed created for bringing down wild boar, bulls for slaughter, and other dogs, but they have another side. The people who bred them wanted a dog that could work, and I mean work, at any task. The dog should be able to work all day, and still have lots left over for attending to their people. Of the dogs I have sold, many of them have their own ‘children.’ A child watched over by a Pit Bull has a friend for life. Do not forget that Pete the Pup was a Pit, and in fact, a direct ancestor of my line. Thurber’s ‘Rex’ was also a Pit, “none of your English Bulls.”
For the people who bring up the media circus of dog attacks I give you ridiculous owners, the ones who fail to lay down clear rules and limitations, who fail to exercise their dogs, who make poor breeding choices. I will also point out that many dogs bite children, but the media monsters that are Pits, Rotties, Dobies, and other large dogs make much better copy. No one wants to read about the child whose face has been damaged by a Golden Retriever. I saw that exact bite, a niece left alone with an elderly Golden. The parents told me the dog was a ‘baby-sitter.’ The truth was the child and dog did not know one another. The child did not have any manners with dogs, and had insisted on pouncing on the Golden. Finally the dog gave the child a disciplinary bite, as any dog would to an annoying puppy. The child required surgery to put her lips and nose back in the correct locations. Of course the dog was put to sleep. In the back of the ambulance, all the mother could say was: “what about her modeling career? She will be scarred for life.” Parents are incredibly foolish at times. The mother scared her child so much that I had the police remove the woman from the ambulance. The dark side of me wanted the mother put to sleep for placing her ill-behaved child in a small room with a dog. For considering any dog, no matter how well behaved, an appropriate ‘baby-sitter.’ Even my children, essentially raised within a pack, were never left with a canine babysitter. The closest they came to that was Clarice and Medic keeping an eye out for bear in the back yard. Even then, Medic reported to Clarice, and she to me.
The worst bite I ever received, in years of dog training, was from a Boston Terrier; who bit the meat between my thumb and forefinger and would not let go. I have permanent nerve damage to that hand. Sure, a large dog can do more damage, simply due to their size, but they are not any more likely to bite than a small dog. In fact, due to their more phlegmatic temperament, larger dogs often have a greater bite inhibition. Small dogs have no idea they are small, are largely bred not only to hunt, but to take down game in tight quarters. A delightful dachshund was designed to take on a badger. Jack Russells were used to break a fox from its den, and have jaws for the task.
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. Instead I believe that Princess and I are a team, and that she enjoys her work. We call her the Jolly Dog due to her insane grin and googly eyes. With her harness on, Princess, a perfect white heart on her nose, trots like a Saddlebred horse. She hangs her tongue out the left side of her mouth and opens her eyes as wide as possible. Anyone viewing her would see a dog demonstrating glee. At this moment she looked pensive. It could be that she was picking up on my own mood. On the other hand, I believe that Princess is so astute in her observations of people that she was equally disturbed by the lecture we had just received.
Being attached to a service dog apparently gives strangers the right to comment. It is like being pregnant, when everybody feels they can touch your belly, and ask you when you are due. I am so accustomed to the presence of the dog that I talk to her as if accompanied by another person. The vast bulk of my interactions about the dog are positive. I reminded Princess of this fact. With the beauty of dogs, Princess had already let it go, her expression entirely geared to make me be sympathetic. Princess loves to be cooed over, but her point was simple, get over it, the woman was a nut, scratch my ears.
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