Trust My LIfe To A Dog?

Guide Dog Chronicles:
Trust My Life To A Dog?
by Kate Chamberlin

Personally, I would have preferred a Guide Cat when I went blind, but they just weren’t available. A rare eye disease had reduced my vision to only a little light perception in one eye. I was getting used to saying to my husband, “Dave, did you bring in the mail?” or to Marion, our teenage daughter, “Would you run this over to Sherry’s, please?” And I was doing well enough with cane travel, but I noticed that people felt a bit awkward when I’d ask to hold their elbow. So my family and I decided on a guide dog. Since I’m not necessarily a dog person, I wasn’t sure how I’d do.
I researched the ten accredited guide dog schools and chose Guiding Eyes for the Blind in Yorktown Heights, New York, six hours away from my home in Walworth, NY.
I had to live at the center to learn how to tap into the dog’s training. I was devastated when my husband left me in the foyer at Guiding Eyes. Did my three children feel like this each time I merrily said, “Oh, you’ll have a wonderful time at camp. We’ll see you soon.” And off I’d go. Now, I was the one being abandoned and I felt hot tears of desperation, isolation, and the absurd feeling that I didn’t belong here.
In my stern Mom voice, I told myself, “It’s only for a month. Just apply yourself. If you don’t like the dog or he doesn’t like you, you won’t have to keep him.” I also felt quite intimidated by the 13 other students. They all seemed so much better adjusted to being blind than I was. I didn’t know where to begin, so I sat in the nearest chair and asked the fellow next to me what he did for a living.
During the next 2-1/2 days, the instructors interviewed us and we interviewed each other. We felt comfortable as a group, and now we were all anxious to meet our dogs. When they told me my dog was an 18-month old Golden Retriever named Future Grace, my mind flashed back to my Mother’s Golden, Nicky. He would guide you all right … right into trouble. He was the dog who jumped against the storm door when a leaf blew past. It required 15 stitches to close the gash from the broken glass. He was the dog who ran in front of a delivery van and sheared off the end of his tail. He tried it again a week later and ended up in a body cast. Trust my life to the likes of Nicky? I was ready to go home – alone.
One by one, the instructors called us in to meet our dog. It. was my turn. I walked into the Campbell Lounge. A split second after I’d said, “Future, Come,” I was knocked over by a furry tan blur of energy with puppy breath.
Future had been lovingly raised by a family until she was about 14 months old. Then, she was returned to the training center for intensive work. Three trainers and their supervisor had spent the three months before I arrived training her.
I found out later that they leave the dogs alone in the kennel for several days before a new class comes in. The dogs are well cared for, but their trainers don’t work them during that period. When they meet their new owners, a lot of pent up energy is released.
So, there I was, with a wriggling mass of fur and slimy kisses all over me. The schoolmarm in me issued forth a “Future, Sit.” To my amazement, she sat.
The proper ‘heel position had been explained to me – leash in my left hand, dog’s shoulder at my left hip. It seemed a simple enough concept, but when I said, “Future, Heel,” she took off at such a fast pace, that she was way ahead of me. The trainers assured me that her neck muscles were so thick and strong that using the leash to correct her wouldn’t hurt. But, it would remind her to tuck back into proper heel position. I yanked on the leash. Future looked at me as if to say, “Oh, sorry. I forgot.”and heeled properly.

The first few days were spent finding out if we could accept each other. She seemed to like me at first lick. I liked her too, but could I trust my life to a dog? This dog, who had just knocked me over?
I thought Grooming would be a good way to start the bonding process. How different could brushing a dog be from brushing my children’s hair? I found out! There’s a lot more hair on a dog – and it comes out all over the place! I took her out next to a fountain near the building each morning for grooming. As I brushed and combed her, I talked to her. I knew she had a limited vocabulary, but perhaps my feelings would get through to her. One morning she put her head on my lap. She seemed to be telling me that everything would be all right.
Future wasn’t a finicky eater like my children, and she seemed hungry all the time. But the trainers said she was getting the right amount of feed for the amount of work she was doing.
Piddle time was no problem, but picking up poop? How does a blind person find the poop pile so she can pick it up? Well, I learned that when Future selects the right spot, she stops and goes. I follow the leash to her neck. If I gently run my hand a little way down her back, I can feel what she’s doing: straight back for piddle; curved back for poop. If it’s the latter, I put my foot near her flank and wait for her to get up. I praise her (without moving my foot). With a plastic bag over my hand, I scoop the poop and dispose of it.
Future and I went everywhere together; she even came into the bathroom when I took a shower. “Right,” I groaned. “Just when my kids get to the ages where I can go to the bathroom alone, I get a dog that has to go in with me.”
We had all our meals in a simulated family-style dining room. We’d sit with three other Guide Dogs and their people. Future was supposed to sit with her rump under the table and her head next to my chair. But with four dogs and four people, there wasn’t enough room under there. So she curled up to the left of my chair and was still out of the way.
When I’d put the harness on her for training walks, all I had to do was to hold the buckles out of the way and she could practically get it on herself. She’d use her nose to position her head in the harness and then give a little jump. She loves wearing her harness and leash. They’re made of sturdy leather with shiny silver rings and hooks. One thick strap goes on her back just behind her shoulders and buckles under her. A double strap goes across her chest, This is the one she leans into to pull me along. The harness handle is fastened to both of these straps so it lays along her back when it’s not in use. I hold the harness handle in my left hand when we walk. As her shoulders go, so goes the handle, and I follow her lead.
Many people don’t realize that a dog in harness is on duty and should not be petted or distracted.
After a week of practicing, Future had to stay in our room on tie-down while I ate one of my meals. She barked as if she was worried about me. To tell the truth I felt a little lost without her, but we were training the dogs to know that, if we left, we’d come back.
Future had her work cut out for her when we began to train on the city streets. She was much more comfortable with the hustle and bustle than I was. She’d stop at a curb so I could feel for the edge with my foot. I’d give the command to go and she’d take me to the opposite curb. Once there, she’d wait for me to feel the curb and give the command. Then off we’d go.
Going down stairs worries me. There’s something about stepping off a cliff! Future will block my path if I give her a command to go forward, but it isn’t safe to do so. This “intelligent disobedience” was hard for me to learn to trust.
We both like riding in elevators. When we get near the elevator door, I put out my right hand and say, “Future, Hupup,” which means “Show me.” She walks me up to touch the elevator buttons with my outstretched hand. I suspect Future could push the button with her nose or foot, but I like to do it.
Once the button is pushed, she guides me two steps back so that people getting off the elevator won’t run over us. As soon as we’re in the car, she swings around to face the door, Most elevators now have the floor numbers in Braille.

We also trained on a big city bus. After Future finds me a seat, she sits with her tail tucked under her so it won’t get stepped on. I count the stops and tell her when we should get off’.
During one of our training walks, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. We had just left the curb and were in the middle of the street. Suddenly, Future started to backup, pulling hard on the harness to get me backward. As I wondered
what the heck she was doing, a van careened around the corner. If Future hadn’t pulled me back so quickly, I would have been road pizza – or so I thought. It was explained that we had just experienced a ‘traffic check.’A supervisor, in complete control, was driving the van.
The day before our review week began, we went to the Puppy Raisers Party. My husband and daughter came for the day to take photos and meet my guide dog. The family who had raised Future as a puppy walked up to us. Future gave them a light sniff and turned away. Then, she did a double take and bounded back to them, whimpering and wiggling all over. She couldn’t contain her joy, and stood up on her hind legs to hug and kiss them.
At one point, Future tilted her head back to look at me. She seemed to say, “Thank you! Thank you I Thank you!” We all hugged and cried and promised to keep in touch.
Finally, our month of formal training was over. My husband had brought our tan van to take home my tan guide dog. She hopped in and curled up next to my seat. During the long ride home, her feet would occasionally twitch and she’d give little woofs in her sleep. I like to think she was dreaming of all the adventures we would have, such as walking the Freedom Traill in Boston, flying to San Antonio to experience the River Walk and feel the emotion inside the Alamo, mall cruising, church, and school.
Future Grace provides me with the independent mobility needed to make the little things in life count. Now when my husband asks, “Is the mail in?” I can harness up my dog and say, “I’ll bring it in
on my way back from Sherry’s.”
(©) 1994, 2009 by Kate Chamberlin