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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link=blue vlink=purple><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Chapter 14.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>New Faces and New places<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Curt needed to take a fifth year at college to earn a teaching credential. I knew I would probably need to complete a two-year Master’s program to get hired as a social worker. Our college didn’t have that Master’s program. So I started taking some counseling classes that were transferable to a graduate school elsewhere. We moved up into the foothills to be closer to where Curt would do his student teaching. I commuted down to Turlock. I spent three nights a week with Scottie and her dog Dippy in a two-bedroom apartment. If I scheduled things carefully, I could manage to spend half the week attending classes and half up in the mountains with Curt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Tammy and I did several practicum type classes that gave us a chance to work with children who were mobility impaired. We also gained experience with adults and children who were developmentally delayed. I led a support group for teens with disabilities at the high school. Everywhere we went Tammy was a hit. She maintained a quiet patient demeanor when the children forgot the rules and buried her in a pile of petting hands and hugging bodies. She lay down and waited for me to dig her out and remind them that they were to form a line and say hello one at a time. Some handlers remove the harness before allowing the public to touch or speak to their dogs. I found that inconvenient with so many young children eager to greet her. I could put Tammy at a sit, order her to rest and allow her to be petted. Each dog is different. Some dogs get too excited to permit much interference. Once when I got a little confused about my location I asked a man raking leaves for the name of the next cross street. Tammy sat beside me patiently for a few minutes. He came closer to answer my question but didn’t speak to her or try to pet her. Tammy didn’t like being ignored. Finally, when she thought she had been overlooked long enough, she sat up and offered the man a paw to shake hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>On another occasion, a new mail carrier knocked at our door. He had an armload of large cartons of braille books from the library for me. Tammy was out of harness and so felt entitled to greet him. She came bounding toward him. He was so startled that he fell backwards down the porch steps. She stood above him wagging and squeaking her favorite toy, a bright yellow rubber ducky. Fortunately, he was unhurt and we shared a laugh over my fierce protector.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>A kitten showed up to invite himself to join the family. He was so small I could easily hold him in one hand. Loki was an orange tabby. His coat was long, thick and fluffy. His feet were the largest things about him. He had seven toes on each paw. They were arranged so as to resemble a catcher’s mitt. He grew to be an eighteen-pound gentle giant. We named him Loki, but that eventually morphed into Lucky. He set about to establish his dominance.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>When Tammy and I arrived home, she customarily went to her dish for water and a few mouthfuls of kibble. It wasn’t unusual for her to find a small orange puffball fast asleep in her bowl. She summoned me with a bark to remove the obstruction. Other times she found him stretched at full length in the middle of her rug. When a bark didn’t cause him to do more than open one eye and yawn, she flopped down on top of the intruder in her personal place. He scrambled out from under her and bit her on the tail or paw. The game was on. An orange streak raced up and down with a black avenger in hot pursuit. They charged about until the kitten fearing he couldn’t escape sought shelter under the couch or bed. By this time, Tammy would be running too fast to stop. She ended up running into the piece of sheltering furniture. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>One day as Tammy passed the dining table. Orange paws snaked out from where a kitten was lying in wait on one of the chairs. They attached themselves to a waving otter tail. Of course, Lucky was the one to be surprised. His slight weight didn’t phase the dog. She went on wagging her tail, kitten and all. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>In the summertime, I fed Tammy outside on our small porch. A rather bedraggled old tomcat started hanging around under the porch and helping himself to left over dog food. He was snaggle-toothed and had many scars. After assessing us during the warm weather, he decided to retire from his life of independence and moved in when the nights became too cold. Each time I opened the door, he dashed inside. Unlike Lucky, Alouitious Bartholomew Cat wasn’t interested in playing with Tammy. They developed a policy of mutual aloof disdain. He only lived with us for about a year, before passing away quietly in his sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>One of the teachers Curt worked under for his student teaching had a wife in a wheelchair. We became friends and often met for lunch or to run errands around town. We never failed to draw a lot of attention. She was really adept at bouncing her chair up on two wheels to handle curbs in those days before curb cuts. She had a car adapted with hand controls for her to drive. I opened heavy doors and pushed pedestrian signal buttons. I think the town of Sonora thought the circus had arrived whenever we hit its streets. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>For his 21<sup>st</sup> birthday, Curt’s parents took us to San Francisco for the weekend. We had tickets to a play and went to a fancy restaurant for dinner. I dressed up in heels and a cocktail dress and Curt wore a suit. As we got on to the elevator with my in-laws, an older woman boarded the car. We were talking among ourselves and she must have heard us both address Florence as mom. Finally, she asked which of us was actually her child. My mother-in-law was a wonderful person with a gentle loving nature. She responded politely that Curt was her son and I was his wife. The lady gushed, “Isn’t he wonderful to have married her?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>I felt a jolt of anger go through my husband, but before he could say anything rude to the lady, my darling mother-in-law replied sweetly, “Not particularly, he happens to be in love with her.” It has always amazed me how people feel free to say rude things or ask personal questions of people with disabilities. They don’t seem to have any sense of being discourteous. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>When we arrived at the restaurant, we were assigned a polite young waiter. He ceremoniously seated us and explained the specials. He left us to decide and went to fill our order for beverages. After placing our drinks on the table. He asked if he could bring water for Tammy. I assured him she was fine and didn’t think any more about it. When he placed our dinner choices on the table, he knelt down and placed a large platter with a steak bone before Tammy. My good girl never even lifted her head from my foot. She knew that anything not in her familiar dish was not hers. Unless of course it was ice cream and our waiter hadn’t brought any of that irresistible temptation to the table. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Curt found a job teaching junior high science and we were off to San Jose. There was a statewide hiring freeze on for social work positions. Specialized units handling caseloads of Hispanics or Japanese welfare recipients had worked efficiently and a unit was formed to attempt to bridge the cultural barriers for Native American clients. A small unit in the Santa Clara County Welfare Department was given the task of handling relocated Native Americans. At this period, the federal government was following a policy to force assimilation by offering people still living on the reservation a payoff to move to major cities away from their extended families and people. Attempts to starve, infect with disease, push them onto lands not fit for farming or any other form of gainful work, poison them alcohol, deny them the right to speak their native tongue of practice their own religions or cultural beliefs had diminished the population, buthad not succeeded in assimilating them in to society. As a result of this latest latest federal program, large numbers of Sioux, Navajo and even an occasional Eskimo or Chippewa were living in the area. When I enquired about entry-level positions, I was told there weren’t any openings. As I turned away in frustration, I tossed back over my shoulder a flippant remark. “I guess you have your token Indian.” The clerk called me back to fill out an application.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>I was hired under a rotating number to circumvent the hiring freeze and had to hunt down my paycheck each month. It was sent all over the building, depending on who was taking a pregnancy leave or using up vacation time. The unit consisted of a single caseworker and two aides. The aides were not allowed to do a lot of the work because they only had A.A. degrees. That meant that I was assigned over a hundred cases to handle. In the days before talking computers and scanners to read print, there was a lot of paperwork to process with no effective means to get it done. I labeled the top sheet of each stack of forms and clipped a template explaining how many spaces to move my typewriter carriage over or down to fill out the blanks correctly. I made braille notes about my clients and filed those in the front of each folder. I was frustrated by a system which required that a form be filled out for each action I took, even when that action didn’t lead to a positive result. The readers I used were not allowed to read documents from client files because the files were deemed confidential. I could send out notices and use a driver to meet clients in their homes and appear in court. The everyday paperwork was my biggest stumbling block.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Tammy had her role in all of this activity. She remained quietly at my side or under my desk unless voices were raised. If an angry client stormed into my office,Tammy would move to place herself between me and the angry client. I only had to place a hand on my dog and speak softly to the upset individual. I pointed out that loud voices agitated my dog guide and since I didn’t want anyone bitten, they should please take a seat and explain their problem calmly. I offered to do my best to assist them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>The paperwork was a trial, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that an additional problem was my empathy. I often felt like a girl scout with a box of bandages trying to help at a major traffic accident. Seventeen year-old mothers of three needed so much more intervention than a fifteen-minute visit and discussion of how to live on a budget. Indian women used to depending on large close families of sisters aunts and cousins were overwhelmed by the loneliness of city living. A welfare check estimated to provide for the minimum needs of a family left no margin to handle the unexpected crisis or the natural generosity of Indians toward each other. I also found myself wanting to take home each child thrown into the system through no fault of his or her own. Good loving foster care homes were hard to find. Brothers and sisters had to be separated when no place for more than one child could be found. Children who had been in the system for awhile became harder to handle and often acted out to test whether the adults in the new family cared enough not to toss them back. Sadly, their doubts were often justified. If small change disappeared or something was damaged, the foster child got the blame and I would have to hunt for a new placement. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Many of the people I worked with became hardened to other people’s pain and just shuffled paper. I didn’t win many brownie points from the others in my office by treating clients with respect and courtesy. My running all over the building to get a signature to authorize emergency food or some other intervention irritated others. They had no problem taking a coffee break while keeping someone sitting down in the lobby with five hungry whining children. When my temporarily borrowed number finally ran out, I was let go. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>I had gotten in the habit of filling out only one form to note the apartment found or whatever action I had completed successfully instead of six for the places I called without success. So my productivity ratings were low. I had run into a bizarre form of reverse prejudice. The three others in my unit were full bloods. My chestnut hair and ivory olive complexion were considered in their opinion to be too light. I was treated to remarks like, “You look more like a Chinese than an Indian.” I left wondering just where I did belong. I had never thought too much about my identity as Quietwater, daughter of Twilight Woman granddaughter of Redbird. Though I had inherited my Grandmother Luella’s petite build and lighter complexion, I had always been accepted by my large extended family. Once when we were children, my mother gave us each a dollar to spend at a carnival. The carnies refused to take my tickets and let me ride for free. When we got home, my mother asked if we had had fun. My middle brother Ruben said “Yes, but I don’t get it why everyone is so nice to her, just because she’s a girl!” It didn’t occur to him that my blindness was why the ride operators treated differently. At home I was his big sister. So dealing with prejudice about my blindness and my mixed blood was something I didn’t quite know how to handle. I had always won approval from my teachers and my family for working hard and doing my best. It was a shock to work with people who neither respected my efforts nor wished to help me be successful in the tasks I undertook. I had moved out of the school environment where I was that cute little blind girl. This was the real world where some of my co-workers wondered why I was receiving a higher salary. When it seemed obvious to them that a blind person couldn’t do the work. They couldn’t imagine how they would perform the job if they were blind. So in their opinion a blind person just couldn’t do it. It’s times like this that the steadying presence of friends and family are really important. I now had Curt and Tammy to help me weather a storm of self-doubt. Tammy let me know each day that I was the most important person in her life. She didn’t care if it took me longer to fill out a form on my typewriter than it did someone using a pen. I was still her special girl, like no other because she loved me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>People’s responses to guide dogs can really be funny. One day as I pulled a shopping cart behind me and worked to collect a few items at the grocery store, a little girl approached us and commented, “I bet your dog doesn’t like being carried around with that handle.” Trying to picture myself slinging my ninety-pound dog over my shoulder like a purse sent me into hysterics. Another child inquired if my companion was a dog or a pony. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>While I waited in a candy store to buy a pound of peanut brittle as a birthday gift for my father-in-law, a young man came up to us and asked if I were training Tammy to pull a dog sled. He wanted to know where he could get a harness to try to train his dog to pull. I don’t know if the confusion was caused by the fact that people are surprised to see retrievers guiding or that they expect all blind people to fit some sort of stereotype of a shuffling head-down person wearing dark glasses. Blind people come in all shapes and sizes and can be couch potatoes or downhill skiers. They can be young or old. They might have been blind since birth or have recently lost vision. Guide dogs have to be carefully selected to match the lifestyles and personalities of the blind people with whom they are teamed. The matching process has to take into consideration strength, walking speed, and overall temperament. Will the dog need to walk long distances, handle heavy traffic or spend hours lying quietly in a classroom or office? Will the dog need to be able to handle subways and crowds? Will it need to be strong enough to brace someone with balance issues? Will it need to be accustomed to small children, horses, cats? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:1.0in;text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'>Many factors go into choosing the right dog for each handler. When Tammy and I were matched, we were young, energetic, and lively. Her gentle responsive nature was well suited to my soft voice and quiet handling style. We fit neatly together like the two halves of a whole. Among guide dogs, there is always one dog who holds the star position among the rest. I have loved all of my dogs, but Tammy was my star, my perfect match. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;line-height:200%'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"'><o:p> </o:p></span></p></div></body></html>