[Critique Group 1] Deana's submission via Leonard

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

-----Original Message-----
From: Deanna Noriega <dqnoriega at gmail.com>
To: tuchyner5 <tuchyner5 at aol.com>
Cc: group1-request <group1-request at bluegrasspals.com>
Sent: Sat, Oct 20, 2018 10:24 pm
Subject: RE: send your piece as a reply.

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Here it is.

  

Chapter22

Irish Eyes

  

It might seem that after such a difficult ending to our working life together, I might have been to heart-sick after losing Phoebe to return for another dog. I grieved but also picked myself up and prepared to try again. At the end of each dog-handler relationship, regardless of why the team ends a partnership, it means beginning again from the very start. The handler must be willing to open their hearts to a new friend. each of my dogs leaves paw prints on my heart and carves out a unique space in my life. The reason I refer to my dogs as successors is that they can never replace the previous dog and there will never be another Tammy.  

 

A Lady In Waiting

  

What to pack?

Sturdy walking shoes,

Her favorite dress for pictures.

Raincoat just in case,

An open-heart.

  

What to leave?

Regrets for what was,

Sorrow for what has ended.

Longing for the past,

Second thoughts.

  

Who awaits?

Who will fill the void?

She’s like a mail order bride,

She’s full of questions,

No answers.

  

Hope-filled heart,

Anticipation.

Her heart struggles to open,

To begin again,

To welcome.

  

To receive 

A true gift of love.

No wonder she can't decide,

What she needs to have-- 

Except a new guide dog.

  

            Irish was my smallest guide dog. She was another black Labrador and weighed in at sixty pounds.  My younger daughter, Kassia  was four. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t allow her to go to guide dog school training without her. She claimed to remember going to class to train with Phoebe. She said she had a lot of fun bouncing around in my tummy and should be allowed to come this time too. I left for class on January 2nd, 1984. For the first week of training, Irish was perfect. She was quiet, and her pace and pull were well matched to mine. It wasn’t until the first snowfall, that she began to demonstrate her true personality. We stepped out the park door and she launched herself from the top step to roll snorting in the fresh snow. I was dragged down the steps at the end of the leash. My quiet perfect little dog was a complete snowflake. She also objected to relieving herself on dirty snow. Instead of circling around me at the end of her leash to locate the perfect spot, she would make one circle and then plant herself beside me to lean against my leg. She tilted her head to look up at me as if to say, “I can’t go here! It’s too dirty. Eventually, to avoid frostbite, I would allow her to move off the concrete into a snowbank. 

  

When we returned home, I discovered that although she knew quite well what to do, she didn’t always do it.  She was a party girl. She loved people, going places and best of all sniffing. Although she could guide well, she didn’t like making decisions. She would guide me right up to an obstacle and stop, waiting for me to tell her which way to turn.  If I suggested she might try moving right, she would crane her neck to the right and then not move if she didn’t think she could get around that way. If I then suggested she should try going left, she moved off in that direction.  She always made me direct her, rather than make a decision before we reached the barrier. If we were walking in the narrow path between snowbanks toward another pedestrian, she refused to decide to move over to pass them. She marched up and barked at them to move and let us pass.   

One of her other quirks was that she hated anyone staring at me. She would lean her weight against my side and growl so softly that it was only perceptible because her ribs were against my calf.  When I asked people what she was looking at, they told me it was a man usually wearing a hat staring at us.

  

One day, she was so busy sniffing that she failed to warn me that we had reached the corner.  I tripped off the curb, painfully twisting my ankle. I sat there massaging my ankle and said through gritted teeth, “Irish! If you don’t get your nose out of that storm drain, I am going to rip your ears off and stuff them up your nostrils!” 

An elderly woman arrived just then and overheard my remarks to my dog. She was outraged that I would say such a thing to my wonderful dog. 

  

The public doesn’t understand the need for discipline. I should have given Irish a double-handed high collar leash correction accompanied by a firm verbal reprimand for doing something dangerous to my safety and causing me an injury. Since we were at least a half mile from home with no means of calling my family for help, I could have been stranded there indefinitely if my ankle was damaged enough that I couldn’t put weight on it. My dog understood she had misbehaved, but she certainly didn’t understand the verbal threat. If a guide dog gets distracted by sniffing another person, seeks their attention or distracted from concentrating on guiding their blind handler, the consequences could be disastrous to the blind person. Praise and even high value treats as rewards are important. Cuddling, petting and play with a guide dog when out of harness help to cement the bond between the dog and owner. However, the dog is a highly trained professional. He needs reminders that when his harness is on, ordinary doggy behavior is taboo. This must be strictly enforced if he is to remain of use as a guide dog.

  

One of Irish’s favorite leisure activities was running on a long leash beside our tandem bike. If Curtis and I took the bike out of the shed, she expected to go for a run. One day, another elderly woman stopped her car in the road to threaten us with reporting us to the SPCA for cruelty to our dog because we were forcing her to run beside us. I asked my vet to write a letter if I needed to defend myself against any action she might take. My vet was supportive. She knew my dog was young, fit, and that I would never push her beyond her strength or ability. 

  

Irish also loved to swim. She would dive into the river, swimming down to retrieve rocks and bring them to pile them next to me on the bank. My little daughter put her to work helping clear up tree litter from the yard after storms. She happily helped gather fallen cones and branches.

  

While walking through town on a quiet Sunday, I paused at an intersection with Irish and my five-year old daughter Kassia.  Since no traffic was moving at all, I instructed “Irish, forward.”  When we reached the other side, a woman across the parallel street shouted, "Your dog crossed against the walk sign."  I yelled back "She can't read.”  As we approached the next intersection, my daughter leaned down to explain to Irish. “When the sign looks like that. It means ‘dog catcher over there!’  So don't go.  When it

Looks like that.  It means free dog biscuits over here.  There Mommy,” announced my clever child.  "Now she can read."  

  

I retired her after four years because she suffered from extreme allergies to cat fleas. The poor girl got dime-sized hives if bitten by a tic.  She had to be kept on medication from early spring through to the first frost in the fall.  Her medical expenses made it unlikely that I would readily find an adoptive home for her.  I have done my best to analyze their needs when placing my dogs in retirement homes.  Only Irish was of a temperament that I felt comfortable keeping her as a family pet.  She had never really liked guiding and was happy to spend a lot of time outdoors running with our other family pet dog.  I transferred her care to my youngest child several months before going for a replacement.  After retiring, only once, did she indicate that she wanted to guide.  My new pup was exuberantly dancing around at the sight of his harness.  So much so, that I was having trouble catching hold of him to slide the harness over his head.  Irish walked over and put her head through the harness as if to say, "This is what you should be doing." Since I was only going down the drive to get the mail, I buckled her up and went out the door.  The new pup in town was so upset; he jumped through the screen door to race after us. Just then, my ride to work arrived.  I quickly switched the harness to the correct dog, handed Irish the mail and sent her back up the driveway to my daughter where she stood on the porch. 

  

Irish taught me to pay close attention.  Her party girl approach to life meant that I could never just relax and expect her to do all the work. Although she was capable of excellent guiding, loved getting into her harness, she was an odd combination of soft and stubborn. If I corrected her too firmly, she simply flopped down and refused to move. I had to call the school to send a trainer out for the first time. On a trip into town, Irish stopped to investigate a particularly fragrant drain. I firmly corrected her and went on to the grocery store. On the way home, she veered out into the middle of the highway, walking me down the centerline. Huge logging trucks sped by going in opposite directions. I was almost blown off my feet in the buffeting slipstream. She obviously had decided that if I was going to be mean about her sniffing the drain, she simply would not go anywhere near that drain on the way home. I was shaking like a leaf by the time we made it back to the house. I immediately called for help when I finally got home.  Follow-up service from your training school is vital. Even an experienced handler can need some help from time to time. 

  

The trainer the school sent was an experienced instructor. After Irish refused to get up after I was told to correct her for walking me into a blackberry bramble growing out on the shoulder of the road, he agreed with my assessment. He said she would always be a challenge to work, but that she was really watching traffic and would not get me run down.  As wonderful a pet as she remained for my daughter for the next 8 years, it was almost a relief to hang up her harness and train with another dog.   

Iresh taught me that unless you truly enjoy your work, you will only be adequate at it but not give it your best. Knowing the task isn’t enough to be excellent at it. I can understand that as I would rather read a book, write a poem, or play with my children than do housework. I do it because I don’t like dirt and disorder, but I will never have the sense of pride and accomplishment I saw my mother take in a perfectly kept home.

  

  

  

  

From: tuchyner5 at aol.com [mailto:tuchyner5 at aol.com] 
Sent: Saturday, October 20, 2018 7:12 PM
To: dqnoriega at gmail.com
Subject: send your piece as a reply.

  

Deana,

Try sending yur piece as a reply to this e-mail.  Pasting it would be preferred.

Leonard
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