The Possibility Dogs

by Susannah Charleson

8

  THE SPIRIT OF SERVICE BEGINS AT HOME—I remember a laminated poster of a child spooning soup into her toy bear’s mouth in my fourth-grade Sunday-school class, a sort of Norman Rockwell–meets–Successories message probably lost on all of the students. Funny that I should remember that poster now, with a dustpan in one hand and a broom in the other and not a single living creature in the house inclined to help me clean. Pomeranians Mr. Sprits’l, Fo’c’sle Jack, Sam, Smokey, and Misty, plus Puzzle, the search dog: my dogs are not only not helping but actually making it harder. Housework involves a kind of hopscotch over and around them. The Poms are all semicomatose, strewn across the cool wood floors of our 115-year-old house, woolly and inert as bread mold. Though I can’t see her, Puzzle is likely belly-up somewhere beneath a ceiling fan.

  Dog lovers often talk about pets’ untapped potential, and as I look down the corridor at this lot, I wonder where my own dogs fall on the scale of service gifts. With the exception of Puzzle, I suspect pretty low. They’re nice dogs, but honestly.

  “Practice evaluating dogs,” some of my advisers recommend. “Practice on any dog that’ll let you.” It’s good advice. Canine evaluators agree that dogs can miscue off a hesitant human. I look down the hall toward the Poms. I know! I can practice testing on them. How about a pop quiz for us all?

  For working-dog candidates, a willingness to come when called is one of the most basic test items. In evaluating untrained dogs, we look for a dog’s innate social attraction to humans. In evaluating trained dogs, which mine are (mostly, somewhat, maybe), the call and the friendly beckon examines obedience as much as attraction. I’m tired of cleaning, and maybe a little resentful that this crew is sleeping and I’m not, so I decide it’s time for the dogs to show me a little action. Trained, untrained, whatever. “Hey, guys!” I call brightly and clap. “Hey! Hey!”

  This would be the friendly beckon. I’m in the kitchen where the food is, so I should have some leverage.

  A single Pomeranian ear flickers, but not one of them moves. Terrific. I am socially unattractive.

  “Hey, guys! Pop quiz!” I try again. “Come!” This would be the obedience command.

  They usually come. This time they don’t. Granted, I’m a known quantity on a summer afternoon in the house we share. A stranger might have gotten more interest.

  From another room, there’s the heavy thump of paws on floor, and I see Puzzle rounding a corner and heading sleepily for me down the hall. She is the youngest of my dogs and, as a search-and-rescue canine, the most thoroughly trained. She’s not hurrying, but she’s not dawdling either; she winks in the bright light of the kitchen as she moves to me, her tail swaying lazily. When she gets to my feet, she sits and looks up patiently, as if unreasonable commands at odd hours are what she’s used to. Her expression reads: I was napping, but I’m here, and, you know, whatever it is, I’m in.

  I hear the awkward scramble of small feet, and behind Puzzle comes little Misty. The black-and-tan Pomeranian with white paws and crippled back legs is wobbling toward me as if swing dancing, her sweet face alight. It takes her some time to make it down the corridor, but she looks up cheerfully when she gets to me.

  “Good girls!” I say to Puzzle and Misty, murmuring something about “Women rule.” I rub Misty’s ears and scratch her chest, hug Puz and kiss her muzzle. Misty sits with a panting grin; Puzzle melts into the hug, her tail thumping as she slides down to lie at my feet.

  “You are the only good dogs in the house,” I say loudly, pointedly. I move to the treat drawer. Puzzle lies where she has melted, watching me with liquid eyes. Misty pivots on her bottom, holding her Sit. Her little tan eyebrows go up. At the scrape and rattle of the treat drawer, the other Pomeranians suddenly rouse. They are awake! awake! and I am suddenly popular: The Caller of Dogs. The Giver of Good Things. The Poms hurry down the hall with lively expressions of interest. They make a ring around my feet and sit, supremely good dogs all.

  None of us are fooled. This is less social attraction or obedience and more What’s in it for me?

  Okay. So spontaneous testing at naptime is not entirely reasonable, or accurate, or fair. Top marks for Puz and Misty. I’ll try the other Poms again at a better hour, and I remind myself that, all kidding aside, there’s information in this experience: when I meet the coming homeless dogs may be just as important as where I meet them.

  Evaluation of dogs for any reason is not an absolute science. There are always factors to consider. There are all kinds of evaluations for dogs at every stage. There are puppy tests that look at raw personality traits and drives; there are tests for adult dogs, tests for adult dogs in rescue, tests for dogs with special needs, and tests for grown dogs with known behavior issues. There are alternative test items for dogs with unusual backgrounds.

  For potential working dogs, there are testing protocols that seek to identify dogs that might be more suited to protection or search than service. I’ve been studying every evaluation procedure I can find to learn what each contributes to understanding a dog, and I’m also looking for something more—possible test items that suggest not only willingness to partner a human but also an inherent connection, even concern. We can identify dogs that like other dogs better than they like humans. We can identify dogs that prefer humans to other dogs. But is there a way to recognize a dog’s natural awareness of the human condition?

  After the first test of attraction—the dog’s willingness to come when a stranger beckons—the next item often evaluates the dog’s interest in following a human who talks, claps, or attempts to engage him while in motion. Rolling a puppy over with a hand to the belly, establishing a pattern of strokes on an adult standing dog, or lifting a dog up and holding him aloft then examine the dog’s willingness to be dominated by a human. Interest in working collaboratively is tested through a simple retrieval of a thrown ball or wad of paper. And finally, there is the question of stability. How does the dog respond to new stimuli? The dog is tested for touch sensitivity, sound sensitivity, and the reaction to an unexpected stimulus like a towel suddenly tossed in his direction. A good service candidate is alert and aware but doesn’t hyperreact.

  If I hope to help handlers train their own psych service dogs, I need to experience the partnership as closely as I can. First find one, Paula said. I’m looking for a dog to take through the whole process. I’d like to find one that can work as a co-teacher, help other handlers train their own dogs for service. Dogs definitely watch one another. Their human partners also need evidence that difficult tasks can, in fact, be taught. The demo dog can serve both functions.

  Paula’s recommendation is smart. Finding and training a dog will take me through the entire procedure every service dog handler faces—joys and failures alike—and if this work is something I’m just not up to, it’ll be obvious here. This is a weed-out process for me as much as for the dogs.

  I compare the formal evaluation procedures of Campbell, Volhard, and C-BARQ, and I talk to evaluators who use them or have created their own. Many of the test items are the procedures we use to test a would-be search K9, but for service partnership, we are looking for a dog that’s different in important ways.

  The following test items begin to sketch a portrait of a dog’s nature. The scale doesn’t determine whether a dog is a good dog or a bad dog. In the simplest terms, this scale suggests where a dog’s impulses, affinities, and vulnerabilities lie. Highly independent and/or dominant dogs are often most suitable for search and detection work. Fearful dogs that lack confidence would not be appropriate for assistance or for search or detection. Search and service candidates typically show themselves as cooperative, engaged with humans, not overly aggressive but not passive or timid either. For assistance, we look for a dog that’s enthusiastic, engaged, stable, and calm—a dog that shows balance, yes—but we also look for a dog that prefers human connection to any other thing. “A super-confident Velcro dog,” as one trainer puts it. This kind of dog may well be a strong service candidate.

>   I look again at my own crew, and though I think I know how each would fare on the testing, I can’t be sure until I try. Across days, I persuade neighbors, friends, and the occasional repairman to help me uncover any hidden talents the dogs might have. Search dog Puzzle’s skill set is known, so I concentrate on the others. Each dog is tested singly, with the others behind a closed door. Because some of my dogs are homebound due to health issues, I don’t take them out to neutral spaces. Testing them in their own environment isn’t the cleanest slate possible—some of them may react protectively on their home turf—but this is all about hypothesis, and if nothing else, it will give me trial runs on test procedures. It will also tell me how well I know my dogs. Not one of them is a puppy. Most of them are rescues, and all of the rescues came with baggage.

  The evaluation looks first at willingness. How eager is a dog to do this thing a human asks? Responses range from Unwilling to Reluctant to Compliant to Responsive to Enthusiastic. In many cases, those simple descriptors aren’t enough—some dogs may be reluctant out of fear, others out of independence—so thoughtful observation and additional notes make a difference to our understanding of them.

  Testing Human Attraction

  A repair contractor who likes dogs agrees to help. He comes into the kitchen after an afternoon’s work in another room. The young man kneels in front of the dogs’ beloved treat drawer but without a treat in hand; he claps and individually calls each of the dogs to come.

  Mr. Sprits’l, Pomeranian, age nine: At the call of his name, from the end of the corridor, Mr. Sprits’l spins and barks and spins and barks and spins. And sits. And barks. Come? Not on your life. He’d score Unwilling. (Note: With a relative stranger on his own turf. On a genuine test, I’d run this one in a neutral space, but I suspect Mr. Sprits’l’s score wouldn’t change. He is a law unto himself, is Mr. Sprits’l.)

  Fo’c’sle Jack, Pomeranian, age ten: Barks from one position, then comes forward, stops, barks, then comes forward all the way, wagging. He warms up, but it takes a bit. Because the final approach is cheerful (ears perked, wagging), he is Compliant.

  Sam, Pomeranian, rescue, age ten (?): Sam is a partially blind rescue with a heart problem and a bullet in his back leg that is too surgically risky to remove. Despite hardship and abuse in his early life, sweet, friendly Sam comes readily forward at the call, snitzing (a sneezelike sniff) and smiling, ears perked and wagging. He’s Enthusiastic.

  Smokey, Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix, rescue, age seven: Sensitive and reactive, very acutely aware of eye contact from humans, Smokey is intelligent. But Smokey overworries, overthinks, overresponds. Still anxious after the loss of Erin, Smokey is wary of change, of strangers in general and of men in particular. The contractor is no exception. When called to come, Smokey stands his distant ground at the end of the corridor and barks in alarm, ducking out of sight and returning now and again to bark more. Smokey is Unwilling.

  Misty, Pomeranian, rescue, age ten: Pretty Misty, overcoming her wayward, rolling gait, is eager to meet and greet. Her condition doesn’t seem to dampen her friendly interest in other people. When the contractor kneels to call her, Misty scrambles down the hallway cheerfully, eyes bright and tail wiggling, then flops at his feet with an adoring gaze upward and a kiss for his fingertips. She is universally friendly and a consummate flirt. (I am wonderful and you are amazing; together we are fabulous!) Misty is Enthusiastic.

  Testing the Follow

  Still testing each dog privately, the contractor gets up and walks away, calling the dog by name and gesturing him or her to come. Which dogs follow him? Which stay put? Which are completely alarmed by his movement?

  Mr. Sprits’l: Barks from his unchanged position at the end of the hallway. You moved! he announces. Spins. Announces: You moved! Augh! Augh! Augh! Mr. Sprits’l remains Unwilling. When I put him behind the door, he’s still fractious. He puts his nose to the crack at the bottom and snorts, Hmph.

  Fo’c’sle Jack: When the contractor walks away, Jack follows from a distance. Sits at a distance. Watches. Looks at the contractor. Looks at the treat drawer. Holds his Sit, eyes bright. Snitzes. The closer the contractor gets to the treat drawer, the more Jack snitzes. Some behaviorists suggest the little sneezelike snitz means “I like what you’re doing.” Everything about Jack suggests he would follow this stranger, but for a price. This is not about the interest in humans. This is about the treat. There is no way I can credit Jack with compliance. The Pom with an ulterior motive, Jack is Unwilling. Jack’s a sweet boy, but he’s always got an angle.

  Sam: Follows at a polite distance, his good eye turned to the contractor, tail wagging gently. They are perhaps three feet apart. Sam doesn’t try to close the gap between them, but he’s clearly interested in what’s going on with the human. Sam’s reserve is Responsive rather than Enthusiastic.

  Smokey: Follows warily, at a distance, tail up, tail down, tail up, tail down, barking, barking, barking. Smokey’s behavior straddles interest and caution, but he is more reactive than friendly, at least on his home turf. I’d call him Reluctant for now. It would be interesting to evaluate Smokey away from his home ground.

  Misty: The Pom with the hardest time walking is also the Pom who follows most readily. Snitzing, smiling, and wagging, Misty follows the contractor’s path across the kitchen, delighted with him. She play-bows, front paws low, backside high, and snitzes again. She is all about the charm and less about the treat. Misty is Enthusiastic.

  Testing Restraint

  A friend who rarely visits the house attempts to see which Poms will allow her to gently hold them in place for one minute. Following recommendations from a number of canine tests, we will note who struggles and then submits with eye contact; who struggles without aggression; who struggles and attempts to bite; who totally submits and withdraws from human eye contact completely. This test is a basic indicator of a dog’s willingness to submit to human control. Total submission is not the point here—assistance dogs need to have some self-reliance and independence about them—but a dog that will not give up the struggle, or, worse, struggles with an attempt to bite is likely not a good candidate for assistance work. None of my dogs bite or bare teeth. They have never snapped at strangers, groomers, or the vet. This is the kind of test item one has to do very carefully with an unfamiliar dog. My friend will gently but firmly restrain each of mine. I am sure there won’t be bites, but I do expect some drama.

  Mr. Sprits’l: Nothing doing. Sprits’l resists even the initial touch. Although at the vet, Sprits will submit to treatment with stoic tolerance, socially, in his own home, he is not about to be held in place for any reason, thank you very much. I suspect Sprits’l would never bite unless physically threatened, and maybe not even then, but he will also not acquiesce to this . . . this . . . imprisonment by a stranger. He struggles and mutters the entire time, giving us the stink eye. We try to hide our laughter, and we call his outrage Unwilling.

  Fo’c’sle Jack: Struggles, submits, mutters in protest with eye gaze, then submits and tries to capitalize on the hold, leaning into the hands to get scratched. When in doubt, work it. Jack is Responsive, and if petted to his specifications, he’s Enthusiastic, the little opportunist.

  Sam: Submits to the restraint without eye contact. Though he doesn’t struggle, I feel his unease. Sam’s hard backstory gives me the sense he’s been through a great deal. We do not prolong this. His behavior is the exact opposite of Sprits’l’s. Sam’s stoic but withdrawn response is Reluctant. I’m moved by his gentle acquiescence, but something in it saddens me for little Sam. (I’m sure he doesn’t understand why he gets a secret treat later.)

  Smokey: Struggles, resists, turns his head as if to snap without actually snapping, and, released, runs away. Smokey is an uncertain dog at home, sometimes fiercely independent, sometimes extremely shy. Curiously, he’s a gentle, docile boy at the vet, submitting to thermometers and shots with a withdrawn quality much like Sam’s. I believe Smokey’s response here is less about dominan
ce than about anxiety. He’s Unwilling.

  Misty: Struggles a little, as if startled by the restraint, settles, gives eye contact, and then seems to enjoy the hold, snitzing now and again. She leans into the hold until she melts, her belly upward to the cool. You could scratch my belly. Like Jack, Misty moves from Compliant to Responsive to Enthusiastic, and we wonder aloud just who’s testing whom in this exercise.

  Testing Dominance

  Dominance is often evaluated by testing how puppies react to being held off the ground by a human. With adult dogs that are too large to pick up and hold aloft, evaluators sometimes test dominance by extended firm petting, by lifting the dog’s lip with a finger, or by the hand-over-paw test: covering the dog’s paw with a hand, holding some pressure, and seeing how the dog responds. This kind of testing is not done carelessly with unfamiliar dogs. Because the Poms are all used to getting their teeth checked, the lifted lip, even from a stranger, isn’t the fresh experience it might be for other dogs. We try the hand-over-paw.

  Mr. Sprits’l: Insulted, withdraws his paw and dashes off, then barks indignantly from ten feet away. Sprits’l is Unwilling! Seriously Unwilling! Again!

  Fo’c’sle Jack: Wiggles, licks hand, withdraws his paw, play-bows, and extends his paw again. Jack, like many Poms, likes the game grab-toes, and even from a stranger, this test is an irresistible call to play. Jack is Responsive, even Enthusiastic. When his paw is held down with firmer pressure so that he can’t withdraw it, he’s Compliant—but he snorts and tosses his head a little. He looks vaguely disappointed that we don’t follow the rules of the game.