Service Tails

by Collins, Ace;

  It was almost by chance that Allen found out about mobility dogs. As he dug into the dogs’ varied roles, he began to wonder if the answer to getting his wife out into public was not a human but a specially trained canine. When he considered the scope of Sharon’s health issues, the thought seemed outlandish, but when you are grasping at straws to save a loved one, you will try almost anything.

  A mobility dog fills a similar role as that of a guide dog. The dogs used in this role are usually large and athletic, and thanks to their size and strength, they have been largely successful when teamed with those suffering from crippling diseases such as Parkinson’s disease and multiple sclerosis. Many pull wheelchairs or pick up objects for people who can’t get up on their own. Others provide balance and stability for a person who can walk but has impairments that affect balance or strength. The dog can follow a command and even help a person out of a chair. While the dog does not serve as a crutch, the animal does provide help with balance and gait. The animal’s skill set includes opening doors and cabinets and even turning on light switches. The dog is also trained to note things in a path, such as small impressions in the grass and cracks in the pavement, that might cause a person to trip or fall. Thus the dog becomes more than a guide; it is also there to anticipate and avoid issues that might lead to injuries. Like all service dogs, mobility dogs respond to verbal commands, and that was the one area Allen feared would keep the Friedmans from being able to use a dog to assist Sharon.

  With the progression of Alzheimer’s, there would be times when his wife would not be able to remember the proper command for the action she needed at that moment. Without the right verbal cues, the dog would not be able to respond in the manner needed, and that lack of response might lead to frustration for both Sharon and the animal. Even with this stumbling block in his path, the man would not give up on the idea until he had spoken to the various training facilities that matched dogs with people. It was finally a call that came from a couple of thousand miles away that brought him some hope.

  Kings Valley Collies, where Leslie Rappaport’s school was located, trained dogs in much the same way as other institutions. It was a positive reward system that relied on praise rather than punishment. Like other schools, the commands the dogs learned hinged on vocal cues. Through the use of a specific word, the disabled person would tell the dog what he or she wanted and the dog would carry out that command. By the time a dog was placed with a person, the canine had a working vocabulary of more than fifty words. The animal’s vocabulary grew to include more commands once he was accustomed to his new environment and the specific needs of the person he served. So while instinct and observation played a part in how the dog reacted, the partnership was based on verbal commands.

  As Leslie finished explaining how things worked, Allen gave the trainer a rundown of the issues Sharon was dealing with including Alzheimer’s. He explained that because of the progression of the disease slowly eating up his wife’s memory, vocal commands simply wouldn’t work. Therefore the option of using a dog to help her get out of a chair, to take a walk, or to safely attend outings with friends seemed out of the question.

  Leslie was not about to shut the door just because of the unique parameters created by Alzheimer’s. Instead she looked at Sharon’s case as a challenge that a good trainer should be able to address and assured Allen they could find a way to make this marriage of dog and woman work.

  More than twenty-five years of training mobility dogs and placing them with clients had taught Leslie a great deal. Every situation was unique, and therefore every dog had to be educated to deal with the limitations and needs of the person he or she was to be matched with. In Sharon’s case the dog was going to have to read the woman’s body language and anticipate her needs. Everyone who had ever watched the Lassie TV series had seen Lassie respond in that way hundreds of times, but that dog was actually reacting to cues and commands coming from out of the camera’s view. The canine partner Sharon Friedman needed would be working without a script and a trainer. This dog would actually have to do what TV viewers believed Lassie did.

  Leslie began by designing an entirely new training method. When a person was in a chair or on the ground and needed to get up, the dog was going to have to read that need and put himself in the right position to help. Body language, rather than a verbal command, was going to reveal when a person was losing his or her balance and needed support. The dog was also going to have to sense when a person was moving forward and wanted to stop. In other words Sharon’s dog was going have to be constantly studying her while continually reevaluating the environment. This dog was going to think!

  Once Leslie understood the parameters, it was time to find the right dog. Though she had worked with several breeds, in this case, she was sure she needed a collie.

  Collies have been bred for hundreds of years as herding dogs. They bond with the flock and are constantly studying the environment for potential dangers. They often work without commands. For centuries they have been expected to bring the flock or herd home before storms hit, to spot and fend off predators, to sense the weakest members of the group, and to pay close attention to the flock’s needs. Collies also instinctively lean into those they are guiding in order to push them in the right direction. So it was the breed’s ability to multitask, attentive nature and dynamic loyalty, and ability think and make quick decisions that assured Leslie this was the right choice for Sharon. But there was one drawback that automatically knocked out a majority of collies. While beautiful and distinctive, the breed’s long, thick coats require a lot of attention. Most of those with whom she had placed collies had the time to meet this need, but this was a special case. A person with Alzheimer’s and the caregiver would not likely have the time or energy for daily grooming. Leslie therefore decided that in this case she would use a smooth-coat collie.

  Smooths are different from roughs, or Lassie-style collie, in one way: their coat is short like a standard German shepherd. Grooming them is easy. Other than that, they learn, respond, and react just like all the other members of their breed. Leslie had recently come upon a smooth that seemed the perfect choice to blaze a new trail for training methods and mobility expectations.

  Schenley was a tricolor smooth that had been born in Canada. He was now a strong and outgoing young adult dog. While not show quality, he was intelligent, very people oriented, and eager to learn. Therefore this collie seemed to possess all the characteristics needed for what some trainers would have viewed as the canine equivalent of Mission Impossible.

  On trails, platforms, sidewalks, and every type of floor surface imaginable, Schenley was put through weeks of education. Working on a harness, Leslie silently imitated a person who was becoming dizzy or losing her balance. When Schenley responded in the correct manner, she praised him. Soon the perceptive dog could read a wide variety of body cues and respond to them. She then added vocal cues as a backup. By the time his training was completed, he had gained the ability to prevent falls, anticipate missteps, know when doors needed to be opened or closed, pick up dropped objects, and assist a person in rising from the floor or a chair. Most important, he was able to complete all of these and dozens of other tasks Sharon would require without any verbal cues.

  When the black, white, and sable collie met Sharon, it was love at first sight. The woman was drawn to the dog, and when she seized the harness, Schenley immediately went to work. As an amazed Allen looked on, the dog helped Sharon up from her chair, guided her to the door, and slowly eased her down the steps and across the yard. Schenley sensed when she was faltering and, without prompting, leaned in, giving the support of his body. He then waited until he felt her touch on the harness to move forward. Over his first few weeks in the Friedmans’ home, he reopened the world to Sharon.

  Within weeks of Schenley’s arrival, with the dog by her side, Sharon was back to visiting friends, attending plays and concerts, and living as independent a life as she had before her back issues. Sharon’s conditi
on even improved to the point where Allen could run errands and have no fear of leaving his wife at home. The collie took care of her needs, helped her get up and walk safely, prevented her from falling, and made sure she didn’t wander away. Schenley also learned another vital skill. Even before Allen, he sensed when Sharon was not feeling well or her cognitive skills were out of sync. The dog was then able to alert the man when his wife needed extra care or should not be left alone.

  Because Schenley has kept the door open, Sharon has been able to continue to visit her friends, and her mind has been able to hang onto the skill set she needs to communicate as well as reason. Thanks in large part to the happy dog’s patient bearing and uplifting spirit, the woman has also held onto the optimistic spirit that has governed her entire life. This means that after sixty-two years of marriage, Allen and Sharon’s union is still strong and meaningful, with both the husband and the wife knowing, loving, and appreciating each other. For many that might not sound like much, but for those familiar with Alzheimer’s, it is a miracle. Few with this disease live this long, and it is all but unheard of for one battling this disease to still be mentally participating in life.

  When on harness, Schenley is like every other service dog; he is ready for duty and all business. In that capacity he has changed the Friedmans’ lives and helped them create and hang onto new, wonderful memories. When the harness comes off, he is the family pet, but that does not end his looking for ways to serve. In his spare time, the collie has become the guide dog for their daughter’s blind Labrador. He takes the Lab for walks in the nearby woods and makes sure he always safely returns home.

  The question now becomes, is there potential for service dogs to do what medicines and other therapies cannot do in helping fight dementia? It is too early to tell, but Leslie Rappaport is already working on methods to train dogs to address the specific issues created by the disease. She has also shifted her training methods to teach all her mobility dogs to note and respond to body language and cues. Allen Friedman’s unique challenge and Leslie’s answer to that challenge have therefore opened the door to scores of people without verbal skills having mobility dogs that can assist them in their lives. So a collie that didn’t measure up to show quality and a woman in need of a second chance set in motion a revolution that has the potential to impact thousands. That is something worth noting and remembering.

  Employing Experience

  Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

  Søren Kierkegaard

  The experiences of youth have a profound impact on our future. What we see and learn as children often resurfaces to direct our actions and perspective as adults. When optimism reigns supreme in childhood, it tends to allow the mind to stay forever young.

  Imagine growing up in a place where everyone was limited. Consider what it would be like only to exist in a small area where walls kept you in and others out. Ponder for a moment the thought of being a person everyone else saw as being so limited you are denied access to much of the real world. It was not that long ago, when simply because of a handicap, individuals were confined by misunderstanding, perception, shame, and fear. Due to no fault of their own, during this time tens of thousands were locked away, shielded from public view, and all but erased from everyday life.

  Astrid Wagenschutz spent much of her youth with the people others ignored and dismissed. Born in Germany in 1920, the outgoing youngster lived in Norway for a decade and might have stayed there if her father had not made a trip to the United States to study the way the country was educating those viewed as mentally disabled. The America he discovered amazed and inspired him. It was a place of excitement, action, freedom, and energy. It was filled with thinkers and doers. It was a nation that opened its arms to those seeking second chances. It was very much the land of opportunity. Overcome with enthusiasm, and the offer of a teaching position at the University of Michigan, he gathered his family and immigrated to Ann Arbor. A year later, he moved to the Detroit area, to oversee and teach at a facility housing and educating the mentally impaired. It was behind the walls of the Wayne County Training School, located between Northville and Plymouth, that Astrid, or Oz, as her friends called her, grew up.

  Oz was an athletic, curious girl who loved to explore the grounds of the institution and the rural world beyond its walls. Living with her family in a dormitory, she exited the gates on a daily basis to play with friends, go to school, and run errands. Thanks to her father having solid employment, on the surface hers was a carefree life. Yet as she grew, she became acutely aware that the children who lived at the facility didn’t have the same opportunities that she did. They didn’t have parents who read to them, took them on outings, or planned birthday parties. Worse yet, no matter how loving these children were, society wasn’t ready for them to live in a “normal” world. They were forgotten, and therefore their potential was stunted.

  Perhaps having been born with poor vision caused the young American transplant to focus more on the plight of those around her than even most of the institution’s staff. While fully understanding the children’s limitations, Oz felt great empathy for their plight. Influenced by the way she relished the sights and sounds of the countryside, the manner in which she was intrigued by the scenes of nature playing out just outside the institution and how much she loved the freedom of being considered normal, she felt sorry for those living behind the walls, who were unable to share in those special elements of life. Thus handicapped became a word that, when spoken, evoked great empathy and deep sadness for the immigrant child.

  When she wasn’t at school or exploring the world around Plymouth, Oz buried herself in books. It was reading that gave her an opportunity to expand her world into places others had never heard of and to experience adventures most of her friends couldn’t imagine. As she grew, Oz vowed to someday explore as much of the world as she could. Even while living behind walls that clearly spelled out the limitations of its wards, she vowed to be limited by nothing.

  At a time when women often married before graduating from high school, it was an anxious and excited Oz who left her small hometown to attend the University of Michigan. While there, pushing her mind to its fullest, she met the man she would fall in love with and marry. After his graduation, the couple settled into what was the American norm for married couples. He went into the construction business, she got a position in the insurance field, and three children were born. And every chance they got, with Robert, Elise, and Richard in tow, they lived Oz’s dream by exploring the sights and wonders of America. Through thick glasses she took in vistas and watched performances and viewed treasured pieces of art, and she fully embraced each moment. Hers was a life lived without walls or barriers.

  As the Great Depression gave way to World War II and then moved into the 1950s, Oz made sure there were no walls built around her children. Just as she had while growing up in the institution, she wanted her offspring to explore and grow. The mother constantly emphasized the greatest element of life was unwrapping the new wonders found along each step of the way. The message was not to get trapped by physical barriers and not to let others’ perceptions of your potential keep you from living a full and rich life.

  In a sense, Oz’s idyllic world was the gift that her father sensed could be found in America. When he brought his family to the United States, it was in hopes that each of them would reap the multitude of opportunities he saw on his initial visit. Oz had experienced all that and more, and as she entered middle age, she was looking for even greater experiences. In 1961, seeking new adventures, the family moved to Arizona. Two years later, with little warning, the love of Oz’s life was felled by disease. Within a month, her husband was totally disabled, and it would rest upon her to take care of him and find a way to pay the bills. Thus, she was now the family’s sole provider, and her world was suddenly made smaller because of her husband’s limitations. It would stay that way until he died. Then, at seventy, when she was once more traveling an
d exploring the world, her life turned upside down again. This time it was her own health that began to build seemingly impenetrable walls.

  Though she’d never had normal eyesight, with glasses, Oz had been fully able to see everything around her. Now that was suddenly and dramatically changing. Not only were things not in sharp focus but shadows were pushing out the light. Her physician defined the problem as macular degeneration. Simply put, her vision was fading. Each week it grew a bit worse. In time, everything around her was out of focus, and she was relying on instinct and memory even more than her limited vision. Month by month and brick by brick, the disease built more walls around her world. For Oz, who had spent her life relishing each new sound and sight and living one adventure after another, her world was now almost claustrophobic. She was becoming just like the children she’d grown up around at the institution. Circumstances beyond her control were placing limits on what she could do and where she could go. She was trapped and dependent on others for things she once took for granted. Worse yet, people now perceived her differently. She was a woman to be helped and even pitied. It seemed the curious woman’s rich life was behind her, and all that remained was counting down the days until the end. Unable to be fully independent and not satisfied to live with only her memories to keep her company, she moved to California to be near her daughter, hoping that in this new location she might find a way to regain some kind of independence. While she enjoyed being around her family, the city of Tulare offered her few chances to explore. It was not set up for someone with her problems.