All Because of Henry

by Nuala Gardner

  Blair had become such a good friend. As Easter 2012 approached, I decided to ask him to accompany me to Zamora. He would help support my still delicate confidence, and it would be advantageous for Alberto and Jane to hear another dog expert’s perspective.

  Waiting at Glasgow Airport, Blair teased me about my suitcase. “Typical woman! No doubt you’ve got the kitchen sink in there.” Yet when our cases were weighed, Blair’s was 4 kilos heavier! I always packed light. I used my laptop case as hand luggage, stuffing it with my purse and other essentials. However, it was a large suitcase. It contained a full cuddly pack with a big dog for PAAT, so that Spanish parents could see how to recreate one for themselves.

  Alberto met us at Valladolid, and it was wonderful to have some sunshine back in my life. Beni came too, and we went over the launch of the Spanish book during the 150km drive to Alberto and Jane’s beautiful home. From there, at Zamora’s edge, the view of the wine-growing plains was breathtaking. Jane and I hugged each other, and Blair and I quickly adapted to the Spanish hola, kissing both cheeks. We were to have plenty practice!

  PAAT had two visually impaired students. One was Alberto, a physiotherapist, who was being partnered with his first guide dog, a gorgeous golden retriever. The second student was Rocio, who lived in Madrid, 250km away. She was a petite, pretty young woman, with her third guide dog, a very friendly chocolate Labrador called Bruno. Unlike many visually impaired people who may have slight peripheral sight or be able to see light and vague shadows, Rocio had been born with a condition which left her in complete darkness. She was a translator, and such was her fluency in English that it was hard to discern that it was not her native tongue. She had been reading up on autism, and was hooked. I was delighted to be able to send her a copy of my talking book, because she would be working with me as my translator. We would become a close team.

  We discussed parallels in autism and visual impairment, shared sensory and spatial awareness problems. As we talked, I knew in Rocio I had gained another Spanish friend. I looked forward to sharing a platform with her, and with Bruno.

  Afterwards, we made our way to our hotel, where people invited by Alberto were waiting. Rocio, with Bruno in tow, came to translate, and Alberto came too, with his new guide dog. Jane and Alberto made inclusion for disability such a normal part of life. If only those involved earlier in Dale’s adult life had had that same integrity. We had drinks in the bar, but despite the wonderful hospitality and the abundance of the local produce, I stuck to orange juice! How unNuala-like, but I was working! Everyone I met was so gracious. PAAT had wonderful supporters who were grateful that I had visited, supporting their work, but truly, the privilege and pleasure was all mine.

  A parent, Marta, was coming from Madrid. Her nine-year-old son Jorge had severe autism. Marta supported PAAT and was a committed member of a new autism charity in Madrid, Fundación Quinta. Provision in Spain’s largest city was so inadequate. How familiar. She was accompanied by a lovely gentleman, Joaquín, who worked tirelessly for the charity. His son Quinto was the same age as Dale, and had severe autism and was non-verbal. Fundación Quinta embraced the publishing of my book, which they hoped would help raise awareness of the mammoth task they had undertaken.

  Marta hoped that Jorge could be a candidate for a canine experiment. Would he connect in the way Dale had with Henry? She worked tirelessly to address her son’s autism. Alberto even described her as my Spanish alter ego, a fighter and mother warrior of autism! Apparently, she couldn’t wait to meet me. I felt the same.

  There was a tap on my shoulder. Marta! She was so attractive, and the strength just oozed from her. With her “Hola,” Marta gave me not two kisses but three. We tried to talk using Makaton hand signs and other gestures, but it was futile. Rocio bridged the gap. When she heard how Dale was doing, Marta’s mouth dropped open, pleasantly shocked by his progress.

  It was time to eat and that meal was fit for royalty. Again, although Blair and I often didn’t have a clue what was being said, the passion from everyone was uplifting! I sat beside a psychologist with very basic English (but a great deal more than my Spanish!).

  “Nuala, you are a pioneer of how to work with autisimo children using dogs. Thank you for your work.”

  “Gracias!” I returned.

  We exchanged a few remarks, but the language barrier made fluid conversation impossible. Alberto, Jane and Rocio were mindful, and kept updating Blair and me. Not only that, but without a second thought, Alberto ensured full inclusion for Rocio and Alberto, by reading out the menu in full. I learned to say Rocio’s name when I needed her to translate, just as I would when addressing a child with autism. If only everyone in society had the same respect for disability as those grouped round that table!

  After dinner, it was time for my presentation, and as Alberto and Blair set up I stood alone until Marta joined me. She put her arm around my shoulder, as if to say, We cannot talk, but we need no words, as mothers we are connected. I placed my hand on top of hers. I understand. I was a little nervous. I would be talking to Spanish professionals. Thanks to Alberto and Blair, it went well, although it was my first time working with a translator. I managed. We all managed! It taught me that I needed to plan meticulously for future talks. I would return. Un Amigo Como Henry was to be launched in June.

  Having said adios to Marta and the guests, we went to our rooms to unpack. It was scorching. We were both elated by how we were treated. Blair had really lessened my anxieties by employing himself as my personal assistant, and calling me “Boss”! I told him he would get a brilliant reference from me any day! I couldn’t have done without him. He was a rock. A real friend.

  Jokes aside, we commented on one issue that neither of us could ignore. We discussed how “socially hopeless” we felt, trying to engage and integrate with people we had just met without the language. We agreed. How on earth does a child with autism cope, every day, not being able to understand our language and environment?

  We set off for a walk, to relax and enjoy beautiful Zamora, and Beni came too. Alberto adopted his dog trainer role with Rocio and Bruno, who accompanied us for some “environmental practice” in that quaint town. Bruno had been trained intensively as a potential guide dog for about eighteen months, but learning to work in partnership with Rocio was just beginning.

  Alberto led Rocio, allowing her to hold his left arm, while she controlled Bruno, who, like any guide dog, walked on her left. He wore his harness, but she had to master controlling him using his lead first. It was a lovely evening, and we made our way through the sleepy streets at a leisurely pace. We needed to; the town was busier than usual because their Easter procession was about to take place.

  Zamora was festooned with ornate churches and cathedrals, many were hundreds of years old. In the main square, people sat outside in cafe bars and restaurants, drinking and eating unhurriedly. Blair and I adored it. We wandered through a maze of cobbled streets, slabbed pavements, tarred roads and twisting stairways and alleys. Alberto used them all!

  Rocio worked on taking unexpected turns and avoiding jutting litter bins, lampposts, benches and the like. Everything, everywhere – things we sighted people take for granted. She worked hard to keep Bruno at a consistent pace, just a couple of paw lengths in front. Spatial awareness and the correct pace for both dog and student were paramount. We witnessed a common problem: as she went about her work, people couldn’t resist interrupting and patting Bruno. Like all guide dogs, he was beautiful and well behaved, but when a guide dog is in harness, he knows he is working. He must be fully focused on his master, be able to concentrate and guide the person safely. Never distract or interrupt the dog when working, as it causes confusion, which, of course, compromises the safety of the owner. I could see Rocio’s frustration. Bruno was still learning.

  It was really touching to witness them working together, giving Rocio similar independence to that given to Dale by Henry. How amazing man’s best friends are! Man simply couldn’t live without them!


  Whilst strolling, we were interrupted by big storks shrieking. They nested in the rooftops, but a louder thrum was growing. Just as we neared the main cathedral, we heard the religious festival. The crowd was dense, desperate to see the spectacle. An effigy of Jesus was being borne from the cathedral to another church. The beat of the drum pounded in our chests, and the lament filled the air. All were dressed in black.

  Rocio and Bruno were a couple of metres away. We were mindful of the impact the parade may have had on the dog. How would he cope with the sensory overload of the event, still under test conditions? We needn’t have bothered! He took it all in his stride and later lay at his mistress’s feet, content. We all were! At eleven o’clock, as is the fine Zamora routine, we went for a drink and tapas in a bar, bursting with every generation. Perfect.

  For the rest of the weekend I relaxed, and had long working chats with Jane and Alberto. Blair showed video footage of DATA children. PAAT were thoroughly impressed. The wonderful hospitality, insight to the guide dog world and the friendship I gained that weekend helped me focus, be confident again.

  When I got back, I even felt okay picking up the phone to Jamie, making arrangements to collect Amy. Looking around that house, I surprised myself. It was just a house. This wasn’t my home any more. He could rattle about in it till it sold. It didn’t seem to bother him, and it certainly didn’t bother me. Maybe Amy and I were in the flat, and we didn’t have the big rooms and gardens. So what? We had something more. I had something more. Freedom, I think. My new life had begun.

  17

  Man’s Best Friend

  “If I sit down on a bench he is at my side at once and takes up a position on one of my feet. For it is a law of his being that he only runs about when I am in motion too, that when I settle down he follows suit.”

  – Thomas Mann, A Man and His Dog

  My career path – if that’s the right term for it – was progressing. So far there wasn’t exactly money and a pension plan in it, but whatever it was growing into was fitting me very well indeed. I felt wanted and needed, purposeful, in a way that I hadn’t been to anyone other than my children for years. I just kept hoping that all the trappings would follow, somehow, but for now, it was more than enough. Sadly, I couldn’t say the same for Dale’s situation, and his well-being worried me terribly.

  He continued to slog away, trying to secure employment. Every week, he attended a job club run by the Shaw Trust, where he would apply for vacancies – librarian, museum attendant, leisure attendant – anything and everything. He was called for the occasional interview, but all his efforts were in vain. I hardly saw him, he rarely phoned. His mood was low, and who could blame him? The odd time he visited for a coffee and chat, he was passive, as if his entire zest for life had evaporated. All of his strategies to keep going were now running on empty. He had left Prospects Social Group because his peers there were painful reminders of his own plight. Fortunately, the one thing he had was a thriving social life outwith Prospects, so in that sense, the group had served its purpose.

  To my relief, he managed to carry on without any obvious signs of regression. While this was reassuring, it still upset me to see my son so unhappy, with little hope of a decent future. One morning, I invited him over for a coffee and a chat. I suggested he increased his voluntary work with Barnardo’s. Perhaps do some administration work for them, as he wanted to expand his skills in that area. Certainly, it could only help his chances of employment. He went along for an informal chat with one of their staff, and soon thereafter, on Monday afternoons he helped out with office work, appreciating the routine and normality of driving to and from work. He enjoyed the different environment of the office, despite more than a twinge of annoyance when a member of staff remarked that she was shocked to learn he could drive . . . given he had autism!

  This increased workload helped lift his mood, and more was in the offing. Barnardo’s also wanted his help with a new Autism Social Group they were running in Inverclyde for school-aged children. Dale seized the chance! Certainly, it was voluntary, but he was keen to participate in all the necessary duties, and he was happy to attend staff meetings. He also continued volunteering at Barnardo’s Thursday drama group, because he didn’t want to disappoint the children there.

  Life, for a while, was mundane, as the calendar flipped through the early months of 2012. Mundane wasn’t the worst place we had been recently! Although Dale hadn’t secured a job, there were no major setbacks or issues to grind us down. I spent my days writing and researching; Amy adapted to having two homes, and even Thomas the rogue had become accustomed to his new lifestyle.

  By June it was time to return to Zamora. As I’d already made that trip with Blair, I felt sufficiently strong to go back alone. When I arrived at Glasgow Airport, it was a wild night, all howling wind and rain. Bin lids flapped, some even tipped over, and I was sure that my flight would be cancelled. It was called. Boarding, I was quick to fasten my safety belt, as the wings shook and the whole aircraft moved while we were still sitting, allegedly stationary, on the tarmac. Terrified, I began to think the plane didn’t even need an engine! It was a rough flight, but we arrived safely. It felt really good to be in the sanctuary of that lovely hotel. Best of all, I was excited at the prospect of seeing Alberto and Jane again; they had become such dear friends.

  My escalating confidence even made it possible for me to go to the hotel’s busy restaurant, which was teeming with couples sharing romantic meals, all enjoying the ambience. A charming young waiter approached. I lifted my chin.

  “Table for one, please.” This was possible.

  For the first time in ages, I was hungry and able to enjoy a steak with a glass of red wine.

  After I had phoned Dale and Amy, I managed to snatch a few hours of sleep, which felt superb. I was still regularly blighted by insomnia, worrying about Dale or the responsibilities of my new life, and all the baggage of being a single mum. At 6 a.m., I prepared to leave, with the breakfast television news on in the room. I was shocked. All flights to and from Scotland had been cancelled the night before. A raging storm, with eighty mile-per-hour winds had caused a fatality and flights from Scotland were cancelled. I nearly hadn’t made it to Spain, but for a change, fate had been on my side.

  Greeting Jane again was wonderful. She understood my divorce situation and all the horrendous stresses I had been under. As we sat drinking tea and catching up, she explained her own exhausting but incredibly worthwhile times. She was working with families and loving it, but the majority of her work was done at home, and that brought its own problems. Her two daughters would meet the families and they pitched in; those young girls’ understanding and tolerance was exemplary. However, one day, Jane realised that her eight-year-old daughter had perhaps met one family too many.

  “Oh no, Mum, not the autisms!”

  After we’d emptied the teapot, Beni arrived with copies of my Spanish book. He’d done a great job. The front cover showed a little Spanish boy with a beautiful golden retriever sitting beside him. Together, they were looking over lush, green plains. Later in the day, Alberto and I recorded a local radio programme, which was another interesting learning curve. I was becoming more adept at working with translators! That evening, I dressed smartly, readying myself for the Zamora conference and the launch of Un Amigo Como Henry.

  It was a stifling night, and the grand room of Zamora Town Hall was filled with professionals, parents and interested locals. It was lovely to see the PAAT guide and assistance dogs in attendance with their owners. An attractive woman, Carmen, who worked for UNICEF, opened proceedings by reading an extract from my book. She delivered that piece with passion, as if she was appealing to the UN itself: Read it!

  Alberto translated and I delivered my PowerPoint presentation, and may I say, with some aplomb! I was relieved that my confidence had held up, and despite the language barrier, I was able to engage with some of the audience. Alberto gave a terrific speech, which resounded in the hall and tho
ugh I could only catch the gist of it, so much was clear from his communication. My name and Dale’s sang out in praise. Then he produced a large gift bag and revealed two beautiful engraved glass plaques. I had to fight back the tears as Alberto read out the inscriptions: “Honorary (Patron) Member of PAAT. Presented to Dale Gardner, through your fight for independence you have been the inspiration and motivation for the work in the association of PAAT Zamora.”

  I had to compose myself again as he read mine: “Honorary Member of PAAT. Presented to Nuala Gardner for her dedication, commitment and support to the world of autism and the association of PAAT.”

  In response, I asked Alberto to translate for me. It was a privilege and a pleasure for me to be with everyone that night. Afterwards, I signed books, carefully asking the purchasers to write their names out for me, because I didn’t want to deface their books with misspellings. At 11 o’clock, the night was over. Hardly! I was forgetting! In Zamora, it had just begun.

  Staff from PAAT, with Carmen in tow, summoned me back to my hotel for a night-time feast. The meal and company were sublime. Carmen stole the conversation with her hilarious (and true) tales, gleefully translated by Alberto. A handsome young man joined us. Victor was physically disabled, and sat at the top of our table, because he used an electric wheelchair and needed room for his assistance dog, who lay beside him. Another physically disabled gentleman sat next to me. He knew a little English, which allowed us all to exchange a few words. Victor, who was the same age as Dale, had been born with a degenerative neurological condition, which in adulthood had increased his dependence on his devoted parents.