Risky business: Going to the show

Here’s Mike again, with a guest blog.

Beth has written — in her memoir and in blog posts here — about adjustments she and we learned to make to her blindness. For Beth, getting around is the most obvious challenge — how do I get to the post office? There are the basic features of day-to-day life: labeling spices, differentiating between shampoo and conditioner. By no means easy, but there are answers — a guide dog, braille on the spice jars, and a simple rubber band on the conditioner bottle.

If you get a chance, see "Senna."

When it comes to living life together, the question “What do you want to do tonight?” was a bigger problem than we might have predicted. For example, while we had not been avid movie-goers, we did get out to our share in Beth’s sighted days. We saw “Risky Business” in Urbana, and  I remember that we — like the rest of the audience — hooted when Tom Cruise gets his Ivy League rejection letter, grins, and says, “Looks like the University of Illinois.” Before she lost her sight entirely, Beth was undergoing treatment and in a kind of vision limbo — some days good, some days bad, one eye OK, one eye bad, and other permutations. During that period we saw “Purple Rain.” Between what she could make out visually and the music, she enjoyed it as much as I did.

After the lights went out for good, we made a couple of attempts. Looking back they were pretty stupid — “Back to the Future” for example, or a rescreening of “E.T.” on campus. That’s when I learned how long a modern special-effects driven movie can run without a single line of dialog. Minutes, literally, went buy. And they were awful, because it drove home to both of us that this wasn’t going to work anymore. I felt bad and overcompensated by trying to translate in real time what the hell was going on (it was like a bad SNL skit). Beth felt bad that her predicament left us in that spot. Pretty awful. We tried a few more times — largely because we had this feeling that we were supposed to go on with our lives, and not let what had happened stop us.

Well, it certainly didn’t stop us. And we did have to go on with our lives. Just differently. We eventually realized that trying to force things was just dumb, and sure to drive us both into depression or stupid fights. Take vacations: If it’s all about the scenery, I go there myself or with other friends now. That doesn’t mean that Beth couldn’t enjoy the Grand Canyon or Glacier National Park on her own terms. It just means that if we’re going to use the money and time, there are better trips for us to take. Like going to New Orleans, where the food, music, and smells put us on pretty even ground.

As far as movies — after a long layoff we now do go occasionally. Usually, we’re careful to read enough about a prospective film to have confidence that it’s dialog-heavy.  We saw the “Descendants” right after Thanksgiving. (Great performances, but I can’t honestly remember much more about it than that.) Last night, we took a little risk: We went to the Gene Siskel Film Center to see “Senna,” a documentary about the  Brazilian Formula One race driver, Ayrton Senna.

I’d already seen it and was blown away by how much I liked it. I’m a casual race fan; I knew of Ayrton Senna largely because we have a couple friends who are fanatical about racing. Reviews of the movie made it clear that it was just a very well-told story about an enormously charismatic and enigmatic man. And that you didn’t need to know anything about racing to enjoy it. Sure enough, I was mesmerized by the story, which — although it captures the spectacle and intensity of racing — is as much a character study of Senna as it is a glimpse of Formula One racing.

“Senna” is certainly “visual” — all movies are, of course. But much of the story is told by narration by journalists and family members. In other words, I thought Beth might enjoy it. So when some friends of ours told us they were going, Beth — who likes popcorn and a night out as much as the next guy — suggested we go.

It was a mixed bag. While much, or even most of the narration was in English, I’d forgotten that a whole bunch was spoken in Portuguese — and subtitled. Yet other portions were spoken in sub-titled French.

But it wasn’t like the old days. We both made the best of it. I summarized only the most important bits of subtitled narration. Beth’s French is good enough that she actually could follow those passages. The lightly-buttered popcorn was perfect, as were the (all-red) Swedish Fish. Whit curled up at our feet and slept throughout. And we had a great chat with our friends about the movie afterward.

Which is all to say, not everything about getting older is bad. And if you get a chance, go see Senna, it’s well worth it.

And to all a good night

I am the youngest of seven, and I have 16 nieces and nephews. Eleven of those nieces and nephews have children of their own. A new grand-niece is on the way, and one of my nieces has two grandchildren already! As my husband Mike Knezovich likes to say, “It’s not a family. It’s a nation!”

Buying Christmas gifts for this brood is out of the question. So we pick names instead. But here’s the rub: you have to make a gift for the person you choose.

Mike chose our six-year-old grand-niece AnnMarie this year. Our dear friend Siobhan might describe AnnMarie as suffering from “verbal incontinence.” In polite terms, we might say that AnnMarie has strong verbal skills. When Uncle Mike tires of hearing AnnMarie talk, he gives her a maniacal look and repeats, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” until AnnMarie stops blabbing, shrieks in laughter and runs away. Works every time.

I told you he's maniacal.

Through the magic of the internet, Mike discovered Target sells $12 DIY snow globes. “Our Photo Snow globes are fast and easy; No gluing required. Just follow the included template to cut your photo or artwork, and slide it into place.” What made this particular DIY snow globe that Mike found especially special was that one could make a recording, too. The lucky recipient of this gift can press a button on the bottom of the snow globe and hear your personalized holiday message.

Mike the maniacal Christmas elf got to work. He slid his close-up photo into the globe, recorded himself repeating “blah, blah, blah” over and over, and wrote an instruction card for AnnMarie:

• Step 1: Press the button on the bottom.
• Step 2: Run away!

And you know what? It worked! AnnMarie opened her gift, laughed at the funny picture of Uncle Mike, pressed the button, shrieked, and ran away! She did this so many times that her mother finally had to take the snow globe away from her with a promise she could play with it that night when they got home.

Without the Blah Blah Snow Globe to distract her, AnnMarie started talking again. I called her over. “Have you ever heard of this word?” I asked her, pronouncing e-a-v-e-s-d-r-o-p-p-i-n-g slowly enough for her to take in each and every syllable. “People who are blind like me are pretty good at it, you don’t look at the people you’re eavesdropping on,” I told her. “Just close your eyes, be quiet and listen.” I demonstrated. Keying in on a conversation behind us, I heard AnnMarie’s Uncle Ben mention a man’s name to Mike: Robin Ventura. Next it was Theo Epstein. Rebuilding. “They’re talking about baseball,” I whispered to AnnMarie. “They say the new year will be interesting to watch.” She said “oh” and raced off to play with her cousins.

Our little family really scored with the homemade gifts we received this year. Our great-nephew Grant made a desk lamp for Mike, and our son Gus will stay warm in Watertown, Wisc. Wrapped in the Snuggie his Godmother Caren decorated with Milwaukee Brewers logos. My present from AnnMarie’s dad isn’t quite finished yet, so I got a “substitute” gift: With the help and patience of her big sister Anita, AnnMarie read and recorded the book The Night Before Christmas for me to listen to.

AnnMarie (with some help from big sister Anita) recorded a wonderful talking book for me.

I am not a weeper, but I about cried as AnnMarie turned the pages for me to listen to her recorded voice reading that poem. How thoughtful! How sweet! The Night before Christmas is no easy read, and it’s fun to hear this little girl struggle – and succeed—at reading phrases like “droll little mouth” and “nothing to dread.”

My 95-year-old mother, Flo, enjoyed listening to the book with me, too. Flo sat right next to me the entire night, describing each homemade gift as it was unveiled: jigsaw puzzle, barbecue rub, homemade play-doh, bracelets, painted pint glasses, a fleece blanket decorated in school colors. Even Whitney got a gift: my sister Cheryl bought her a homemade fleece pull-toy at a craft fair. My personal favorite (after the Blah, Blah Snow Globe, of course!) was the energy drink my nephew Brian made for his cousin Colin. The drink is called “Colinade.”

After the festivities, Flo brought up more serious stuff. Her good friend Dorothy had died on Friday. Dorothy had always been a big help to my mom, very caring, always wearing a smile. “You’re going to miss her.” Flo nodded, then reached out to hold my hand.

My friend Denny and his sister Maureen had lost their mom on Friday, too. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to attend both funerals. Flo understood. Babies cried, wrapping paper was collected, teenagers called out NBA scores from downstairs, and Flo squeezed my hand until a certain six-year-old tapped my arm to interrupt the moment.

Me: AnnMarie! I didn’t know you were there!

AnnMarie:I was eavesdropping.

Me:What’d you learn?

AnnMarie: You were talking about funerals.

She left then, and the chaos continued. And so, life is too short, friendships are precious, we learn far more by listening than we do by talking, and it is a joy to be around those we

At the end of the evening, we Skyped with Caren and Mark's family, who live in Minneapolis. Flo wasn't really believing what she was seeing and hearing.

love. I could go on and on about how poignant this particular holiday season has been for me, but hey, we don’t want to make poor Mike feel pressured to make another Blah Blah Snow Globe for me this time, right?! I will end here instead, leaving you with the final line of one beautifully read holiday poem: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Everybody’s a winner

That's randy Randy.

Seeing Eye puppies are named long before we blind folks get matched with them. To help keep track of the dogs, each litter born at the Seeing Eye is given names that start with the same letter of the alphabet. Whitney is from the “W” litter, and no puppy will be named Whitney until she retires.

We Seeing Eye grads sometimes feel at the mercy of the staff member who names the pups — learning of Whitney’s sisters Wispy and Windy made me feel I’d won the W-puppy-name-jackpot! Writer and fellow Seeing Eye graduate Jeff Flodin wrote an essay about his dog’s name, and he generously agreed to let me publish it here so I can take a few days off from the blog to enjoy the holidays introducing Whitney to family and friends. Enjoy!

Randy Randy

by Jeff Flodin

In honor of my friend Beth Finke’s new Seeing Eye dog, Whit, whose full name is Whitney, this blog is dedicated to my Seeing Eye Dog, Randy, whose full name is Randy.

What’s in a name, anyway?

My first dog’s name was Sherlock, which everyone thought was the coolest. When I was introduced to my new dog on March 1, 2010, I said, “Randy. What a stupid name.” Randy Quaid came to mind, the dimwit of the National Lampoon Vacation movies. Then, I was reminded that randy as an adjective means frisky in a sexual way. A tease. Being fixated at adolescence, I began to see Randy in a different, much cooler light.

Then the veterinarian at the Seeing Eye told me that Randy had been destined from birth to be the patriarch of a new string of brawny black Labs.

“You mean he was supposed to be a stud?” I asked.

The vet demurred.

I persisted. “So, what happened? “It obviously didn’t take.”

The vet sputtered and stuttered and said nothing.

Try as I might, I could not crack the code of silence surrounding Randy’s failed career as a stud. Perhaps his puppy raising days in Florida had unwittingly accentuated a retiring personality. Maybe his was an issue of sexual preference. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Whatever forces lay behind Randy tweaking his destiny, we embraced one another as a Seeing Eye team.

Randy’s Chicago debut was a picnic on the shores of Lake Michigan in late spring. The picnic was a benefit for an animal rescue program. Lots of dogs were there. They competed for prizes in fetching, heeling and all manner of obedience.

Randy finished out of the money in all those contests, but he captured first prize in two categories: youngest dog and largest nose. That was the day I learned the true meaning of the phrase, “Everybody’s a Winner.” The Special Olympics comes to the canine world.

Randy remains true to his calling, whatever that calling might be. Some days, it’s that golden retriever across the street. Other days, it’s working the crowd from the doorway of the Ravenswood Pub. Every day, he’s attuned to food. His concentration is unwavering. Randy can stare a hole through a block of Swiss cheese while, at his south end, Mulligan the cat hangs from his tail.

The last day of training at the Seeing Eye, the instructor took me aside and said conspiratorially, “Jeff,you know we couldn’t give this dog to just anyone.” I smiled and nodded and wondered what on earth he’d meant by that.

Each day of the intervening twenty months has illuminated another facet of what he meant. Not that Randy defies understanding. On the contrary, he is a quick study. He was and is eager to please. He is totally without guile. Everything Randy does, he does full bore. He’s neither the brightest nor the dimmest. He knows no subtlety. He’s just Randy. He’s the dog who understands the phrase, “Be yourself and you will be loved for who you are.”

This essay first appeared in Vision Through Words, a blog that welcomes submissions of poetry and short essays by visually impaired and blind writers. You can learn more about Jeff and read more of his work on his own blog called Jalapenos in the Oatmeal, which he writes for The Guild for The Blind here in Chicago. Thanks, Jeff. Merry Christmas!

On a short leash

It’s only been one week since Mike met Whitney and me at O’Hare, and in that short time my new 58-pound bouncing bundle of Golden Retriever/Labrador energy has successfully guided me to:

• the bank (three times!)
• the UPS store
• Hackney’s (three times!)
• my hair salon on Wabash
• Walgreen’s (once inside, she led me right to the pharmacy window, how’d she know?)
• Sandmeyer’s (Mike and I love Ulrich and Ellen, the owners of this wonderful neighborhood independent bookstore)
• Dearborn Park for a leisurely walk
• a succulent Solstice dinner party at our neighbors Jim & Janet’s groovy loft apartment (she turns into their doorway every time we pass it now, smart girl!), and
• the pool where I swim laps.

For the first weeks at home, we're inseparable. Literally.

None of our walks have gone without a mistake or two (or five, or nine), and we are still working on our choreography, but we’ve been getting where we need to go, and returning home safely. “Good girl, Whitney!”

Whitney has never been to Chicago before, of course, so I am the one who tells her what direction to go to get our errands done. We travel one block, she stops at the curb. “Good girl, Whitney!” I say, then give her a direction. “Whitney, left!” She turns left, I tell her how smart she is, and we proceed to the next curb. “Atta girl, Whitney! Good girl!” I say, then give a direction. “Whitney, right!” Whitney turns right, and we’re off again.

Whitney loves getting outside and going to work. She is so enthusiastic, though, that sometimes when I command “Forward!” she forgets to stop when we get to the next curb! That’s when I step into my role as teacher. I give her a correction, either verbally or with the leash, then show her where she made her mistake.

Next, I bring her back to the curb, tell her to sit, tap the curb with my foot and praise her. “Good girl, Whitney! Here’s where you stop. Good girl!” We take a few steps backwards then, maybe two dog lengths, and we re-work the approach to the curb. Whitney almost always, always gets it right the second time. And when she does? I praise the bejeezus out of her. “Good girl, Whitney! Attagirl!” I rub her up. Her tail wags. “Good girl, Whitney. Good girl!” Whitney eats it up, and she rarely misses that curb again.

Praise is really what it’s all about for Seeing Eye dogs, and to that end, one thing The Seeing Eye urges graduates to do during our first two weeks at home is keep our new dogs attached to us. Literally. 24/7. So picture me now, working at my computer. Whitney is chewing her Nylabone, her leash looped around my ankle. Any time I stand up to head to the kitchen to warm up my coffee, Whitney looks up, stops chewing, and drops her beloved bone. “Whitney, heel.” Whitney walks at my side to the microwave. “Good dog, Whit.” When we get to the microwave, I give her another command. “Whitney, sit!” Whitney sits. “Good girl, Whitney!” I want her to stay there while the coffee warms up. “Whitney, rest.” She does. “Atta girl, Whitney. Good girl!

Having a dog on leash 24 hours a day is strangely exhausting, and it sure is tedious. Understanding the method behind the 24/7 attachment madness makes it easier to execute: having them at the end of the leash all the time gives us plenty of chances to tell them how great they are. If Whitney sits when I tell her to, I praise her. When she heals, lies down, rests on command, she is praised. On the other hand, if Whit misbehaves (sniffs inside a garbage can, nibbles at crumbs on the kitchen floor) I can feel her movement through the leash and catch her in the act. We can’t see our Seeing Eye dogs, but if they are only a leash away while they’re being naughty, we can correct them.

All of this transfers to our work outside, too. I praise, and often pet, Whitney anytime she stops at a curb, or at the top of the stairs to the subway. If she messes up, I correct her and give her a chance to do it right. And if she succeeds the second time, guess what? She gets praised!

And so, as much as we Seeing Eye graduates would like to think it’s clear sailing after our three weeks training in Morristown, the work continues, and in some ways really starts, once we get home. I’m looking at the months ahead of us as a ten-year investment in Whitney, and in our work as a team. So while having Whitney on leash all the time has been tedious (for both of us!) it’s well worth the investment. The first week at home has really flown by, and before you know it, it’ll be December 29, and then watch out, world, Whit and I will be unleashed (at home, at least)! Right now, though, it’s time to warm my coffee. “Whitney, heal. Good girl!”

Touring the Seeing Eye

My smart, strong and independent friend Nancy Bollero traveled all the way from Urbana, Ill., to New Jersey to visit Whitney and me during our last weekend of training there. Nancy knows that during these first few days at home here in Chicago I need to dedicate my time to this new 58-pound bundle of Golden Retriever energy, so she generously offered to write a guest blog post for me.

Independent women, independent vision

by Nancy Bollero

My tour group.

I have been fascinated by the Seeing Eye and the whole process ever since I first met Beth and her first dog, Dora, more than 10 years ago. So when I found out Beth was allowed visitors on weekends, I jumped at the chance to go.

I started my visit on Saturday by tagging along with a group of 20 eight-year-old girl scouts who were going on a tour. Not a “tour” in the literal sense – out of respect for the students and their new dogs, visitors aren’t allowed in the residential facilities or the breeding station. The program I participated in with the Girl Scouts took place in the Seeing Eye’s Guest Lounge, their “Hallway of History” and their Dining Room (which was very nice, by the way!). We all gushed at the sight of sweet Seeing Eye puppies in a video they showed to start the program, and then we learned the history of the Seeing Eye.

In 1927, a 20-year-old blind man in Nashville named Morris Frank contacted an American woman who was in Switzerland training dogs to guide WWI veterans who had been blinded in the war. He told Dorothy Harrison Eustis that if she’d accept him as a student in Switzerland he’d promise to return to the United States with his German Shepherd and spread the word about these wonderful dogs. I read more about this remarkable woman in Miriam Ascarelli’s book Independent Vision: Dorothy Harrison Eustis and the Story of the Seeing Eye and learned that Dorothy Eustis was instrumental in seeing blind persons as first class citizens and is credited with helping change society’s views of people with disabilities. She was clearly an independent, energetic and original thinker who had a big impact on a lot of people.

And when I say a lot, I mean more than you think. Our tour guide told us that more than 15,000 blind people from the US, Canada and Puerto Rico have been to the Seeing Eye and matched with a dog. She then introduced us to Ginger Kutsch, a guide dog user in Morristown who talked with us about the ways Pixie, a petite German Sheppard, helps her in everyday life.

Then came Kim and Charlie. Kim is an apprentice dog trainer, and Charley is a gorgeous silky black lab who is going through his training. Kim has raised puppies for the Seeing Eye

That's Dorothy (and friends).

since she was a kid, and she started the Seeing Eye apprentice program right after she graduated from college. As an apprentice she works for four months with a string of 8 to 10 dogs on socialization, training with a harness and teaching them all the skills they’ll need when paired with a human partner. When those 4 months are up, it’s time to spend another month working with the dog-and-person team at the school. Kim then sends her charges off into the world (just as Beth’s trainer has sent her off to Chicago with Whitney) and starts all over again with a new string of dogs.

Kim said training dogs for the Seeing Eye is all she ever wanted to do since her Mom got her involved in puppy raising at a young age. This echoed the experience of Lauren, a volunteer who was at the reception desk to greet weekend visitors (like me!) to the Seeing Eye.

Lauren has raised 6 puppies: five of them have been successfully matched, and one is a Mom having pups in the breeding station. She raises puppies through a program at University of Delaware now, and when she graduates she hopes to be accepted into the Seeing Eye apprentice program. No doubt with her smarts and skills, she will be a trainer one day. It is, in her words, all she has ever wanted to do.

One thing you hear over and over again is the devotion the staff at the Seeing Eye have to the dogs and to all the people they serve. I saw this dedication in action when I walked behind Beth and her new adorable dog on the leisure path and saw Beth put Whit through her paces. We stopped at one of the pavilions along the way and Beth and I got to talking about the way popular culture represents women these days. Since we had both landed at Newark Airport from Illinois, we couldn’t help but think about Real Wives of New Jersey and Jersey Shore. There certainly is a lack of solid, strong and shall we say ‘normal’ women (and men, for that matter) on TV.

So how great that those girl scouts I toured with had an opportunity to learn about and meet some strong, smart women. The Seeing Eye is chock full of them: from Dorothy Eustus to Ginger, Kim, Lauren. And of course, Beth. One of the strongest smartest women I know.

The Seeing Eye offers public tours of its Main Campus on select Saturdays, Mondays and Thursdays throughout the year. There is no charge for tours, but donations are gladly accepted and greatly appreciated. To schedule a tour, email tours@seeingeye.org or call 973.539.4425.

Membership has its privileges

Home. Safe & Sound. At last.

Hi all–this will be my last post for awhile. After retrieving Beth and Whit at O’Hare, Beth’s back on blog duty.

The trip to O’Hare was relatively painless. I parked as near as possible, then headed to ticketing to see if I passed muster for a gate pass that would allow me through security to meet Beth and her partner at her gate. As long as Beth has indicated in advance that she is blind and needs assistance, they will allow it — but man, did I get the once over, the twice over, and the thrice over.

Next stop? Security. I did the scramble: Off with the shoes, off with the jacket, out with the phone, into plastic trays. Then I took my place in front of the scanners. To my left was the old-style magnetometer. To my right, the new body scan thing. Mostly, people go through the body scan thing, but exceptions are made.

As I took my place as next-in-line to be scanned, a burly, moustached square-shouldered security guy with a classic Chicago accent said, “Sir, I really like your shirt.”

I looked down: I’d forgotten that I’d pulled on my waffle White Sox shirt that morning — it’s nice and warm, not to mention a Sox shirt. I looked backed up and grinned.

“I gotta’ put up with these Northsiders all day,” he said, motioning to his co-workers behind him. He pointed to the old-style magnetometer thingie and said, “You sir, you go through this one!” Ah, the perks of being a White Sox fan.

Got to the gate, in the “C” concourse — O’Hare vets know that’s the one that pulls you through the underground star-chamber light show passageway. Made it just in time to see Whitney lead Beth out of the jetway and into the concourse.

I’d say it was like Beth had never left, because on one hand, seeing her come off the plane with a dog is old-hat. But this time, it really seemed like a long, long time since Thanksgiving weekend when Beth departed. Maybe because it’d only been a year since we both did the drill, and I’m a year older, and we’ve been together one whole more year.

Beth and I have been together 27 years. We’re not the same people we always were, and we don’t do or say the same things we did when we were in our twenties. But for better or worse, as the saying goes, we have grown together in ways that I’m not even conscious of day-to-day — until we’re separated for long periods like we were the last few weeks. From the mundane trips to Costco to the daily debriefings about one-another’s day, to bouncing problems off each other for a take you know you can trust. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but it did, and I’m grateful to have someone, a witness and a partner. And I’m especially happy it’s Beth.

And that she brings home these great dogs. Can’t play with Whitney just yet, not until she and Beth are settled in and the bond is cemented. But I’ve witnessed Whit playing and she’s great at catching Kong toys in the air. And bringing them back. And repeating. And more important, she’s doing great out on the street.

Won’t be long now.

Thanks for reading.

Leaving Manhattan

Last summer four instructors started training 28 one-and-a-half year old puppies to become Seeing Eye dogs. Jim Kessler, one of the Senior Managers of Instruction & Training at the

Jim Kessler left Wall Street for The Seeing Eye.

Seeing Eye, supervised these four instructors throughout the training process. On November 26, I arrived along with 18 other blind people to be matched with a Seeing Eye dog. Jim had phoned us all beforehand, read our paperwork and even visited a few of us at home before we arrived. He helped the instructors size up each of us to determine which of the dogs would match up best with our situations at home. Two days after we arrived, nineteen of us were introduced to a friend who will guide our way through the next decade. My new pal is Whitney, a Golden/Labrador Retriever cross with a goofy “smart bump” on the top of her head.

Jim hasn’t always worked for the Seeing Eye. “I worked for Lehman Brothers before it imploded, and then I worked for the Federal Reserve,” he told me.“ And I can tell you the very last day I ever went to work in Manhattan: it was September 11, 2001.” Jim was contemplating a career change before then, and 911 cemented the decision. From an article in the North Jersey Record:

The position requires a college degree, Kessler said. He worked for an investment bank and was considering a career change when the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, made him switch jobs. Kessler said he chose this position because it combined his interests in teaching,working with dogs and helping people.

After passing a three-year apprenticeship, Jim became an instructor in 2004. He was promoted to Senior Manager of Instruction and Training this year – we were the very first class he supervised.

The North Jersey Record article reports that salaries start in the $40,000 range for those in the Seeing Eye’s three-year apprentice training program, and that the salary for full instructors ranges from $50,000 to $85,000. Odds are that Jim Kessler took a significant paycut to work for the Seeing Eye, but he doesn’t talk about that. He talks instead about his pride in the instructors here, his love for the dogs, and his family at home. Jim and his wife have three beautiful daughters, and Whitney and I are going to meet two of them later today.

Let me explain. During this last week here students do “freelance” work – instructors expose us to some of the specific things we’ll be facing once we return home. Two students in my group of four are retired and live in communities without sidewalks, so they used freelance time learning how their dogs Alec (a black Lab) and Beckham (a Golden Retriever) would guide them safely along the sides of streets. One student in our group is a lecturer in the Cultral Anthropology department at Texas State University – our trainer took him to a local college to see how his new German Shepherd Bill navigates campus sidewalks.

Whitney and I went to New York City for freelance work on Saturday, and we returned there with our trainer yesterday to practice negotiating revolving doors and turnstiles, see how Whit deals with road construction on busy streets, and get a feel for how she handles crowds of pedestrians walking with/against us. Whitney made some mistakes, of course. I could read her body language through the harness as we reworked the errors, and I am happy to report that corrections don’t shake her confidence. “Oh, you meant for me to turn into Penn Station, Beth?” she seemed to say once. “Well, then, let’s back up a few steps and do it again, get it right this time.” She turns into the station, I follow her lead, and we’re off!

For my freelance trip today, Jim Kessler will chauffeur Whit and me to Warren G. Harding Elementary School in Kenilworth, NJ, where his daughter Emma is in third grade and Maeve is a big first grader. I already have three school visits scheduled in the Chicago suburbs in 2012, and the trip today will show us whether young Whit can sit still during a school presentation and resist all those adorable students reaching out to pet her. Wish us luck!

Home and away

Not long before they're in Chicago.

Hi folks, I just heard from Beth. She and Whit and their trainer Chris are off for a big test this morning: New York City. A combination of rides on commuter trains, subway trains, and buses–plus negotiating the sidewalks full of New Yorkers. Everyone’s determined to make a city dog of Whit, and I have every confidence she’ll become one.

Only a week to go now, and while the first few days really crawled along, last week flew by. While Beth’s been at Paw Camp, I’ve been spending more time working at the Passive House Institute US office in Urbana, Ill. (I usually split my time between there and my home office in Chicago, but with Beth away, Urbana’s seen more of me lately). We’re gearing up for another year of training architects, engineers, builders and others to design, build and test Passive House buildings. I think Beth explained Passive House in another blog post –a building that is certified to meet the Passive House standard uses only 10 to 20 percent of the energy an equivalent conventional building uses.

There’s no magic involved, and there’s no waiting on hydrogen fuel cells or other pie-in-the-sky technology. Basically, you just:

• Insulate the bajeesus out of the building–the wall structures are designed to accommodate thick insulation
• Create a supertight “envelope”–just think of the outer skin of your home, and imagine if it didn’t leak air
• Use superb windows–they’re triple-paned, and even the frames and sashes have high insulation values
• Use energy recovery ventilation instead of a conventional furnace–an ERV transfers heat from exhaust air to incoming fresh air, so hardly any heat energy from the interior (generated by appliances, humans, and such) is lost

One of the cool things about Passive House design and construction is that buildings can look any way you want them to look: Contemporary and sleek or stately and traditional. The method has been used to build everything from single-family homes to large townhouse developments to high-rises. Passive Houses stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter–I’ve been in them and they’re unbelievably comfortable, draft-free, and the indoor air quality is superb. I want one someday.

A Passive House can look like this traditional foursquare in Bethesda, Maryland (photo courtesy of the architect, David Peabody)....

Our conference in the D.C. area last October got a lot of buzz. As a result, a new program will allow Passive Houses to receive a rating called a HERS Index. People from all over the country who work as energy auditors–they rate homes for their efficiency– were in Urbana last weekend for a special training to show them what to look for in Passive House construction. Our goal is to make Passive House construction more commonplace and to qualify the buildings for financial incentives associated with programs like Energy Star and LEED for homes.

All good stuff, and for me it’s been a labor of love. Hard to believe how far Passive House has come in the United States since I first learned about it, but it’s a story worth telling, I think.

Beth and I met Katrin Klingenberg nearly 10 years ago. We were out on a weekend in Urbana to see a band at a local watering hole and were lucky enough to find seats next to Katrin (Kat) and her husband Nic Smith. Beth and I learned that Kat was born in Germany, studied there, then came to Ball State for graduate school in architecture. That’s where she and Nic met.

After working at architecture firms in Chicago (Kat worked for Helmut Jahn, no less), they’d decided to build the first example of a Passive House in the United States. They were in Urbana to scout property–a much more economical prospect downstate than in Chicago.

Through the din of steel guitar and drum solos, Kat explained the principles to me. And I understood them. That’s what told me it might be a good idea. It requires technical sophistication to execute a Passive House building but the principles were so simple even I could grasp them. I was the editor of a weekly newspaper in Champaign-Urbana back then, and I knew this would make a great story.

I made Kat promise to call me when the project got started. Months later, I found myself in my ragged newspaper office in downtown Champaign, sitting across from a woman in tears. Kat was in mourning.

...or like this, Kat's first Passive House--and still her residence in Urbana, Ill.

Her husband Nic had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and died shortly after the diagnosis.
–when Kat appeared in my newspaper office she was only a week or two removed from his death.

Kat asked if the paper might publish some of her husband Nic’s poetry in tribute. We did. Beth and I stayed in touch with Kat, and we became friends. Kat followed through on the Passive House construction: Smith House was completed in Urbana in 2002, a testimony to her resolve and her abilities. I published a story about it in the newspaper I edited,
and scanned it to pdf and posted it here, if you’re interested.

Fast forward to 2007: After partnering with the City of Urbana to build affordable housing units, Katrin and the construction manager on the project who was won over by Passive House–Mike Kernagis–decided it was time to go national with this thing. And so, they founded Passive House Institute US. PHIUS has been training people, certifying projects, promoting, and building ever since. (Mike Kernagis–a man of many talents–has written a terrific book that’s a great primer.)

I joined the board of directors a couple years ago; last year I left the board and joined the staff. It’s terrific to work with people I admire, and for a purpose that makes so much sense it hurts. This is where the unashamed plug comes. The holidays are traditionally donation time, and I know you’re inundated, but if you’re looking for a place to donate before year-end, Passive House Institute US is a 501(c)3. PHIUS has supported itself largely through fees for training to day, but the demand is growing faster than we can keep up. In 2012 we’ll be counting more on grants and donations to train more people who can build and retrofit existing buildings. So donate and deduct to your heart’s content–and stay warm!

• Just go here to donate
• If you just want to learn more, go to www.passivehouse.us where you can find examples of certified Passive House projects, the names of Certified Passive House Consultants who can help you build a Passive House, and other information.

Thanks for reading.

Rolling, rolling, rolling

Hey, everybody — Beth found time to update her “day in the life of a Seeing Eye Trainee” post from last year. So I’m off the hook for today, will check in again in a couple days–Mike.

Had a visitor–Maria–last weekend. (Photo: Stephanie Bellucci)

• 5:30 a.m. dog-related Music comes through intercoms to wake us up. Today it was “Rawhide.” You know, rolling, rolling, rolling, keep your doggies rolling…”
• 5:35 Put bell on Whitney’s collar.
• 5:40 Trainer comes to each door with a bowl of food; Whitney must stay in her assigned place by my bedpost as I answer the door. The bell on her collar gives her away if she moves off her place, and she has to go back if she ever wants me to place the bowl of food in front of her: she can’t have her food until she stays in her place.
• 5:45 Whitney inhales her food, then I heel her to the bathroom (heal as in walk with leash, but no harness), measure out three cups of water, she drinks what she wants, and I empty out any water she didn’t drink into our bathroom sink.
• 5:47 Buckle Whitney’s harness onto her, snap my raincoat onto me.
• 6:50 am Give Whitney “forward,” left,” and “right” commands so she can guide me out to the courtyard for her “park time.” I unbuckle Whitney’s harness and join the other 18 blind people with our dogs circling around us, all of us urging our dog to empty. Trainers are with us and call out to let us know when we’ve had success: “#1 for Dilbert!” and Dilbert’s owner whoops it up to encourage him to always go on command. “Harry has a #2!” And his owner squeals with delight. Whitney usually does her #1 AND #2 fairly quickly, and once your dog does both you can buckle their harness back on and have your happy dog lead you back into the building, where it’s warm and dry. using the “inside!” command.
• 6:00 a.m. Whitney guides me back to our room, I pick up her empty bowl and give her “right” and “left” commands so she can guide me to the nearest lounge to set her empty bowl in the sink there. I bring a “to go” cup of coffee I’d brought back from dinner the night before, too, and use the microwave (it has Braille on it) and push the buttons to warm the coffee.
• 6:15 Back in room, unbuckle Whit’s harness again. She heels on leash when we’re in our room. I take Shower. Get dressed again.
• 6:30 Buckle Whitney’s harness on again, she follows my commands to lead me to nurse’s office. Whit slinks under my chair while nurse checks my blood sugar level. I inject appropriate insulin
• 6:45 Announcement over intercom “first floor ladies, head down to the dining room” or “men from upstairs, start heading to breakfast.” We all parade down to the dining room, our dogs leading the way.
• 7:00 Each student has an assigned seat in the dining room, we give dogs a series of commands to go “left” “forward” or “right” to get to our seat and praise them when they achieve their goal.
• 7:15 Breakfast. The dining room is lovely, white tablecloths and all. Waiters and waitresses come to get our orders so the dogs will know how to act in a restaurant. After breakfast, waiters and waitresses become housekeepers, they vacuum our rooms, make our beds, supply new towels in our rooms. People who are blind are capable of cooking and cleaning (shhhh! Don’t tell Mike), it’s just that while we’re here the Seeing Eye wants us to devote every second to our dogs.
• 8:00 Off in vans to training center in downtown Morristown.
• 8:15 Today we worked a route that includes T-intersections, four-way stoplights, a two-way stop sign, talking walk signals, left turns, two right turns. Our trainer walks behind Whitney and me, observing how she leads and how I follow her moves. He gives me verbal clues to let me know where we are or what might lie ahead: a barricade across the sidewalk that will force Whitney to lead me into the street, then back up a curb and onto the sidewalk again, a woman walking her dog and coming our way, and traffic checks provided by the Seeing Eye.
• 9:30 Catch shuttle from the training center back to the Seeing Eye school
• 9:50 Down to nurse’s office for blood sugar test. At home I don’t test my blood sugar this often, but the schedule here is so different than at home it’s good to have it checked to make sure.
• 10:00 Tea time. This is optional, but I usually go. Another opportunity for Whitney to learn to sit quietly under a table, plus get to meet other Seeing Eye students and staff.
• 10:35 Take walk alone with Whitney on the leisure path, this is a path on the grounds here with no intersections, no traffic. A chance for dogs to work in harness without much stress put on them.
• 11:00 am Announcement over intercom tells us to give dogs three cups of water again, empty out any water they didn’t drink and then take them to park time.
• 11:15 Down to nurse’s office for blood test
• 11:30 Make my way with Whitney to the grand piano in the Eustis Lounge — it’s a Yamaha and sounds beautifully bright. Play the piano until they announce it’s time for lunch.
• Noon Lunch
• 12:45 Take Whitney for an additional park time, always a good idea to give the dogs an extra chance to park before we go out and work. Don’t want them to have to empty while en route.
• 1:00 p.m. Van ride with fellow students and their dogs down to training center in downtown Morristown.
• 1:15 We rework the route we did this morning,our trainer fine-tuning his suggestions for correcting, scolding, praising and following our dogs.
• 2:30 Shuttle bus back to living quarters.
• 2:45 Whitney follows my commands to guide me downstairs to the grooming room. “Good girl, Whitney!” , I groom her.
• 3:00 Nurses office for blood test.
• 3:15 Downstairs to do laundry, they have Braille labels on the washers and dryers so we know “small” or medium” loads, that sort of thing.
• 4:15 go through our daily obedience ritual: heal, come, sit, down. Rest. “Good girl, Mizz Whit!”
• 4:25 Unbuckle Whitney’s harness, put bell on her collar, throw a kong toy around for her to fetch, play with nyla bone.
• 4:40 Announcement over intercom says to tell our dogs to “go to your place” and sit still there, Whitney’s place is a rug in the corner near the head of my bed. . Trainer comes to each door with a bowl of food. Same drill as the morning: Whitney has to stay in her place by our bedpost as I answer the door. The bell on her collar gives heraway if she moves off her place. Today the bell finked on her, she had moved away from her place , so she had to go back. Second time was the charm. She stayed at her place, and she was rewarded with her bowl of food.
• 4:45 Whitney inhales her delicious dry dogfood dinner, I heal her to bathroom, measure out three cups of water, she drinks what she wants, I empty out any water she didn’t drink.
• 4:47 Buckle Whitney’s harness on again, I don my raincoat, and out to courtyard for “park time.”
• 5:15 Call for dinner.
• 6:30 Upstairs to common lounge for class lecture. There’s a lecture on a different topic every night, topics include: handling traffic, appropriate corrections, clicker training, dealing with dog distractions, and one by a Seeing Eye veterinarian on keeping our dogs healthy. Having to go upstairs for these lectures teaches our dogs to negotiate stairways. We also go down a flight of stairs for park time, plus downstairs for grooming and laundry purposes.
• 7:30 Free time: I usually play with Whitney during this free time, playtime is encouraged to keep up the bonding. Plus, it’s fun!
• 8:00 Announcement over intercom: Give each dog one cup of water, dress warm and out for park time.
• 8:15 See nurse for one last blood sugar and injection of overnight insulin.
• 8:30 Put Whitney on chain near head of the bed. Whitney usually falls asleep right away, and I’m never far behind her. Tomorrow morning we’ll be doing that complicated route solo — our trainer will be watching, but far behind us, out of earshot. We’ll need a good night’s rest. Zzzzzzzzz…

Please keep those encouraging blog comments coming, they really do motivate us to keep working!

Update: Active duty and retired canine soldiers

I'm supposed to mostly ignore Whit when they come home. Not going to be easy.

It’s Beth’s husband Mike here again, guest blogging for her while she’s at the Seeing Eye School in New Jersey. Beth and Whit are settling in — they did their first “solo” a couple days ago. Beth’s also learned that Whit plays fetch with devotion — if Whit brings it back and Beth can’t find it right away, all Beth needs to do is hold her open hand in front of her and Whit puts the toy of the moment in Beth’s open palm. And she does it again and again and…. She’s my new favorite.

My two old favorites are also thriving. I see Hanni nearly every week, because friends Steven and Nancy were not only kind enough to adopt Hanni, they adopt me for a couple days each week when I’m down in Urbana for work. I awake to the sound of Hanni’s tail thumping my bedroom door each morning. She’d been getting a little creaky — arthritis was taking a toll until the vet prescribed some anti-inflammatories. (Which, by the way, are administered with a dollop of liver sausage.) Voila! A near-12-year-old puppy is born! She’s one of a kind.

Harper’s suburban retirement is in full bloom, and he continues to make progress. From Chris, of Chris and Larry, his adoptive humans:

Harper has gotten pretty comfortable walking up and down our street without a leash — put one on and he goes back to anxious.  He loves meeting new people and the dogs in the neighborhood.  He and Beau (the collie next door) run around the yard like mad and have a great time playing together.  We’re checking out a vet in Wheaton that the Burnham Animal Clinic recommended.   This clinic’s website says they work with animals with behavior issues – I’m going to find out if they can help with PTSD. (Note: Burnham was Harper’s Chicago vet.)

It’s a joy to think about Harper and that Collie having carefree fun. And you read that right: PTSD. In earlier posts, I was reluctant to attribute Harper’s condition — after he and Beth’s frightening traffic encounter — as post traumatic stress disorder. It seems a trifle disrespectful to those humans suffering from it. And yet, from everything I’d read, Harper’s behavior did closely resemble it.

Well, the military thinks the same thing according to this story in the  New York Times. (The link is worth visiting for the photo alone.)

From the story:

…the four-legged, wet-nosed troops used to sniff out mines, track down enemy fighters and clear buildings are struggling with the mental strains of combat nearly as much as their human counterparts.

Sounds kind of familiar. So does this:

Like humans with the analogous disorder, different dogs show different symptoms. Some become hyper-vigilant. Others avoid buildings or work areas that they had previously been comfortable in. Some undergo sharp changes in temperament, becoming unusually aggressive with their handlers, or clingy and timid. Most crucially, many stop doing the tasks they were trained to perform.

The idea that the vet Chris heard about might be able to treat PTSD sounds a little comical at first blush — an image of a German Shepherd on a therapist’s couch comes to mind — but the military has developed therapies for dogs that suffer for their experience. It’s effective enough that some dogs are re-deployed.

This is the kind of story that years ago, I probably would’ve said something like, “C’mon man, we’re talking about dogs here.” Now it doesn’t seem that simple. Beth and I and Steven and Nancy and now Chris and Larry have made fun of ourselves — and other “dog people” — for going on about the pooches. And we all know “cat people.” It’s the same. And really, it can bore the hell out of non-animal people, so let’s all agree to watch that.

These Labradors Beth brings home from New Jersey have made a dog person out of me, but its more than just that. Watching these creatures has convinced me we may have more in common than we don’t. And, watching their struggles — particular Harper’s plight — has made me more of a “person person.” Seeing what happened to him gives me all the more empathy for the folks in the military, in war zones, those who’ve survived the unthinkable in combat, accidents, or other calamities.  Here’s to the hope that  they all get as much care as Harper’s getting.