Safe & Sound blog

In my Law & Order: Special Dog Unit post last October, I wrote about testifying against a cab driver who refused to pick Hanni and me up. That very morning, when Mike helped me hail a cab to go to court, another cab driver refused to pick me up with my Seeing Eye dog.

A cab slowed down, the driver looked past Mike and saw me standing there with Hanni. “No dog,” he said.
“It’s a Seeing Eye dog,” Mike explained. “A service dog.”
“No dog,” the driver said.
Mike was angry. “You’re going to court!” he shouted at the driver
“I don’t care,” the driver said, then sped away.

I was somewhat reluctant to report this second cab driver. Going to court the first time was not fun, and I didn’t want to have to go back. But I filed anyway. I figured if word got around that drivers were getting fined for refusing service dogs, maybe I wouldn’t have to file any more complaints after this one.

Good news arrived in our mailbox this week. I guess this second guy pleaded guilty?

re: CSR#07-01972211
DOAH docket number: 08CS00267A

Dear Beth Finke:
This letter is the final update of the Department of Consumer Services investigation of the prosecution of the cab driver you reported for investigation. The Department of Consumer Services (the Department) investigated your complaint, and…the cab driver was found liable of violating the municipal code of Chicago. Accordingly, fines and penalties were imposed on the cab driver.
Thank you for reporting this cab driver…your participation is assisting the departmen’ts goal towards 100% clean and safe cabs and 100% courteous and safe cab drivers.

Sometimes the things you wish for really do come true. Hanni and I never did have to go to court to testify against that second driver, and we haven’t had a cab driver refuse us since I filed that second complaint.

Here I am, composing this blog as I sit at my gate at Bergstrom International Airport in Austin. Hanni just made good use of the airport dog park, if you know what I mean, and is now resting happily at my feet. And me? I’ve got headphones attached to my ears as I type away at my talking computer.

It’s official. I’m a geek.

I suppose I’ve been influenced by the conference I just attended. John Slaten Access University, (Access U) is an annual conference/workshop about accessible technology – it’s put on by a non-profit in Austin called Knowbility. A few years ago I sat on a panel with Knowbility’s Executive Director and co-founder Sharron Rush. Ever since then, Sharron has been trying to get me down to Austin to speak at Access U.

This year it finally happened. Easter Seals agreed to fund my trip as part of the Technology Opportunities Project (TOP) grant I worked on with them. I gave a speech about the TOP grant on Tuesday — my mission was to show attendees the many ways accessible websites can really make a difference in a person’s life. It was an easy speech to give – all I had to do was tell the truth! Thanks to the efforts of programmers and website developers who value the importance of accessibility for the blind, I google to do my research, I’m able to fill out online forms on my own, I flip through websites to find information about events, times, locations and on and on. All that stuff the rest of you do using your eyes and a mouse? I do that by using my ears and keyboard commands.

And hey, without website accessibility, I wouldn’t be able to blog. Hmmm. Not sure that’s a plug for or against accessibility for the blind!

In addition to giving a speech, I attended a few sessions at Access U, too. It was heartening to be around so many people with an active interest in keeping the web accessible.

All in all I had a great time. Hanni, too. She wasn’t the only guide dog in the bunch this time – she shared the spotlight with two other guides who were there helping their own blind partners. I have a funny feeling the guide dogs exchanged secrets under the desktops while we blind geeks typed away at our computers.

Uh-oh. They just called our flight. Gotta go. Here’s hoping there are no storms in Chicago this time!

The guy at Logan Airport security recognized Hanni. “Didn’t you guys come through here this afternoon already?”

We did. But shortly after our 5:15 flight left the jetway, the storms started in Chicago. So we sat on the runway. It wasn’t until I heard the landing gear come out near O’Hare that I found the courage to count the total time Hanni and I had been on board. Nine hours.

The pilot gave us periodic updates on the storm while we waited. He welcomed us to listen to the air traffic controllers on our headsets. As awful as it all was, just sitting there, waiting, I must say: in a very odd way, the ordeal was uplifting, too. The passengers, and the crew, and the pilots, were all good people. No one got belligerent. No one broke into the liquor. No one squatted in the aisle to defecate in protest.

Now, Hanni might have wanted to squat in the aisle, but she held it in. Until 9:15, that is. That’s when the pilot announced that all flights in and out of O’Hare had been grounded. We went back to the jetway.

Our flight still wasn’t cancelled, the pilot told us. “Feel free to get off the plane to stretch your legs,” he announced over the loudspeaker. “But don’t go too far from the gate.”

I ignored that warning. We couldn’t stay close. Hanni had to go outside! My wonderful, loyal, brave and patient Seeing Eye dog held her own while phone calls were made to determine whether the security gate was already closed, could Hanni and I get back to our flight if we left the airport for a bit, what are FAA regulations on this, blah, blah, blah. A very kind Logan employee finally came to our rescue, accompanying Hanni and me outside the security area. Once outside, we took three quick steps to the right, and…relief! Right there on the cement sidewalk.

Hanni was much lighter on her feet when we went through security that second time. She and I were back to the gate in plenty of time to board again, the plane pulled away from the jetway, and there we sat. For two-and-a-half more hours.

By this time, the passengers were all getting to know each other. Prohibited from talking endlessly into handheld phones, or pounding away on laptop keyboards, or engaging our thumbs in text messaging, well, we entertained ourselves the old-fashioned way. Talking. To each other. Imagine. Conversations. With real people. Like I say, it was downright uplifting.

Many commented on Hanni’s stellar behavior. Eventually I had Hanni lead me to the back of the plane. I took off her harness then and encouraged anyone who wanted to pet her to come on back. I think it helped all concerned. Maybe after Hanni retires from her current job she can volunteer as an airplane therapy dog.

Earlier this week I revamped that blog I wrote about taxi drivers and sent it to Chicago Public Radio. I recorded it for them Thursday, and it’s scheduled to air in Chicago on March 12 sometime between 9 and 10am. When we were done in the studio Thursday, the first cab to pull up took Hanni and me without a protest.

I was relieved. It would have been way too weird to be denied a ride in a cab after recording an essay about, well, about having been denied a ride in a cab.

“Dearborn and Polk,” I told the driver. He hit the accelerator. Most riders sit quietly in the back of a cab, fidget with papers, glance out the car window. I can’t. And the way I figure, maybe chatter will help drivers feel more comfortable with Hanni and me. Maybe it’ll encourage them to pick up the next human-and-guide-dog team they come across. So I talk.

“How’s business?” I asked. “Fine,” he said. That was it.

Not in the mood for chatter, I guess. Or maybe he was miffed about having a dog in the car? He sure drove fast. I told him so when he stopped the car and said how much I owed him. His speeding worked in my favor — The fare was three dollars cheaper than I paid on the way out.

I gave him a big tip. I mean, the guy wasn’t Mr. Personality, but at least he picked us up. Besides, I like cab drivers to know that people with disabilities can be big tippers.

After uncoiling from the cab, I picked up Hanni’s harness and commanded “Forward!” She brought me to the curb and stopped like always. We crossed the street to her favorite vacant lot, you know, where she “empties.” As I took her harness off, I reached out to the fence there for balance. The fence wasn’t there. “Wow!” I exclaimed to Hanni. “They finally took that stupid fence down!” Hanni did her business, I buckled her harness back on, and we headed north to our apartment.

The sun was out, and the snow was melting. It had been so long since I’d felt the sidewalk at my feet that it felt odd — Not the same cracks and angles I was used to. Hanni’s pace was quick — she seemed to be enjoying guiding me on sidewalks that were clear of snow and ice for a change.

I started listening for Jazz music – it streams from outdoor speakers at the sandwich joint in our building, that’s my cue to tell hanni to turn left and go to our doorway.
All I heard were birds. Hanni kept up her pace, then finally stopped at a curb at the end of the block. It couldn’t be our block, though. I never heard any jazz.

We must have gone the wrong direction when we got out of the cab. It was a nice day – cold, but sunny – and Hanni was enjoying the walk. I decided we’d continue walking. I was sure to hear, or feel, or smell something that would tell me which way to have Hanni take us.

We walked north, and north, and north. It seemed so quiet. No sound of kids from the local college talking on their cell phones, no smells from coffee shops. “Hanni,” I said.”I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

I called out an “excuse me” to the next pair of footsteps I heard. Turns out they belonged to a man named Carl. “I’m a little turned around,” I said. “Can you tell me where we are?” When Carl said we were on Dearborn and Division, I actually laughed out loud.

Division is 20 blocks north of Polk. There had been so many clues to tell me we were far from home – quick ride, cheap fare, missing fence, birds singing, Hanni’s enthusiasm (she always walks faster when we’re in new territory) – but I wanted so badly to be near home that I wouldn’t allow myself to be convinced otherwise. “The cab driver must have thought I said Dearborn and Oak,” I told Carl. (Oak is near Division.)

Carl hailed me another cab and waited while I tucked Hanni’s tail inside. Before he closed the door, he said one last thing: “Thank you for trusting me.”

I know, I know. I already went on and on and on in my last post about our book being reviewed in the School Library Journal. But I can’t help myself! It’s just too cool! The review is available online now, too, at the School Library Journal website.

The icing on the cake? In the online version the listings are alphabetical according to the author’s last name. So there it is, Beth Finke’s book, directly above Jean Craighead George’s new picture book about wolves, “The Wolves Are Back.”

Jean Craighead George is a Newbery winner for “Julie of the Wolves” and a Newbery honor winner for “My Side of the Mountain.” She’s one of the most well known children’s authors of our time.

Last week Hanni was listed with E.B. White’s famous spider. This week, with Jean Craighead George’s famous Wolves. What next? I can’t wait to find out!

You might remember my “Papa & Me” blog about a presentation I gave at the Oak Park Public Library? A small independent children’s bookstore in Oak Park called Magic Tree was kind enough to bring books to the library for me to sign after my presentation. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a whole lot of takers.

As I put on my coat to leave the library, I could hear Rose, one of the Magic Tree owners, shoving unsold books back into a box. “Sorry we didn’t sell more books!” I called out in her direction. The temperature was one degree – yes, you read that right, one – outside. I hated to have dragged her out on such a cold night for such little reward.

Rose was unfazed. “No problem!” she exclaimed. “Now you can come to our store and do a presentation –we already have a stack of books!”

And so, this afternoon Hanni and I did a presentation at Magic Tree. Rose read “Safe & Sound” aloud, and I explained three rules to keep in mind if you happen to see a guide dog with a harness on: don’t pet the dog, don’t feed the dog, and don’t call out the dog’s name. “Those things can distract a Seeing Eye dog,” I told them. “It’d be like if someone nudged you or kept calling your name wile you were working on your spelling words at school. You wouldn’t be able to concentrate on your work.”

I suggested we come up with a fake name for Hanni. “If you use her fake name to say hi to her, she wont’ notice,” I said. “She’ll think you’re talking to someone else!”

“For today, let’s call the dog ‘Rose,’” I said. “You know, after the lady who invited Hanni and me to Magic Tree.

The kids liked the idea. The bookstore owner liked it, too. Until it came around to question and answer time, that is. There were some of the usual questions – how do you know where your food is on the plate, do you have to pay for a seat when the dog goes on an airplane with you, things like that. But then came the zinger. “How do you pick up Rose’s poop?”

I looked in Rose-the-human’s direction. She was quiet for a second. Then she burst out in laughter. I answered the question, but decided to refer to Hanni as “the dog” rather than “Rose” for this explanation.

It was a great event. When it was over, Rose didn’t pack any leftover books away in boxes. Instead, she asked me to sign them so she could bring them to a presentation she’d be giving to West Forty next month. “It’s an organization of 40 different public school districts in western Cook County,” she explained. “A lot of reading specialists are involved, I give presentations to them about books they might be interested in using with their kids.” She said she is especially pleased when she brings good books to their attention that they might not have heard of otherwise. “Yours is one of them.”

It’s Hanni’s Golden Birthday today — she’s 8 years old on the 8th of February. We are celebrating Hanni’s birth, of course. But I gotta admit: while Hanni spends the day playing around and giving me paws, she’s giving me that other sort of pause, too.
In the “frequently asked questions” section of the Seeing Eye website you’ll see that The average Seeing Eye dog works, well, you guessed it. Eight years.
Of course, we all know Hanni is wayyyyyy above average. She’ll be working far past her birthday. But this magic number “8” does stress– double meaning definitely intended here – the fact that retirement looms on the horizon.
Different guide dog schools have different policies about retirement. Some schools “rent” the dogs to their users. Those schools have more say as to when the dog should retire. At the Seeing eye, the dog belongs to the guide dog user. That means we are the ones who decide when it’s time for our dogs to quit working. We judge this by their health, and by their willingness to work.
Gee, kinda like human retirement, huh?
When retirement time comes, I can bring Hanni back to The Seeing Eye so they can find someone to adopt her, I can keep Hanni at home while I work with my new dog, or I can give her to a friend.
A dog lover in northern Wisconsin has already offered to take Hanni when she retires. Northern Wisconsin is lovely, but a very long distance from Chicago. It’s hard to imagine traveling more than a couple of feet to hug Hanni. Or trusting a dog other than Hanni to lead me around and keep me safe.
I don’t like thinking about what will happen to my beloved golden retriever/Labrador cross when I go to Morristown for a new dog. But heck, why waste time thinking about that now, anyway? It’s time to celebrate. With good ol’ Hanni.

I lost the right to vote privately and anonymously in 1985. That’s the year I lost my sight.
After that, I needed Mike to help me with a ballot.
We’d squeeze into a voting booth – Mike, me and my Seeing Eye dog — and Mike would read the candidates aloud. I’d tell him who I wanted, he’d help me punch the right candidate, and everyone in the place knew who I was voting for.
Not anymore!
Thanks to speech synthesizers and the hard work of disability rights advocates, I vote on my own now. With sound added to the ballot, I put on headphones, listen to the choices, and punch a button on the keyboard. All by myself.
I live in Illinois, one of the states holding a primary on Super Tuesday. Wondering who I’ll vote for? I’m not telling. I don’t have to anymore!

Remember the blog I wrote about how much Hanni enjoyed our trip to Austin?

I mentioned then that I’d written an essay about Austin, and now it’s in the January, 2008 issue of Dog Fancy.
“A Dog’s-eye View of Austin” is in the magazine’s Canine Traveler section. Trouble is, Dog Fancy is not available online. My story is listed on a site called Animal Network, but if you link to that site, all you get is a list of the table of contents for the January, 2008 issue of Dog Fancy. No links. Dang.
Oh, well. Guess you’ll just have to check your local newsstand. Better yet, take your dog to the vet for a check-up – vet offices ALWAYS have copies of Dog Fancy lying around. In the meantime, here’s a tease from the end of the essay:
“On our way to Austin-Bergstrom International Airport I lamented that we hadn’t found time to go to any of the dog parks. When our flight to Chicago was delayed, we got our chance. Even the airport has a dog park!

Located outside the lower level at the east end of the terminal, the airport dog park was originally conceived to let guide dog users like me walk our dogs at the airport without crossing a street. Realizing that other traveling dogs might need a break after a long flight in a kennel, airport administrators decided to welcome all dogs – and other traveling animals – to the park as well.

Hanni looped around the park’s figure-eight walking path with me a few times, then took advantage of the low-to-the-ground drinking fountains for some cool water. The park even supplies dog bowls.”
Just found out that Hanni and I will be returning to Austin in May – I’m giving a keynote at Access U, a yearly conference/workshop about accessible technology. Access U is put on by a non-profit in Austin called Knowbility. Last year I sat on a panel with Knowbility’s Executive Director and co-founder Sharron Rush. I’m looking forwar to working with Sharron again. And Hanni? She’s looking forward to that airport with a dog park!

I swim for exercise. Hanni guides me to the pool area, and if I lay towels down on the tile floor and give her a treat, she’s content to sit there while I swim. Onlookers tell me that Hanni’s head pivots back and forth, back and forth, tracking my laps.
The only stroke I do is the crawl. One arm or another is extended in front at all times, protecting me from crashing my head into a wall. Tapping the lane marker on every other stroke keeps me swimming straight.
I like to swim. It’s a form of exercise I can do all by myself. I don’t need to tie myself (literally!) to a sighted runner, or pedal behind the lead on a tandem bicycle. Another thing: My friends who work out lifting weights, or running, tend to get hurt. Not me. Swimming is low-impact, safe.
That’s what I thought, at least. But then last month I found out I have a rotator cuff injury. My diagnosis came just days after Flo took a fall and fractured her pelvis. And so, my mom and I are simpatico. Our fates are in the hands of physical terrorists. I mean physical therapists.
Baseball fans know about the rotator cuff – it’s at the shoulder joint, a tender spot for pitchers. Turns out rotator cuff injuries are common in any sport requiring repeated overhead arm movements. Tennis, for example. Weightlifting.
And swimming.
I asked my physical therapist if she thought my injury had anything to do with the way I hold Hanni’s harness. “Well, it’d be better if the harness handle were vertical, not horizontal,” she said. “You know, so your thumb would be sticking up.”
“We can’t cock the harness handle 90 degrees,” a trainer from the Seeing Eye told me when I phoned them later that afternoon. “But we can send you an extension that’ll turn your hand 30 degrees — your physical therapist will like that.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “But will I?” The new handle will take some getting used to, he admitted.
“Are rotator cuff injuries common if you’re using a guide dog?” I asked.
“This week they are. “ He sounded a little bewildered. “You’re the third person this week to call with this same problem.”
My physical therapist would prefer a 90 degree change in the handle, but she’ll settle for 30 degrees. If I use the new handle and keep up with my exercises, she says I may be able to avoid surgery.
And if that isn’t motivation enough, I have Flo as a role model. She has been hard at work with her physical therapy for a month now, and last Friday she walked out of the hospital. Flo’s home now…safe & sound.