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.

Last Wednesday Hanni and I took a commuter train to St. Pius X — a Catholic School in the Chicago suburbs. my nephew Ben’s kids go there, their great aunt came to talk and answer questions for Riley, Haley, Colin and their schoolmates. And then yesterday Hanni and I boarded a commuter train again, this time I talked to kids at the West Suburban Montessori School in Oak Park.

The questions kids ask from school to school vary, but whether we’re at a city school, a country school, a public school, whatever, one thing they all want to know is this: how old is Hanni? The answer always gets the same response from the audience– Eight-year-olds squeal with joy to discover Hanni is the same age they are.

Sometimes the kids want to know how old she is in human years, too. Turns out the idea that every dog year equals seven human years is a myth. Hanni is not 56 in human years yet. Not according to a converter on a Flat- Coated Retriever site, at least.

“To work out the human age of a dog or other pets many people will multiply their age by seven years. This is not that accurate, as differing breeds of dogs will age at differing rates. For example, many smaller breeds of dogs such as a west highland terrier will live well into their late teens, whilst larger dogs may only live to about ten years. “

Did you catch that “whilst” word in there? That website is from Britain, and my talking computer reads it using a robotic British accent. It’s like having Michael Caine at my fingertips. Imagine.

But back to dog years. The site points out that dogs mature quickly in their early years – a medium-sized dog (Hanni weighs 63 pounds) will be 14 human years by their first birthday, a two-year-old dog her size is the equivalent of a 21-year-old human. No wonder Hanni was so goofy when I met her. She was about to turn 21!

Thereafter for every actual year, add on…5 years for a medium dog breed or 7 years for a large dog breed.

Big dogs age faster? I’ll stick with calling Hanni a medium-size dog. That means she’s 51 in human years.

Hanni and I don’t have any more school visits scheduled for this academic year — our upcoming events are more for grown-ups. At each of these, I plan to announce this new calculation of Hanni’s age in human years. We’ll see if all the 51-year-olds squeal with the same exuberance those eight-year-olds do.

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.

Move over Marlee. Flo is back.

After spending a month last winter in the hospital mending from cracked ribs and a fractured pelvis, my mom celebrated her 92nd birthday doing what she loves: dancing.

Flo fell in her apartment in December. She went through rehab at the hospital, then had a physical therapist come to the house for a while. Since then, she’s been rehabbing on her own, going through the exercises prescribed by the physical therapist every day, and adding a bit more on her own. One day she would take a couple steps with her walker, the next she’d head down to get her mail by herself. She figured out how to get down the hall with a walker to do her laundry, how to take the garbage out, how to get outside on her own when my sistr Cheryl came by to help her run errands.

Last weekend, Flo joined us in Louisville to celebrate her birthday. She danced. Both Friday and Saturday nights. A highlight: on Friday night a complete stranger approached and asked her to the dance floor. She is still beaming. “He was a good dancer!”

Note: one does not have to be able to see to tell if someone else is beaming. You can feel it in the air.

My dog did not join Flo on the dance floor –Hanni has two left feet. Hanni did honor Flo when we all got back to the hotel, though. I shared a hotel bed with Flo, and when the belle of the ball climbed into bed next to me Saturday night, she couldn’t help but boast. “Hanni is sleeping on my side of the bed tonight,” Flo whispered.

I wasn’t surprised. Hanni has a nose for talent.

Kids – and adults –often ask if Hanni goes right on the plane with me when we travel. She does.

On board, she sits with her butt under the seat in front of me, her head cradled between my feet. She’ll be doing exactly that on Sunday, when we fly home from Louisville. Before that, though, she will have been on four long car rides (she sits at my feet at the front passenger seat), two train rides and one bus ride. Planes, trains, and automobiles. Buses, too. All in one week! Hanni’s a trooper.

Our big travel week started with a speech to honor volunteers at the Mid-Illinois Talking Book Center in East Peoria on Monday. When I couldn’t find convenient transportation to and from that event, my niece Janet offered to drive. Baby Flo – Janet’s youngest daughter — came along, so we made sure to find a hotel with an indoor pool. Hanni and Baby Flo are just about the same height, so they had lots to talk about. We had fun!

On Tuesday Hanni and I boarded a train from Chicago to East Lansing, Michigan. This morning I gave a motivational speech to diabetes and kidney advocates before they took off to talk to state legislators. Along with blindness and leg amputation, kidney failure is another major complication of long term – or poorly controlled – diabetes. After the speech and a very lively book signing, Hanni and I got on a bus headed to Battle Creek. We caught a train there, and now, here I am, typing away from my seat on the train. Hanni is sleeping at my feet — she’s wise to get a few winks in, because tomorrow we leave again. My sister Cheryl is picking us up for this leg of our weeklong trip, and Flo and another sister – Bobbie –will come along.

They’ll be with us when Hanni and I give a talk at my great-nephew Grant’s school in Indianapolis on Friday morning. From there, we all take off to meet our other two sisters Marilee and Bev in Louisville, and Sister’s Weekend begins!

Every year my four sisters and I (and Flo, our honored guest) get together somewhere or another to celebrate our sisterhood,and we choose a book to read that has something to do with our locale. You know, Sister’s Book Club. This year’s book is a bit of a stretch. After visiting Long Island last month I found myself wanting to read The Great Gatsby again. When I went to order it, the notes said Jay Gatsby courted Daisy Buchanan in…Louisville. So that’s the book.

My brother Doug will provide appropriate Gatsby-esque music for the weekend. Doug lives in Louisville, and he’s a sought-after jazz trombonist. we’ll hear his band the West Market Street Stompers play on Friday night, and then on Saturday night Doug performs in a big band. On a riverboat!

The riverboat we’ll be cruising on is 92 years old — the exact age Flo will be this Sunday, April 20. If you know my family you know we’ll start celebrating a day early. Dancing. To a big band. On a riverboat!
So yikes! I guess you can add “boat” to the list of transportation Hanni – and I – will ride this week

Tomorrow is National ASPCA Day — that stands for the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – and Hanni and I are getting the ball rolling by making a huge announcement.

And no, smarty pants. The announcement is not that I’ve learned the html code to bold words in my blog. I mean, as exciting as html coding can be, it ain’t nothing (note italics) compared to this news from the ASPCA:

OUR BOOK JUST WON A BIG-TIME AWARD!

It’s called the Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award, and a press release from ASPCA says it best:

Named in honor of ASPCA founder Henry Bergh, the annual awards recognize books based on their exemplary handling of subject matter pertaining to animals and the environment.

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was founded in 1866 and is the first humane organization established in the Americas. It has more than one million supporters throughout North America.

iow, the Henry Bergh Award is a huge deal. And a tremendous honor. Hanni and I are traveling to the American Library Association’s Annual Conference in Anaheim to accept the award at a special ceremony on June 30. I already bought a new dress. Hanni, of course, will have her nails done for the occasion.

The Sweet Potato Queen was one of the top speakers at the Arkansas Literary Festival last weekend. The Sweet Potato Queen’s’ Book of Love came out in 1999, and two subsequent titles (The Sweet Potato Queens’ Field Guide to Men: Every Man I Love is Either Married, Gay, or Dead and The Sweet Potato Queens’ Big-Ass Cookbook) were New York Times® #1 bestsellers.

And so, you may have heard of the Sweet Potato Queen, aka, Jill Connor Brown. Chances are you have never heard of Kyle Jennings, though. Kyle is married to the Sweet Potato Queen and is known to her readers as simply the “Cutest Boy in the World.”

I may not be able to vouch for his good looks, but I can say this: that Kyle guy sure is nice.

My friend Nancy led Hanni and me to our panel Saturday morning. A festival volunteer guided us to our noontime presentation at the Arkansas Historical Museum. Nancy wasn’t all that interested in the Sweet Potato Queen, so she took off after helping me to a seat at Jill Connor Brown’s presentation later that afternoon.

When Kyle Jennings saw Hanni and me sitting alone, he stopped to ask if we needed anything. I knew he and the Sweet Potato Queen were staying in the same hotel we were, so I made a confession: I had no idea what the route back to our hotel was.
Kyle said he’d be glad to walk Hanni and me there after the presentation. “But we’ll have to wait until Jill is done signing books.”

The Sweet Potato Queen is popular. VERY popular. Women stood in line for, hmm, at least an hour to get Jill to sign copies of various Sweet Potato Queen titles.

So while Jill signed away, Hanni and I waited outside on a bench. Sunshine, birds singing…it couldn’t get better than this.

But then, it did.

Kyle Jennings saw us outside and approached our bench. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked. I scooted over, and, of course, we got to talking. He spoke lovingly about their own dogs. One is a rescue dog who had been hit by a car and left to die. A leg had to be amputated as a result of the accident. They named the dog Sosti, Kyle said. “Sost means ‘three’ in Ethiopian.”
We traded all sorts of stories after that. Eventually I unbuckled Hanni’s harness. She needed a break.
“Can I pet her now?” Kyle asked. I thought he would jump out of his shoes when I said yes. He ended up taking Hanni for a walk, picking up after her when she emptied, finding a bottle of water and cutting off the top so she could get a drink. How they bonded.

The Sweet Potato Queen sounded exhausted when she finally came out to join us. We all took off for the hotel, but after one block Jill asked if Kyle and I wouldn’t mind going on without her. “I’m going to duck in this gallery and rest,” she said. “I can’t walk that far in these heels!” She asked Kyle to pick some things up for her from their hotel room – he’d come back with the car.

And so, Hanni and I proceeded on, our heads held high. After all, we were being escorted to our fancy-schmancey Little Rock hotel by the cutest boy in the world.

Hanni is hip. You all know that. But did you know she is so hip that she has a tattoo on her right ear? That’s how she rolls, dude.

Hanni the hip dog and I just spent three nights in New Orleans. Any of you who have spent three wild nights in New Orleans might assume that she got her tattoo while we were there.

Wrong.

And if you think her tattoo is a heart with the letters b-e-t-h inscribed inside, you’re wrong again. Hanni already had the tattoo — a series of letters and numbers – when I met her. The Seeing Eye uses tattoos to keep track of their dogs. The tattoos prove useful, too, in identifying Seeing Eye dogs who get separated from their blind companions.

Separated from Hanni? Yikes. That’s too awful to even consider. Let’s think about happier things. Like…New Orleans!

Our trip was colorful right from the start. After a two-hour delay at O’Hare – ugh! — we finally got seated. In the bulkhead. Between two guys flying home to Louisiana. From Africa! “Were you there with a church group or something?” I asked.

They both laughed. “We’re not missionaries,” the guy on my right –his name was Chris – said. “We’re mercenaries!”

They were mechanics. Caterpillar had sent them to Nairobi for a month to build boat engines. “We built ten engines in four weeks,” Timmy, the guy on my left, said. “That’s a lot — they’re BIG engines.”

After the usual array of questions about Hanni, they told me about their time in Africa, how hard it was to be away from their families, how cramped the living conditions had been. But it sure beat working on oil rigs at home, they said. That’s what they’d been doing before they got the job with Caterpillar. Chris had escaped the oil rig life relatively unscathed. Timmy hadn’t been as lucky. Two back surgeries, three knee surgeries and one operation on his elbow. Pain management classes had helped him survive, he said. Martial arts helped, too. Part of the reason he had accepted the Africa job? He was able to do more supervisory work there, it wasn’t as physical. “Plus it pays $500 a day,” he said. His voice sounded sheepish, admitting such a large sum. “I have two sons; I need to make as much money as I can. You know, while I am still able to work.”

Timmy took care of Hanni when I left to go to the bathroom – she can’t fit into that small space with me. Chris jumped up to take my backpack from the overhead bin any time I needed something from it. They both told me stories of duck hunting in Louisiana, their families back home, surviving the hurricanes.

Our flight to New Orleans, well, it flew by. When we landed, Chris jumped up to get my backpack. “You go ahead,” he said. “It’s been a long flight for Hanni.”

I urged them to go first. They’d left Nairobi 36 hours ago. They weren’t home yet – they still had a three hour drive – but they were done with airplanes now, they should get off.

They wouldn’t have it. So Hanni and I said our goodbyes, headed for the exit. As we passed through first class, a passenger took me aside and asked if I was okay.

Yeah,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I asked him what he meant.

“Well, those men they sat you with,” he said. “They looked very rough.”

I’d look rough, too, if I’d just flown from Nairobi to London, London to Chicago, and Chicago to New Orleans. I hadn’t really thought much about what Timmy and Chris looked like, though. I was too busy listening. “Did they have tattoos?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” the first class man said. “All over. Are you sure you’re okay.”

The benefits of blindness are few, but they’re powerful. “I’m sure,” I assured him, a smile spreading across my face. I gave Hanni’s right ear a scratch before picking up her harness and heading to the jetway. “Hanni, forward!”

Paul Kirk, the principal at Roslyn Road elementary School, was the lucky man who got to introduce us to the student audience at our visit yesterday. During my speech to the kids, I explained the 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!”

I asked the kids what their principal’s name was. They chorused an answer. “But what’s his first name?” I asked.

Hmmm. Paul wouldn’t work for Hanni. “How about we call her Pauline?”

The kids loved the idea. During the Q & A part of the session, a student asked if Pauline sleeps with me. It was a good question – it gave me a chance to explain that Seeing Eye dogs are not allowed on furniture. “But she sleeps as close as she can to me,” I said. “She lies right next to my bed. If I get up for a glass of water in the night I have to be careful so I don’t step on her.”

Students asked whether or not Pauline likes other dogs, does Pauline ever slip on the ice, what does Pauline do if she comes across a whole in the sidewalk. But then came a question I hadn’t heard before. “Have you ever fallen out of bed?”

“Yes!” I said. It took a second for me to figure out where this question had come from, but suddenly the light bulb went on over my head. “But I fell off the other side – not on Pauline!”

This Saturday Hanni will be honored at a Champaign Public Library program called “Get Inspired! Meet a Hero at Your Library.” The Champaign library will be recommending favorite books about heroes for the next couple months, and “Hanni and Beth: Safe & sound” is one of their three picks for march:
1. Officer Buckle & Gloria
Recommended for preschoolers
by Peggy Rathman

The funny on-stage performances of a police dog, teamed with her new partner, teach kids how to be safe at home, in school, and around town.

2. Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound,
Recommended for grades K to 2
by Beth Finke

How will Beth, who is blind, travel safely to work, to the park, or to a concert? Her good friend and guide dog, Hanni, helps her every day!

3. Charlotte’s Web
Recommended for grades 3 to 5
by E.B. White

A clever spider named Charlotte hatches a plan to save her dearest friend, Wilbur the pig

Hanni has been recognized for her heroism before, but being listed right up there with Charlotte the spider? Now, that’s an honor.

The Champaign Public Library’s calendar is full of hero-themed events for the next couple of months – Hanni is looking forward to her time in the spotlight this Saturday at 2 pm.