Great Lake, great dog, great friends

You might remember the guest post my friend Chuck Gullet wrote (and the memorable photos he took) a few years ago when he came along on an appointment to get my fake eye polished. Chuck is one of the volunteers who has been taking Whitney on long walks while I recover from surgery, and here he is with a guest post about walking with Whit. 

Walking Miss Whitney

by Chuck Gullett

What could be better than this?

It’s not just a walk in the park when you have a highly trained guide dog at your side. As soon as Whitney and I step outside, I can immediately tell that Beth’s Seeing Eye dog has a ton of pent up energy and also wants to test out her new walker. After she sniffs around and pulls me from tree to tree, Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, is channeled through me. It is time to get down to business and start that walk.

Whitney knows that I’m not Beth. She also knows that she really isn’t “on duty,” but I still have to cross the street at the corners and have her sit to wait for traffic. I think these walks might actually make me a more responsible pedestrian and give up my jaywalking ways.

Whitney is a pretty cool character while we are out. I’m not supposed to let her mingle with other dogs, but that’s not too hard. Other dogs check her out and try to pull their owners over, but Whit just struts by without giving much notice at all. We are on a mission, after all. The mission is to get to Lake Michigan.

Beth and Mike mentioned that Whit really likes the lake. So, of course, that’s where I decide to walk her. As we start getting close, the pulling gets stronger and stronger. She doesn’t just love the lake, she is freaking crazy about it. The edge of the harbor area is about 10 feet above the water. Without the leash, she would have been in the water in a second.

Well…this!

I walk her over to a bench where we sit down and try to relax a bit. That seems to work until the ducks come flying in. What’s better than a lake? Obviously… a lake with ducks. We went over to check them out, but it had to be a very brief introduction (no pun intended). My arm was getting worn out from holding her back and it was time to head home.

Whit knows the route home pretty well, but she really slowed down the pace on the way back. Worn out or just procrastinating? I like to think she just wanted more quality time with Uncle Chuck — we both had a good walk.

It’s me, Beth again with a shameless plug — besides being a primo dog walker, Chuck’s a real estate broker. If you’re looking for a place in Chicago, give him a call: 312-593-1436

A familiar and most unwelcome feeling

Hi folks, here’s the first of my substitute blog appearances. Hope you’ll bear with me while Beth’s in her residency at the Vermont Studio Center.–Mike

So, Beth and I were in Montreal before we dropped her in Vermont. Everything about our Quebec weekend was fabulous. Fantastic food, charming people–and some great artwork–in our hotel! But more on that later. First, a dispatch about Beth’s first week in Vermont.

Beth and Whitney outside our hotel–Lhotel–in Montreal. The place is packed with the owner’s art collection.

On Sunday we woke up in Lhotel, went downstairs for one more sublime breakfast of sublime croissant and sublime coffee–not to mention meats and cheeses. Then it was off to…Hertz. Somehow, nothing kills a croissant buzz like a rental car. But hey, we got a nice Jetta, and we headed to Johnson, Vermont.

Beth and I had already talked about dropoff day — it was a source of quiet dread for both of us. Now, Beth getting an NEA fellowship to work on her writing was a terrific thing. The Vermont Studio Center — by multiple accounts of friends who’d spent time there — is a terrific place. Still, the dread — well beyond the natural trepidation about a month-long separation.

We figured out that it traces back almost 28 years. That’s when I dropped off Beth at what was then called the Illinois Visually Handicapped Institute — destined to be renamed Braille Jail by Beth after an up-and-down stay of nearly three months. The application process to get into IVHI had been a classic paper chase — with doctor’s reports, waivers, and endless mortgage-financing-style requests for more and more documentation.

We’d been married a year and already had spent a good portion of it apart from one another. Beth’s surgeries and hospitalizations and followup visits were in Chicago — but we lived in Urbana. So I’d see her on weekends and head back to Urbana and back to work, always hoping for the best. After the doctor said Beth would not see again, she came home. It was difficult and awkward, but at least we were together. And I wasn’t trusting her care to strangers.

So, by the fall of 1985, even though we both knew Beth needed to spend time at IVHI, the last thing we wanted was for her to go away for several months.

Still, we thought, it was worth it: Beth would learn Braille. And orientation and mobility skills (using a white cane to navigate). And the romantically labeled Activities of Daily living (cooking, cleaning, daily grind stuff). And, importantly, she’d learn to measure out and give insulin injections for herself using some adaptive tools and techniques. I’d been preparing her shots since she came home.

We moved Beth into her dorm room, we took a guided tour, we met the director. I felt like I was dropping her off at college. Except it wasn’t anything like college. It was something she had to do because she was blind. It didn’t help that though that neighborhood has changed radically for the better since 1985, back then, it was treacherous. And the place felt a little prison-like.

It was not a happy time. We said teary goodbyes, and I drove south to our apartment in Champaign. Telling myself that it was silly to worry and that this was important, all the way down the straight, flat and lonely I-57.

Well.

Not long after I got home, the phone rang. It was Beth. She had a shaky voice. I asked her what was wrong. “I’m at Cook County hospital,” she said. “WHAT!?” I boomed over the phone. I collected myself. Until Beth learned how to do her own injections, a nurse would have to do it. Except IVHI had forgotten that. And no nurse was on duty. She asked staff who were there to simply measure an injection, but they said the rules said they couldn’t do that.

So, of course, the reasonable next step was going to the Cook County Hospital emergency room, where Beth waited in a hallway for hours to receive her insulin injection. It was an awful start to an awful stay that was rife with bureaucratic snafus and delays. For example, we’d obtained a doctor’s statement that Beth was fit enough for the occupation and mobility training — which could be strenuous. But that paperwork got lost. We got replacements, but it set off a dominoes-from-hell chain reaction that prevented Beth from getting mobility training for more than a month. She really was something of a prisoner.

All of this came from an entity that was supposed to be helping. It was the last thing Beth needed at that point. I didn’t much care for it, either.

And so, whether it’s been going away to get her dogs or — going to Vermont — we are both haunted by those dark times whenever she’s headed off for an extended period of time.

Whitney likes the view outside Beth’s studio.

At the Vermont Studio Center, I helped her get situated in her room — and her cute little studio space, which happens to be right beside a lovely little stream, which runs down from lovely mountains. Nothing fancy, but, well, lovely. Still, Vermont is not know for right angles or a grid road system — which present challenges to Beth and Whitney. And we both knew it would take her days before she was confident getting from her dorm to her studio to the dining hall and back.

But, we both know she would. In a very short time on Sunday afternoon, we met terrific people — staff and fellow students–who had already been extremely helpful. And so, though it was sad to part, I felt good by the time I got home Sunday night.

And then, Monday, I got a call. “I’ve had an eventful day,” Beth said. And she had. She slept fitfully her first night. Her elbow hurt. She had a fever. One of the Vermont staff looked at her arm and said it looked bad, and wisely took her to the nearest emergency room. There, they suspected a staph infection. They did an incision — and an MRI — to determine that the infection had not gone deep into her joint and muscle tissue. Still, because of the threat of superbugs, they started her on a cocktail of antibiotics, including some pretty strong stuff.

Luckily, cultures came back that indicated it wasn’t as serious as it might have been. And the antibiotics did their job. And today, she called to say that after two nights in the hospital, she was back in her studio. Writing. With Whitney at her feet. Next to that beautiful little stream. In that beautiful little town. She’ll get visits from a nurse for 10 days, but she’s in great spirits. She says the food is terrific — the Studio has a staff chef!

Whew. She’s back. She’s fine.

And just maybe, the ghost of Braille Jail is gone. For good.

A year with Whit

Whitney taking a break from her Nylabone on Thanksgiving day.

My husband’s giving me a holiday blog break with this guest post–here’s Mike Knezovich!

On Friday night Beth came through the apartment door sounding slightly panicked. “Mike, take a look at Whitney — I think she’s bleeding.”

A dog had lunged at Whit in our building’s elevator, and Whit was bleeding from a cut across her nose. As I cleaned it up, Beth recounted what happened. And then we both fell silent.

Of the many, many things Beth and I have felt thankful for over the past few days, one stands out: This is the first year of the past three that Beth wasn’t flying to New Jersey the weekend after Thanksgiving to spend three weeks training with a new Seeing Eye dog. Like many other couples, Beth and I appreciate our breaks from each other, but I don’t like it when she’s gone that long. And I particularly don’t like the yearlong process, after being matched with a new dog, where we figure out how and if it’s going to work.

Regular “Safe & Sound” readers know the story…in 2010, Beth’s guide dog Hanni began a well-earned retirement. Though it was sad to say goodbye to the intrepid Hanni, it all felt natural. We both looked at this next episode with positive anticipation. Sure enough, Beth returned with Harper, a gentle, loveable and handsome Yellow Lab. All was well until Beth and Harper had a terrifyingly close call with a car—and Harper was never the same.

So last November it felt more like “Groundhog Day” than Thanksgiving. For the second straight year, Beth juggled her work schedule, packed her things for a three-week stay at The Seeing Eye, and girded herself for the physical and emotional challenges of training with a new guide. I crossed my fingers that this one would take.

And it has. It’s been a year since Whit and Beth met, and Whit continues to learn and improve. She still has her moments—she’ll just sort of space out and lollygag, veering here and there to sniff around—I liken it to teenage behavior.

But those episodes are fewer and further between. More often she walks—trots, really—with a purpose, stops precisely where she should at the crosswalks, and waits for Beth’s command to go. Her head is high, and on a swivel—she’s always scoping out her environment. She’s affectionate but independent—she prefers to sleep in her luxurious bed under the piano in the living room rather than on the floor in our bedroom.

And so, after the elevator episode, Beth and I each quietly feared the worst: Whit might get scared in the elevator, and then, who knows.

We headed out for a long city walk yesterday and she didn’t miss a beat—in the elevator or on the street. Whit seems undaunted, and boy, am I thankful. Hanni’s enjoying a splendid retirement. Harper’s got a best friend named Beau. I’ve got a new favorite in Whitney.

And Beth’s right here where she belongs.

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.

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.

So far, a Whinner!

Guest blogger Mike Knezovich back. Thanks again to Chuck Gullett for his great post.

Now, back to New Jersey and Beth and The Seeing Eye: With all apologies to people named Whitney, everywhere, I think that Whitney sounds a little too preppy, a little too much like a girl who would hang with girls named Paige and Madison and the like. All perfectly nice names, they just don’t pair well with Knezovich, if you know what I mean.

And so, as far as I am concerned, her name shall be Whit, forevermore. And here she is:

There she is on a commuter train platform during training. Next stop, Chicago!

When she saw the picture, our friend Nancy described Whit as a cross between Harper and Hanni. Can’t argue there. Early reports have it that Whit loves to work so much that she doesn’t always know when to stop. Yesterday morning, anytime Whit approached a quiet intersection, or one where there was no traffic at the time, she’d slow down a bit but then blow right past the curb. She was so excited to see more sidewalk ahead to guide Beth on that she didn’t want to stop.

Part of the three-week training at the Seeing Eye is to remind Beth and the 18 other blind students in her class what they need to do when their new dogs make mistakes. Every time Whit blew a curb, Beth had to give Whit a quick leash correction, tell her “Pfui!” and take a few steps backward to the curb Whit missed. After commanding Whit to “sit,” Beth would tap the curb with her foot and say, “good girl,”  indicating that’s where she wanted Whit to stop. They’d step back a few steps then, rework the curb, and Whit always, always got it the second time around.

Later that afternoon Beth and Whit went on that same route with their trainer. Whit stopped at every curb, traffic or no traffic. Way to go, Whit!

Beth reports that Whit walks at a fast but not reckless clip, and that Whit is, umm, regular, which is a real plus for the partner of a working dog. And for the guy who takes the working dog out occasionally for its constitutional.