work of dogs
News: Guest Posts
Our Guide Dog pup travels four states, sniffs a T. Rex and turns one-year-old
It’s 8:02 on a Friday night, we are in a hotel room in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho and I am the only one still awake. We have been on the road for a week; Caleb is officially a road warrior. Last Sunday, we packed up our car and headed west. A few years ago, my husband Alex went on a fly-fishing vacation to a lodge in Montana and had an amazing time. Since then he’s been trying to work another trip into our schedule and really wanted me to join him. I agreed on the condition we take Caleb with us; I don’t fish so I figured I’d need a buddy to hang out with for the 12 hours a day Alex and the other guests were on the water.
We mapped out a route that would allow us to stop and visit Alex’s parents in Boise before continuing on to Twin Bridges, Mont. I wanted to make sure none of us were in the car for more than six hours at a time day. It worked out perfectly: Each travel day was about 300 miles or less. Caleb was excellent in the car; he slept or chewed on one of his many toys. We stopped about every two hours for a stretch, walk, potty and water break.
Overnights in hotels are a breeze for him. As long as he’s got us, a bed and his meals, Caleb’s a happy pup. When we finally arrived at Healing Water Lodge, we all knew the drive had been worth it. Beautifully manicured grounds, a vegetable garden to die for, perfectly appointed rooms with plenty of room for Caleb’s giant crate, a gorgeous dining room and a pond complete with a resident beaver!
Caleb was welcomed with lots of love from the guests and staff and was part of every activity, from long walks and outdoor adventures to cocktail hour on the sun porch and gourmet dinners in the dining room. We hit some local museums, shopped and took a ton of photos. We spent a day in Bozeman with a friend and her two lovely Labrador ladies. Before heading back to the lodge, we made a visit to the Museum of the Rockies, where Caleb came face-to-face with some very large dinosaur bones. I am happy to report not once did he try to lick them.
The highlight of the trip for me was the opportunity to take Caleb out on a drift boat for a day of fly-fishing. We’ve spent a lot of time going with Alex to fish the streams and rivers around our house, but it means just grabbing a camp chair and setting up with a book on the water’s edge. Caleb had never been on a boat and frankly I’d never been on a drift boat trip but Alex’s guide, Cassandra, and the lodge, were phenomenal in coordinating this little family outing for us.
Caleb is comfortable enough around water I figured he’d do fine but I wasn’t prepared for how awesome he was. Within minutes of me putting him in the boat he was resting at my feet watching the world go by. Occasionally, he’d sit up or rest his head on Cassandra’s seat to see what was going on. We stopped on banks to let Alex work the water and land some fish, giving Caleb some time to explore and enjoy the scenery. We did have to raft through some small rapids but Caleb was fast asleep so he missed it completely.
By afternoon Caleb and I were relaxing in the boat while Alex was landing fish after fish in a small riffle. After a while, Cassandra brought over the fish for me to see and photograph. Guess who wanted in on the action? Caleb. We introduced him to a brown trout. He was not aggressive or overly interested; he sniffed, gave it a quick lick and looked back at me for approval. Since it’s all catch-and-release, no fish were harmed in the experience. Here’s a video glimpse:
This trip really solidified how grown-up our pup is. We’ve given him just about every opportunity to experience life as a working dog. I can confidently say Caleb has handled everything thing we’ve put him up against. We are getting closer to his recall date and know we probably only have a few more months with him. His first birthday is this week. Happy Birthday Caleb, you rock!
News: Guest Posts
With football season in full gear, it may be poor timing to admit I’m not a big sports fan. But does it redeem my grid-iron lameness that I appreciate a good mascot, especially of the canine variety? From the squat nobility of University of Georgia Bulldog Ug to the not-terribly intimidating Boston University Terrier to the sleek and speedy (and sort of obscure) Salukis of Southern Illinois, dogs make great mascots because they have so many admirable qualities that translate to sport (loyalty, perseverance, love of play, good attitude, and on and on). Plus, you can have an actual dog in your parade and on the sidelines.
Among dog mascots (many Bulldogs among them) nothing touches the University of Washington’s, to my way of thinking. They fight the good fight behind a handsome Husky, usually “played by” a flashier, more docile Malamute. I admit I may be unduly influenced by the fact that I attended grad school at UW and that I’ve had three Husky-mix dogs sprinkle their pixie dust on my life.
For most of my time in Seattle, my UW Husky sightings were limited to t-shirts, posters and the bronze incarnation in front of Husky Stadium. But a couple years ago, I heard about Dubs (as in U-Dub), the latest mascot pup-in-training. I started following his blog, which is a constantly expanding collection of to-die-for photos. Interestingly his home and family are shrouded in secrecy to maintain his privacy and perhaps protect against pranksters. So when I saw him on a walk IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD I felt like I’d just spotted George Clooney. When we crossed paths a second time, I asked: “Is this?” The answer: “Yes.” We didn’t say his name, like a certified Hollywood star. We didn’t need to. But, unlike meeting a certified Hollywood star, I was allowed to pet him. Yum.
I see Dubs occasionally and check in on his blog. And I’m even starting to care how the teams do—for Dubs’ sake. Go Dawgs!
Do you have a favorite mascot?
News: Guest Posts
Photographer Charlotte Dumas pays tribute to canine heroes
It is hard to believe it’s been 10 years since the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and the crash of United Airlines Flight 93. The memories and the impact are still so fresh. But one place you can see the passage of time is in the gray muzzles and clouded eyes of the surviving Search and Rescue (SAR) dogs.
With the tenth anniversary looming, Dutch photographer Charlotte Dumas tracked down 15 surviving rescue dogs who assisted emergency crews searching for survivors. She traveled around the country and photographed these aging heroes in their homes. The noble and vulnerable images are a beautiful tribute to the efforts of all the SAR teams in those frightening and challenging days.
The portraits have been collected and will be published on 9/11/11 in Retrieved, a paperback volume with Japanese binding. (Available from The Ice Plant.) In addition, seven of her favorite images will be sold at a special silent auction to benefit the First Responder Alliance, which helps rescue and recovery workers and their families develop critical support systems.
The auction will be September 29, 2011, 6–8 pm at Clic Gallery, 255 Centre Street, NYC. The seven auction prints will be accompanied by the photographer’s personal notes as well as memorabilia including snapshots of the dog at work during the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.
See a slideshow of images from the book at The New York Times.
News: Guest Posts
Famed Guide Dog of 9/11 remembered in new book
Ten years ago, Guide Dog Roselle, a three-year-old yellow Labrador Retriever, was sleeping under a desk on the 78th floor of Tower One of the World Trade Center. Her partner, Michael Hingson, was preparing for a routine training meeting when he heard the explosion.
The date: September 11, 2001.
Stairs were the only way out. So Michael Hingson, who is blind from birth, worked in tandem with Roselle, taking 1,463 steps down 78 floors to safety.
I met Michael Hingson five years after the September 11 tragedy. He and I were in Raleigh, N.C., with our guide dogs, both of us presenting at a 2006 conference for people who work in blind services. Michael’s speech about experiences with Roselle on 9/11 wowed the crowd.
“You have got to write a book!” I told him at the hotel bar after our presentations. Michael is a good talker. Roselle was already asleep when we arrived. After guiding me to a seat at the bar, my Seeing Eye dog, a Golden Retriever/Lab cross named Hanni, had the good sense to settle in with her co-worker under our bar stools.
Sipping a cocktail, Michael explained how he’d left a 27-year career in high-tech computer sales and management to accept a position at Guide Dogs for the Blind (GDB) as National Public Affairs director. In a country where 70 percent of people who are blind are unemployed, his career path is miraculous enough, not to mention surviving September 11 with Roselle. He was quick to point out he’d already hooked up with the publisher of AKC Gazette to write his book.
Michael and I kept up via email after the conference, and when I finally got my courage up and asked how the book was coming along, Michael responded that “it just never came together.”
Enter Susy Flory. After contacting Michael last year about including his 9/11 story in a book she was writing called Dog Tales, she asked if he had any interest in writing a book. “She told me she’d be willing to help me with it,” he said. “It just clicked.”
Thunder Dog: The True Story of a Blind Man, His Guide Dog, and the Triumph of Trust at Ground Zero by Michael Hingson with Susy Flory was published by Thomas Nelson Publishers last month. One instance in Thunder Dog that really sticks with me is when Michael and Roselle found themselves in a subway station on 911. Everyone there had smoke and dirt in their eyes—they were all, in fact, blind, and each one terribly frightened of falling into the tracks. Poor Roselle, I don’t know how she could see or breathe, but she managed to guide all of them to safety.
Michael is traveling with his new guide, a yellow Lab named Africa, to promote the book for the ten-year anniversary of the tragedy. He says his Guide Dog’s spirit never diminished during their 78-story stairwell descent on September 11, 2011, and that spirit was evident during the six-and-a-half years the two of them spent together afterwards traveling hundreds of thousands of miles throughout the United States and the world to speak about trust and teamwork.
“If anything, Roselle’s spirit grew even stronger after 9/11,” says Hingson, who has left Guide Dogs for the Blind to start his own company, now speaking to corporations and organizations on behalf of the Michael Hingson Group. “I want people to understand that the real handicap of blindness is not a lack of eyesight, but a lack of proper education about blindness,” he says. And while Roselle is no longer with him physically, Hingson knows her spirit will always, always be with him. “She helps me be a better person today, and everyday.”
Here’s a video preview with Michael Hingson (and Africa) and Susy Flory:
Dog's Life: Work of Dogs
Super Sniffers—there’s a new pooch at the firehouse.
If you were to make a Molotov cocktail, you’d have to wash your hands at least 17 times before a dog would be unable to detect traces of petroleum on your skin. Until fairly recently, this information probably was not much of a concern to would-be flame-throwers.But these days, arsonists of every stripe should beware. While most fire departments have phased out the Dalmatian, fire investigative units have been adding another dog to their teams.
Since the mid-1980s, an elite cadre of canines has been using the ability for smelling in the parts-per-quintillion to help investigators determine whether a fire was deliberately set, and sometimes even who set it. The more than 200 arson dogs (formally known as accelerant- detection dogs) working today can quickly and accurately sniff out tiny amounts of anything from lamp oil to lighter fluid in a scene flooded with several inches of water or covered in snow, ice, mud or thick layers of fire debris.
“The K-9s have the ability to survey a variety of terrain in a fire scene in an incredibly short time,” says Jerry Means, an agent with the Colorado Bureau of Investigations. “The dogs dramatically increase the investigator’s ability to retrieve an accurate reflection of the flammable products present in a fire scene and increase the chances of collecting a positive sample.” Of course, it can be equally important when a dog does not alert to fire-starting substances—helping to rule out arson.
Means investigated approximately 800 fires with his first arson dog, a black Lab named Erin. “We had a fire that occurred in a home where three small children were killed in the blaze,” he says. The fire initially looked like a tragic accident, and an arson dog was not going to be used. “However, considering the magnitude of the loss, it was decided to throw every available tool at the fire investigation.”
Erin alerted a dozen times in the area where it was believed the fire started. Based on these samples tested at the lab, investigators determined that the blaze had been set intentionally. “After four years of investigative work and two separate trials, the children’s father and mother were each convicted of three counts of first-degree murder.”
Means acquired his dogs, first Erin and later Sadie, through a program run by State Farm Insurance Company. Since 1993, the Bloomington, Ill.–based underwriter has teamed up with Maine Specialty Dogs and the Maine Criminal Justice Academy to provide arson dogs— about 10 per year—to communities where at least 50 suspicious fires occur annually. Most dogs are placed so they can help the greatest number of people, and they and their handlers often help neighboring jurisdictions. Overall, 250 State Farm–sponsored teams have set to work in 43 states, three Canadian Provinces and the District of Columbia.
Once an arson dog is certified and placed with a handler, he or she works every day of the year and must be recertified annually. Captain Stephen Baer, founder of the arson dog program at the Seattle Fire Department, recently put his dog Henny through her paces.
Out on the blacktop at a fire-training center south of the city, Baer has set up a simulation. Before I arrive, he has burned a carpet remnant with a torch, squeezed one drop of 50 percent evaporated gasoline in two spots, and burned it a second time. He has also put a tiny drop on a T-shirt in a row of clothes (to simulate a clothing lineup).
At some distance from the demo area, he dons a belt with a kibble pouch. Henny tunes in, ignoring the floating cotton that had captivated her only moments earlier. “She goes from being friendly and looking for Chicken McNuggets on the ground to, Oh, Dad put the belt on, now I’m looking for gasoline,” Baer says. With out the belt, they could walk through a sea of hydrocarbons and she wouldn’t react.
“Seek,” Baer says, as we near the carpet. Henny eagerly noses the ground for a few seconds, then sits on the edge of the carpet and stares at Baer. An alert. “Good,” he says, passing her some kibble. “Show me better.” She circles and sniffs again, then sits in almost the same spot. “Good,” he says in a high, happy voice. More kibble. Baer always asks Henny to double-check and pinpoint the location where she alerts.
If this were a fire scene, Baer would place a clean poker chip on the spot. That’s for the fire investigator, who follows up and determines whether to take a sample and send it to the lab. This process cuts down on time-consuming guesswork in the field. Plus, fewer and better samples cut down on the workload at overburdened crime labs.
In the messy, chaotic aftermath of a real fire, Baer might also point exactly to each spot he wants her to check, saying, “Seek. Seek. Seek.” Arson dogs are taught to discriminate among the variety of scents they might confront at a fire scene —plus deliberate distractions such as beef jerky—and to alert only to substances used to start fires.
Henny joined the Accelerant Detection K-9 Program at the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) after flunking out of guide-dog training due to an overactive sniffer. The majority of arson dogs in the United States are trained and certified either by ATF or State Farm. The ATF program dates back to 1984, and 127 accelerant-detection dogs have been placed with agencies in the U.S. and 21 foreign countries since 1991. (It’s a small number, especially when compared to the 595 explosives-detection dogs certified in that same period.)
March 2006, the teammates have been apart only once—during Baer’s honeymoon. They train twice a day to keep Henny’s skills sharp; also, Henny only eats when she’s working. She is always fed from Baer’s hand, as is common with most arson dogs.
Accelerant-detection dogs aren’t limited to fire scenes. Jerry Means’ current arson dog, Sadie, was called in to “survey” two juveniles in a fire at an abandoned flour mill in Longmont, Colo. The suspects originally denied involvement, but when the dog alerted to their shoes, it was only 15 minutes before they confessed to starting the fire.
Arson dogs also make appearances in courtrooms when handlers present evidence—including the dog’s training and experience, and the procedure followed at the incident in question.
What makes a good arson dog? “The ideal dog has high energy,” says Paul Gallagher, the owner-trainer of Maine Specialty Dogs. “It’s basically the semi-problem child.” A former Maine State Police K-9 trainer and supervisor, Gallagher saw one of the first accelerantdetection dogs being trained back in the day, and decided to train one for Maine. This led to training arson dogs for other departments. When he retired from the police force in 1996, he paired up with State Farm to continue the work. State Farm covers the $23,000 training costs for each dog.
Both ATF and State Farm prefer Labradors or Lab-mixes because of their curiosity, energy, tracking ability and easygoing demeanor. Guide dog training “dropouts” are particular favorites. Gunny is fairly typical. He had to find a new career when he slipped a hamburger right off the table in front of a blind person. Now a State Farm–sponsored arson dog in Grand Haven Township, Mich., he’s great at his job because he’s extremely motivated to work for kibble.
Susan Piron of Lake Gaston, N.C., has seen two of the five puppies she raised for Guiding Eyes for the Blind go on to careers in arson detection. In 2008, she was given the option of adopting Elway, a yellow Labrador she’d raised, when he didn’t seem suited for guide dog work. “That was probably the toughest decision,” Piron says, “whether to bring him back to the lake or let him go on to do something for other people and become the best he can be. Elway had a lot of energy and initiative; he needed a job.” Today, he sniffs out accelerants for the Connecticut State Police.
State Farm also enlists one- to twoyear- old dogs from humane societies and rescues, including one Hurricane Katrina rescue.
“We’ve saved a few from being put down,” Gallagher says.
Ultimately, though, it’s not about second chances for dogs so much as saving lives and money. An estimated 32,500 structural fires were set intentionally in 2007, resulting in 295 civilian deaths, according to the National Fire Protection Association’s most recent assessment. The cost in property loss due to arson for 2007 is estimated at around $733 million. Arson is tough to prove, but a dog is a huge asset.
a huge asset. “There is nothing in the pipeline that can equal the scent-ability of the dog that we can take to fire scenes and use,” Gallagher says. “The public needs to know those dogs are out there. It’s an elite group that does a good job … and they need the recognition.”
Dog's Life: Lifestyle
September events honor human and canine rescue teams
As we approach the tenth anniversary of 9/11, there are many victims to remember and many heroes to honor. Among those to pay tribute to are the hundreds of search and rescue (SAR) dogs who worked alongside police, firefighters, and other rescue workers at the World Trade Center. Like many others involved in the rescue efforts, canine SAR teams are mostly made up of volunteers who willingly put themselves at risk to help others.
SAR dog advocacy group, Finding One Another, is teaming up with the Tails of Hope Foundation, an organization dedicated to advancing veterinary and human medicine, to honor SAR teams through a series of commemorative and educational programs.
The following are three highlights from their September calendar. The Finding One Another website has details on additional events.
Recognition Ceremony at Liberty State Park (September 11 at 1 p.m. in Jersey City, N.J.)
The conference is chaired by Cynthia M. Otto, DVM, PhD, DACVECC, Co-Chair of the 9/11 Tenth Anniversary SAR Tribute and Associate Professor of Critical Care at the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine. Participants are expected to attend from all over the world.
SAR Photography & Artifact Exhibit (through September 2011 in West Nyack, N.Y.)
We owe so much to the dogs and handlers who worked alongside rescue workers on September 11th. It's important to advocate for them so that we never forget the risk they took, and still take, every time they come to the aid of people in need.
Dog's Life: Humane
It’s another monday morning, and I’m reading the Times and sipping my coffee at an hour when most respectable people are already at work, or at least on their way. Like I used to be. Bam! The “Arts” section flies into my face as Tillie, my two-year-old Lab, head-butts her way onto my lap.
“You need a job,” I tell her as I rub her ears and wipe the sleep out of her eyes.
“Hell, I need a job,” I add.
It’s true. But had I been employed, Tillie wouldn’t have been here in my New York apartment, watching my every move to see what the day would bring. On the contrary, she was a direct result of my lack of a job — the beneficiary of my desire to accomplish something worthwhile while I had free time on my hands. Tillie is the second puppy I’ve raised for the Guide Dog Foundation. The first, Cathy, is now a working guide dog, and the pride of my life. Tillie, though quite wonderful, is a slacker. It was allergies that got her booted out of the guide-dog program and onto my couch.
So now we find ourselves in the same boat. Long days stretch ahead of the two of us like shadows on a late-summer afternoon. The intervals between our snack breaks seem to be getting shorter and shorter, and if either one of us makes even the slightest move toward the kitchen, the other is right behind. Our once-idle friends, who were always available for a romp in the park or a late-afternoon glass of wine, have moved on to big jobs and left us behind. Corey, Tillie’s favorite yellow Lab, is off guiding in New Hampshire. Leslie, my pal since college, is working such long hours that I rarely see her.
Too much free time can make you crazy. I recognize Til lie’s obsessive tendencies only because they mirror my own. She keeps a steady watch for the mean dog next door: I constantly check for Facebook updates. On our daily runs, she pees in the exact same three spots and I count my steps between lampposts. She chases her tail, I fruitlessly launch résumés into the ether. Really, the only difference between us is her lack of concern about money.
We did try the volunteer circuit, even before Tillie was tossed from Guide Dogs. An outing with an elderly woman suffering from Parkinson’s disease nearly gave me a heart attack, with my Parkinson’s lady hanging on to my right arm for dear life as Tillie yanked in the opposite direction on my left. Maybe we’ll give it another shot when she’s a little older. And the therapy dog thing? Let’s just say that neither of us survived the screening process. But I do suspect we’ll both get over that and try again, sooner or later.
I feel bad about Tillie not having a job. I understand how she feels. Like in the mornings, when that ad with Roscoe the bedbug-sniffing dog comes on TV and her head swivels around from its spot on my pillow, her eyes blazing with envy. Or when folks ask how Cathy is doing, and I feel like I should cover Tillie’s ears before recounting the stories about what a superstar guide my first puppy has become.
But then again, maybe I’m just projecting. Maybe she really doesn’t want to work. In fact, when I think about it, it seems as though those “allergies” that were making her so itchy right before she was about to go in for her formal guide-dog training suspiciously disappeared as soon as she was released to me. And she does love that couch. But in my opinion, she’s way too young for retirement. And so am I.
Now, together, we’re trying out a new job. We’re helping to raise Bau, an eightmonth- old future guide dog. I have a lot to teach him, and he has a lot to learn — mostly how “not” to do things. Like how not to trample the daffodils, how not to run down the stairs with a dog bed in his mouth, and how not to launch a stealth attack over a glass coffee table. Tillie’s lessons seem to be more focused on things like successful strategies for tug-of-war, tag and keep-away.
I hope Tillie doesn’t become too much of a role model for Bau. After all, I don’t want him to get any big ideas. He only has five months or so to go before he heads off to work, and I worry that Tillie’s going to make this whole jobless thing look a lot more appealing than it really is. I guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on her, and make sure she keeps her opinions to herself. The last thing I need is another bum under my roof.
News: Guest Posts
Seeing Eye dog and handler tackle new hurdles on the road to recovery
[Editor's note: Frequent Bark blogger Beth Finke recently broke her foot and has been keeping us posted about what it means for her and her Seeing Eye dog, Harper. Read installments I and II in what we’re unofficially calling the “broken foot chronicles” and her most recent update, below.]
I’m in orthopedic shoes now—a real relief after eight weeks in a cast! Harper seems relieved, too. No more worries about being stepped on by Big Foot.
Along with the wide shank for added stability, the soles of both of my new orthopedic shoes have extra padding. I put them on, and suddenly I’m six feet tall! I hold Harper’s harness from a higher elevation now. When I lift the harness and tell him to pull me forward, he has to adjust to a totally different angle.
The three breaks in my left foot aren’t totally healed yet, and these are the only shoes I’m allowed to wear until the end of the month. I’m not supposed to go barefoot, even in the house.
Our first venture outside with the new shoes was slightly disappointing. No blare of trumpets. Passersby did not burst into song. I commanded, “Harper, forward!” and instead of leading me down the sidewalk, Harper took me to a car parked in front of our building.
Poor little guy. For the past eight weeks all I’ve been doing is asking him to guide me to cabs! A verbal correction got Harper back on track, and we were on our way. First stop? Across the street to Harper’s favorite tree.
The bumps on the wheelchair ramp usually tip me off we’re at the street crossing. I can’t feel the bumps through the three-inch soles on my orthopedic shoes. “Harper, forward!” We cross the street safely. “Good boy, Harper!”
A dip in the sidewalk used to alert me that we’re crossing the entrance to a parking lot. A mound of dirt around Harper’s tree used to tell me I could take his harness off and give him permission to do his thing. With these thick-soled shoes on, I can’t feel much of anything underfoot. So I just say a quick prayer to the gods of pee and poop that I’m not allowing Harper to empty somewhere he shouldn’t, then lean down from my six-foot perch to unbuckle his harness. “Park time!”
Harper circles, and once he stops, I do my best to move my over-protected foot near his tail. I slip a plastic bag over my hand and lean waaaaaay down (gee, did I tell you I’m six feet tall now?!) to feel through the plastic for lumps near my foot. After picking the lumps up, I flip the clean part of the bag over my palm and throw the bag away. Success!
Harper and I have steadily increased the length of our trips since then—he brought me to a parked car again yesterday, but once I corrected him, we were on our way again—this time circling the entire block.
Today, he ignored the parked cars in front of our building altogether and responded correctly to every “right!” and “left!” on our two-block walk to the bank. “Good dog!” On the way home he waited patiently at the street crossing while I waved my arm to and fro in search of the walk button. It was lower than it used to be. Hey, did I tell you I’m six...?
Okay, never mind.
Once we got home, I did a joyful Tin Man dance in place. Harper circled around me, stuffed squeak toy in mouth, tail wagging. “Attaboy, Harper! We’re back!”
A trainer from the Seeing Eye is coming next week to visit some other graduates in the Chicago area. Eric will stop by to trail Harper and me en route—maybe he’ll have some pointers for the new, taller me.
Doctor’s orders are to continue wearing the clodhoppers until I return to the ortho clinic August 31. The Seeing Eye will send another trainer out if we need more help once I’m back on terra firma, and I am very hopeful that at this next appointment the doc will give me the okay to wear my normal shoes again. And if that happens, trust me, I’ll be more than happy to step down from my six-foot pedestal!
News: Guest Posts
Caleb reunites with his littermates
Once a year Guide Dogs for the Blind hosts their annual “Fun Day” at each campus, an annual recognition event for puppy raising volunteers to thank them for everything they do. It’s the biggest event of the year. The day provides raisers from the various territories with the opportunity to learn about new training techniques, changes in the breeding program, new community placement options and, of course, to meet littermates and other raisers.
Three of Caleb’s seven siblings were attended—Cleveland, Carol and Clinton—all are yellow and being raised in the Portland area. We were able to spend some time chatting with the other raisers and comparing notes on our pups. Turns out, there are definitely some shared traits. All of them have the same “hook” move: When playing, they’ll wrap a front paw around you and hang on. They are all cuddly, love to play and are generally mellow personalities. However, when it comes to appearances they are all over the map. Cleveland is significantly bigger with a wavy long Golden Retriever coat, Carol is very petite and Caleb was commended as the cutest, and I have to say I agree!
It’s hard to say if they recognize each other as sibling since in general they show the same level of enthusiasm for all dogs. But it was fun to see some of his littermates and learn how they have been progressing through their training. To date, all eight are still in program and none have been career changed.
We also had a few visitors this month. My mum spends part of the summer in Bend and along with her comes her Black Labrador, Hobson, who is a community placement from Guide Dogs. Community placements are essentially ambassadors. They are paired with active community members, educators and others who help spread the word about Guide Dogs for the Blind.
My mum lives in a retirement community in Arizona where she and Hobson do outreach work on behalf of Guide Dogs for the Blind. They speak to Veterans organizations, vision-loss support groups and social clubs about the services and options available for the visually impaired. Hobson is a wonderful companion for my mum as well as perfect representative for Guide Dogs. When visiting, he also provides some welcome instruction and mentorship for Caleb. Caleb has learned to respect his elders, a bit, and that just because there is another dog around does not mean we are opening a wrestling camp in our living room!
Add to this mix four of my siblings and their families including kids ranging in ages from 2 to 16 and we had a really different vibe for Caleb to experience. This was again invaluable socialization and training for him, on any given day there were at least five additional people in our house, kid’s toys all over the place, and mealtimes were crazy. With our house as the hub of activity, Caleb got a dose of what I grew up in. Lots of people, food, noise, activity and kids running around, he handled it all very well but needed a few long naps in between.
While summer may be coming to a close, we are preparing for our long awaited vacation to Montana for some fly fishing, hiking and relaxing. Caleb is going with us to the lodge and we are looking forward to giving him even some more new experiences. Until next month, enjoy the rest of the summer!
Dog's Life: Lifestyle
Cookie sales fund the project
Girl Scouts in Troop 10470 met officers last year during a safety presentation by the police. The girls were saddened to learn that the canine police dogs did not have their own badges, and they decided to do something about it.
Buying badges costs money, and we all know how Girl Scouts raise money. They sell cookies. It took more than 1,000 boxes to raise enough money to buy badges for the five police dogs, which were presented to them on August 17, 2011. Each badge has the dog’s name on it, rather than an officer ID number, which is what human police officers have on their badges.
It’s telling that the Girl Scouts felt that the dogs, being police officers too, should have their own badges. To them, and to many adults, it just makes sense that dogs as well as people should have badges. They are part of a new generation growing up with the viewpoint that dogs are on equal footing with their human partners, which is why one girl had asked, “Why does your dog not have a badge?”
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