emma and i - Sheila Hocken

by Emma

  to the Association.'

  I determined that one of the first things I would do when I

  got home would be to contact Paddy Wansborough.

  Next day, I was out with Emma again. As the training

  progressed I gradually got more used to her. We used a minibus

  to get us about Leamington, and this played a big part in

  the training, because it taught us how to use public transport.

  When we were on the bus and the dogs under the seats, I

  heard a great bellow from Brian, 'I can see two brown paws

  sticking out.' Brown paws, I thought, that must be Emma.

  He went on, 'Do you want somebody to stand on her?'

  'No, of course I don't.'

  'Well, do something about it.'

  I began to wonder if my first impressions of Brian had been

  wrong. But though he was shouting at me a lot, he must have

  guessed what I was thinking.

  'No one else is going to tell you these things, Sheila. If you

  don't learn here, Emma'll be the one that suffers, not you.'

  My trust in Emma grew daily, but I really knew she had

  transferred her affections from Brian to me on about the

  tenth day of my stay at the centre. Up to then, she had always

  slept until morning in her dog-bed on the other side of the

  room. But on this particular evening, she refused to go to her

  bed. Instead, she curled up on the floor as near to my pillow

  as she could get. I felt then that we had made it. We were a

  team, each needing the other's company. I woke the following

  morning with an odd sensation. It felt as if there were a steamroller

  on my chest. Emma was sitting on top of me, pushing

  with her nose, telling me, I have no doubt at all, that it was

  time for us both to get up. She was full of life and exuberance,

  and could not wait to start the day. When I did get up, I

  could hear her shake herself in anticipation, and stand

  wagging her tail near the door.

  One of the centre's ingenious ways of familiarizing us with

  the day's programme was by using tactile maps. Pavements,

  buildings, and so on were raised on a wooden map of Leamington,

  so we could feel our way over the routes beforehand, right

  down to the zebra crossings and the bus stops. Emma would

  find these things for me, but I had to be in the right road, and

  the map helped enormously to make sure we did not miss our

  way. Our walks became more and more complicated, and

  Brian would try to find places where there were road works, to

  ensure we had mastered the business of getting round them, as

  well as other obstacles. Bus trips and shopping expeditions

  were also in the curriculum, and I really enjoyed shopping

  with Emma. She would not only find the shop, but also take

  me up to the counter. I began to forget I was blind. No one

  fussed round me any longer. They were all too interested in

  Emma.

  But things did not always go smoothly. I was not keen on

  the obstacle course we had to practise. Emma always reacted

  very quickly, and usually I was not fast enough to follow.

  She would see the obstacle, assess it, and take a snap decision

  which way to go. Before I knew what was happening she

  would have changed course to one side or the other, and I

  would be left in a trail of harness and confusion. Brian always

  seemed to be on hand when I made mistakes, even if I thought

  he was following some other student. I would suddenly hear

  a great shout: 'When your dog jumps, you jump.'

  It was easier said than done. On occasions like this, Emma

  would lose confidence and sit down immediately. It was

  almost as if she were saying, 'It's no good me doing my bit,

  if all you can do is to trail behind and finish up in a heap.'

  Literally the only way I could get her back to work again was

  to apologize and promise to do better next time.

  It was while we were doing the obstacle course that I

  learned one of Emma's aversions. It came to our turn and

  we were going through the obstacles fairly well. All at once

  Emma shot off like a rocket, and I felt myself being taken at

  right angles up a steep grass bank. As we went, I heard Brian

  hysterical with laughter. When we finally came to a stop, I

  said rather breathlessly, 'What was all that about? Whatever

  did she do that for?'

  'Oh, it's Napoleon.'

  'Napoleon? What do you mean, Napoleon?' I thought

  Brian had suddenly gone out of his mind.

  'You know,' he said, 'the cat. Napoleon, the cat.'

  'Oh,' I said. But I still did not know why Emma had shot

  up the bank.

  Brian, still laughing, explained that Emma could not stand

  cats. She knew better than to chase them, but if she saw one,

  she would take off in the opposite direction-the opposite

  direction in this case having been the steep grassy bank. Still,

  Brian did congratulate me on my alacrity and speed in

  following, and promised to keep us in mind if there was ever

  a guide-dog expedition to Everest. At the same time, I thought

  that the only way to cure Emma of her dislike of cats would be

  to get one, and I put that on my list of resolutions for when I

  got home.

  That evening as we were sitting in the lounge, Brian came in

  and we laughed again about Emma and the cat. Then I asked

  him something that fascinated me more and more the longer

  the course went on. How did they train the dogs to accomplish

  the amazing things they did for us? I knew a little about dog

  TRAINING

  training from the experience I had had with them, but I could

  not fathom some of the dogs' abilities. After all, it is a fairly

  simple matter to train a dog to sit at a kerb every time, but

  how do you train them to disobey you? I asked Brian, 'For

  instance, I told Emma to go forward yesterday, when I hadn't

  heard a car coming, and she wouldn't go because she'd seen

  one. How on earth do you train them to do that?'

  Brian replied, 'Once you've got a dog basically trained, and

  you're waiting to cross the road, you see a car coming and tell

  the dog to go forward. The dog, naturally, obeys immediately,

  but you don't move, and the car---other trainers drive them

  for these exercises-hoots, and makes a lot of noise, and the

  dog comes back on the pavement; by repetition of this sort of

  thing it is conditioned to associate the moving vehicle with

  danger, and therefore, despite all instinct to obey, refuses to

  move even when the command is given. Of course, only fairly

  intelligent dogs will respond like this, and that's why we have

  to be very stringent with our tests of character and aptitude to

  begin with.'

  'What about obstacles?' I asked.

  Brian explained that the principle behind teaching dogs not

  to walk their owners into obstacles was to get the dog to

  associate an obstacle with displeasure-to use a mild word-and

  also distress. A start is made with something simple such as

  a post. The dog walks the trainer into the post, is immediately

  stopped, the post is banged to draw attention to it, and the

>   right way, allowing room, is shown. The next time a forceful

  'NO' is shouted when the post is collided with, and the right

  way is shown again. So by repetition the dog eventually gets

  the message, and at the same time, the range of obstacles is

  extended to include the most frequent pavement obstacles of

  all, people.

  It sounded simple in a way, but I knew a lot of hard work

  and talented training went into all this. The trainers, Brian

  told me, worked with a blindfold on when they considered the

  dogs had reached a certain standard of proficiency. They did

  this for about a fortnight to create real working conditions

  for the dogs, and give them confidence through working with

  someone they knew.

  It was interesting to hear Brian explain it all, and particularly,

  in the light of what followed in the last stage of the

  course, the disobedience part. We were nearing the end of

  our month at Leamington, and went out once more in the

  mini-bus. Emma's paws, by now, were always well tucked

  away. Brian told us we were going to the railway station as a

  final test.

  I have always loathed railway stations because of the noise,

  the hundred and one different obstacles ' and the general sense

  of bustle which, if you are blind, is scaring. I got to dislike them

  so much I would never go into one, still less travel by train,

  even if there were a sighted person to take me. But Brian was

  adamant. 'Well, you know, you've got to get used to it. You

  might want to go by rail one day, or meet somebody off a

  train, and you've got Emma to guide you now. She knows her

  way around. There's nothing to it.'

  I was not convinced. We got to the station, and I put

  Emma's harness on. Brian said, 'Right. I'll just go and park.

  You go in; Emma knows the way. I'll be with you in a minute

  or two.'

  Emma took me through the doors, down a couple of flights

  of steps, in and out between people on the platform and sat

  down. I had no idea where I was. I just stood and waited for

  Brian. He was there within a couple of minutes. 'Right,' he

  said, 'Emma's sitting bang on the edge ofthe platform. There's

  about a six-foot drop in front of you to the railway line. Now

  tell her to go forward.'

  I was petrified, and could feel my spine tingle. 'You must be

  joking,' I said.

  'No, go on. Tell her to go forward.'

  I stood there, not knowing what to do. This really was a

  terrible test. Dare I do it? I was so scared, I felt sick. In that

  moment I really did not want a guide-dog. Everything I had

  heard about them, all the training we had done, all I felt

  about Emma flashed through my mind, and it meant nothing.

  I just wanted, there and then, to lay the harness handle on

  Emma's back, and leave, get out, escape, anything. But, in a

  sort of hoarse whisper, I heard myself saying, 'Forward.'

  Immediately, up she got, and almost in the same motion

  pushed herself in front of my legs. Then she started pushing

  me back, right away from the edge of the platform.

  I have never felt so ashamed in all my life. I felt about an

  inch tall. How could I possibly have been so doubting, so

  unworthy of Emma? I was utterly humiliated. Brian said,

  'There you are. I told you Emma would look after you,

  whatever you do. Whatever you tell her to do, if there's any

  danger in front of you, she'll push you away.'

  So that was it. We had made it. The sense of freedom was

  incredible. I got over my awful feelings of shame, because I

  sensed that Emma understood and forgave. That afternoon I

  walked with her down the Parade in Leamington, the busy

  main road, crowded with shoppers. I walked with a great big

  smile on my face, weaving in and out of all those people, and

  feeling: I don't care if you can see I'm blind. I can see too:

  I've got Emma, and she's all I need.

  I

  HOME AGAIN 53

  were two distinct sides to her character: one when she was

  working, and in charge of me, and the other when she was off

  the harness, totally joyous, full of fun and energy, and as far

  from any sense of responsibility as a clown. My misgivings

  began to evaporate.

  That first night back, Emma slept at the bottom of the bed;

  she had decided that there was no other place good enough for

  CHAPTER FOUR her, and in the morning she woke me with her usual insistence.

  HOME AGAIN It struck me that this morning we were really starting a new

  life together. We would be going out into Nottingham on our

  own. I got out of bed and started dressing. This was not my

  usual form, because I'm normally a very slow, sleepy starter,

  but on this day of all days I could not wait to find out how

  A L L T 0 0 S 0 0 N the day came when we were to go home, Emma and I, put to the test, would

  get on together.

  Over breakfast I decided we would go to visit some old

  Emma and I. It was, oddly enough, very sad. It happened to

  be raining-pouring down-and the weather matched my friends, Norman and Yvonne, whom I hadn't

  seen recently

  mood. Even though I could not see the rain. I felt very grey and who lived quite near. In the

  decision itselflay the prospect

  of freedom. With Emma, I would be able to go all over

  and depressed. I hated the idea of having to leave the centre

  Nottingham!

  and all the friends I had made. Even more, I really did not

  i I had the directions worked out in my mind after a telewant

  to go home, although I now had Emma, and kept trying i

  to convince myself that things back in Nottingham were phone consultation. They presented

  no problems: all I had to

  bound to be different. I was afraid that somehow I might be do was to go out of our front gate, tell

  Emma to turn right to

  the top ofthe road, a main road, turn right again, go straight to

  enveloped in the old ways again, despite Emma. I had not yet the bottom, turn left, and ask Emma to

  find the first gate. So,

  grasped to what an enormous extent she was about to change off we went.

  my life. I still had to learn to put my confidence in her.

  Heavy with misgivings, I left Leamington with Emma on Twenty minutes after setting out, we

  were standing in the

  her harness beside me. The two of us arrived in Nottingham, porch of Norman and Yvonne's house, and I

  was feeling for

  were met and taken home. Once home, I let Emma off the the bell. We had done it. To anyone

  walking down that

  lead and took off her harness: she went wild. Everyone Nottingham street of detached houses,

  lined with trees and

  was immediately taken with her. She bounded all over built in the 1920S, there may have

  appeared nothing out of

  the place, through every room, round and round; I could the ordinary about a girl and a dog

  standing in a doorway

  hear her tearing about, sending rugs flying, stopping to sniff waiting for the bell to be answered. But

  inside me was a huge

  each chair and table leg. The air swished to the wagging of her sense
of triumph: it was a milestone.

  'Good girl, Emma,' I

  tail, and resounded with her snortings and sniffings. This, she kept saying. I was so proud of her.

  obviously realized, was where she was going to live. It was Norman and Yvonne were naturally

  delighted to see me,

  such a different Emma from the sober responsible animal on and they were even more thrilled to meet

  Emma. They

  the harness, and for the first time I appreciated that there made a great fuss of her. Several hours

  later we set off

  54 EMMA AND I

  I

  home, and found our way back to the main road. Then

  came a terrible realization. In my excitement that everything

  was going so well with Emma, I had forgotten to count how

  many intersections we had crossed. There had been no need

  to count on the way there because we went as far as the road

  went, up to a T-junction. But I should have counted for

  getting back. And I hadn't. So there I was with no idea where

  I should tell Emma to turn left. After a whole month of training,

  I had straightaway forgotten one of the cardinal principles:

  always count the roads as you go.

  What could I do? I thought: Here I am, and there's no

  trainer to save me. Emma, all unknowing, was taking me

  along at her furious pace, and I felt as if I were in an endless

  race to nowhere. Not only that, but I felt I had let Emma

  down. I seemed alienated from her through my own eagerness

  and thoughtlessness; I was sure, too, that she would never

  commit a mistake that would put us both in jeopardy. Emma

  wasn't in the least daunted, however, and, ignoring my

  commands, started taking me down a side road. I tried to

  stop her. 'No, Emma. No! Go back, go back!' But she paid

  no attention. In turn, I dared not let go of her, so I had to

  follow. At last she turned left again, and sat down. Instinctively

  I put my hand out. I felt leaded-lights and painted

  wood with one or two blisters. It was my back door. If I had

  forgotten to count the roads on the way out, Emma certainly

  hadn't!

  Not long after we were home from Leamington I wrote to

  Paddy Wansborough, the marvellous woman who had puppywalked

  Emma. By 'wrote' I mean, technically speaking, that