by Sally Hyder
On Christmas Eve Clara would finish at 9pm, come home for a bowl of soup and have to be back by 10.30pm for a rehearsal before the Midnight Service and communion (Andrew always attended this). While they were away, I would wrap presents and put them in the stockings. We still do this, even though Melissa is the only one who believes in the existence of the generous, bearded gentleman from the North Pole. Bleary-eyed, Clara and Andrew would stumble home at about 1am. By then Melissa had already put out the whisky, shortbread and a carrot for Rudolph.
Having got into bed at about 1.30am, Clara had to be awake and in the cathedral again for the morning service, which meant a 9.30am rehearsal. We still managed to open the stockings beforehand but saved the big presents until after the service when we would drive for 10 minutes to Murrayfield to spend the day with my in-laws. I’m really proud of my children and their attitude to Christmas: let’s eke it out for as long as we can! Often we are still opening gifts on Boxing Day and the day after, enjoying each present before moving onto the next. One year, the first one when we did the ‘shoeboxes’ – a charitable act whereby you fill a shoebox with as many things as you can and wrap it in brightly coloured paper for the less fortunate – Peter said: ‘Before we open our presents, can we think about the boys and girls who are only getting shoeboxes and the ones who aren’t even getting that.’ I’m so proud of my kids’ awareness of others.
Meanwhile, I kept hoping, waiting for the post and doing my best to contain the excitement; I was like a big kid again. All Christmas, the same thoughts were going round and round my head:
Could my new dog really reshape our lives? Were we asking too much?
I was told that Canine Partners were waiting for a new batch of dogs in January. The dogs were currently living with families. Part of Canine Partners’ system is to find and train up teams of so-called ‘puppy parents’ (canine foster parents, if you like) who rear the puppies for their first, very important year but then have the heartbreak of handing them back. Those puppies deemed suitable then go on to advanced training in what I dubbed ‘boarding school’ – the kennels at the headquarters in Heyshott.
I knew the waiting list was long and there was no guarantee any of the dogs would be suitable, but it didn’t stop me from hoping. Christmas passed in its usual blur of activities and fun, complete with overexcited and exhausted children. Boxing Day was always a good excuse to wrap up warm and take everyone out for a walk. Sometimes we would go to Cramond and Silver-nowes, with its glorious esplanade, perfect for learning to ride bikes. Always there are lots of eager kids wobbling along on shiny new bikes on 26 December. The week between Christmas and Hogmanay was spent making sure the children’s thank you letters were written: even before they could write, I would make them draw something to send as a thank-you.
In January 2009 I received the Christmas present I’d been hoping for: a letter from Canine Partners inviting me to attend a two-day assessment programme the same month. I couldn’t believe my luck. When I rang Mum to tell her the good news, she was adamant that she wanted to come with me (Andrew couldn’t get the time off work and she was dying to see what it was all about). With only two weeks’ notice, there was a lot to organise: we flew down to Gatwick, hired a car and drove to Heyshott. That sounds simpler than it was. In fact, it was an impressive feat for Mum, who had to manage a new car plus busy roads and motorways (latterly, all she had driven on were island and Scottish highland roads), but she drove brilliantly.
Mum and I would be staying in the fantastic, newly built residential unit. A team of occupational therapists had been consulted on the design, which means every aspect of living with a disability had been considered. There are six purpose-built chalets with wet rooms; one has a bath for pain relief. All have overhead hoists so you can be hoisted from your bed to a wheelchair, and from a wheelchair to the loo, if necessary. There are profiling beds (beds that can rise up and down for comfort, like the ones in hospitals) and all sorts of gadgets to make life easier: switches, alarm buttons and touch-sensor bedside lamps. Everything is adapted for maximum comfort.
Canine Partners match a person to a chalet according to their need for a bath or shower, a close-mat toilet (the wash-and-blowdry of the toilet world) and if they need extra room for another bed. Grab rails are everywhere and hoists available, if necessary. Wonderful! Even the kitchen and dining room were designed by a wheelchair-user, which means there are specially adapted fridges, freezers and hobs, all at the perfect height. Everything has been thought through, with no compromises – it’s the equivalent of staying in a five-star hotel. What’s more, we were among the first to stay there, which made the experience doubly special.
The Canine Partners’ philosophy is to make wheelchair-users feel as comfortable as possible so they can concentrate on working with the dogs, and that’s exactly what happened with me. In addition to a trainer, everyone has a carer allocated, if they require it. The carers stay on site to help with whatever makes everyday life easier for those with disabilities and their dogs while they train.
This time around my trainer was a woman called Claire. She was a tall, willowy girl, with a great sense of humour and in common with all the other trainers that I met she was also a calm, patient person. After the format of the day had been explained to us and Mum set off on a trip to meet a friend in Chichester, Claire brought a dog out for me to meet. This was to be the way it worked: meet a dog and work with them, then that dog would go away and you would meet another one, do some more work and so on.
‘Today, we need to do some of the more difficult tasks,’ she told us.
The new batch of dogs included Elmo, Headley, Foster and Harmony: three males and a female. There was also Harry and Henry, two Golden Retrievers who I always confused. Elmo, a Retriever Labrador Cross with a golden coat and huge brown eyes, needed a new home (his previous partner was now too ill to manage a Canine Partner). He was very calm and exuded an ‘I know what I’m doing’ air. I liked him immediately and this time around, I felt more relaxed with the place and its routines.
Then I was given Foster to work with. Foster was a lovely Golden Retriever who wasn’t coping with ‘boarding school’ and so was being fostered by a family and attending ‘day school’. The move to accommodate Foster’s needs is just another example of how well Canine Partners care for each dog as individuals. The dog’s mental and physical wellbeing is of paramount importance.
We did picking up, retrieval and the supermarket checkout sequence. As usual I got into a real muddle but Claire just smiled, told funny stories and helped me focus. Again, it seemed ridiculously complicated and I kept on muddling the length of the lead, but the dogs usually managed to avoid getting in a tangle and the trainers were brilliant, too. The next day Mum was watching from the balcony (no pressure there, then!) but that also made me feel proud for she was witnessing something new and exciting.
At lunch, Claire asked: ‘Do you have a preference?’
‘Elmo and Headley at number one, with Harmony and Harry close seconds,’ I said.
‘Why?’
I thought for a moment, then said: ‘Harmony was too quiet for me – she seemed very passive. I loved Elmo’s confidence and I liked the way Headley looked at me so much.’
We talked a bit more about my life thus far, my lifestyle, the kids, my work and what exactly I’d need the dog to do. I told her about Sandie and Shep, and Jet too. Although I was able to ask lots of questions, I was almost too scared to do so in case I talked myself out of getting a dog. I didn’t want to blame any of the dogs for not responding to me in case I was blotting my own copy-book and I could see how the trainers were trying to marry the practical aspects of my life with a good personality match but I had no idea how they did this. As I was to realise later, they do it with great success. Claire’s observation of my interaction with the dogs was useful for me too. She gave me feedback on how to talk to them and also commented that I seemed too quiet with the dogs: Quiet, moi?
‘They are all j
ust so amazing,’ I said. ‘I’m scared to do something wrong – they are such special dogs!’
‘Remember, they are just dogs not angels,’ she told me gently.
‘I’ll remember that,’ I said.
As the day progressed, I spent time with other dogs and became more adept at knowing which ones I found good to work with and those I didn’t find quite so easy. Then I put on my coat and went outside with Foster and Vicky, another trainer. For a while, I played with Foster – throwing balls, rehearsing commands – but I found him unresponsive. I had to work hard to get him to do stuff with me; he didn’t seem to look at me much. In retrospect, this was exactly what Vicky was there to pick up on. What sort of chemistry did we have? On the way back, I apologised for how tricky it had been with Foster.
‘It’s fine,’ she insisted. ‘You did well because you didn’t throw all your toys out of the pram and you persisted with him. That’s good!’
Phew, another hurdle overcome and I needed all the praise I could get. Proof indeed that humans and dogs have to click, just like people.
‘Do you know who this is?’ asked Becca, the head trainer.
‘Harmony,’ I replied.
Already Harmony seemed to have more bounce and spring in her step than Foster. She gave me a huge cuddle, which made me laugh. Was I really that special or did she flirt outrageously with everyone she met? Becca left us while Vicky stayed to watch.
It was a frosty afternoon. You could hear the wood pigeons cooing and see the church spire silhouetted against a pale sky. I was transported back to afternoons as a little girl, playing with the dogs and rolling around on the grass. When I was small I could wrap my arms around Sandie’s neck until she shook her head and I’d tumble backwards like a sack of potatoes. Sandie and Shep had been my playmates, Jet was my companion and now I was looking for a companion and friend but also a dog that could help me: the term ‘assistance dog’ made sense.
It’s easy to find common ground with younger dogs if you have a ball. I threw the ball for Harmony and watched her decide not to pick it up. Instead she chose to inspect every single blade of grass by the hedge and then leapt into the air as if she had just discovered the spring in her step.
Hey, look at this – I’ve got a tail! And I can jump in circles.
Despite earlier reservations, I found myself entranced and hugely entertained. The smells of the countryside seemed to unlock a hidden part of Harmony and release her curiosity. All of a sudden she was the funniest, friendliest dog you could ever hope to meet. I didn’t mind her slinking off: her need for solitude was evidence of a desire to understand the world. Indeed I respected her desire for a quiet moment all the more when she wheeled round and bounded over for a cuddle.
When I told her to ‘Get it!’ and ‘Bring it here!’ in order to retrieve the ball, she did as she was told and we had a great time playing ball and running together, her on four legs and me on four wheels. The wind in my hair was a magical part of life that I’d missed – until now.
By end of the day, I was exhausted and no one was giving anything away. I just knew that one day I would get a dog. Meanwhile, the trainers were saying things like, ‘If we match you this time,’ and, ‘If there’s no match this time you can keep coming until we find a match.’ I was also exhilarated. Mum says there was a change in my voice whenever I mentioned Harmony; I wasn’t aware of this at the time and I don’t remember it, but she says she knew that I was keen on Harmony, which speaks volumes about a mother’s intuition.
That night over a delicious supper of lasagne and salad prepared by Shirley, the doyenne of housekeepers, we chatted about the day. The on-duty trainers were there, as were the dogs; some were the trainer’s dogs and others were dogs-in-training. We ate in a small room with tables barely large enough to accommodate us all. It wasn’t the most peaceful of meals but certainly one of the happiest. I met a lady called Claire with her dog Ulli: she is a trustee who was there for a meeting. Claire and Ulli were long-term partners and I was amazed by their seamless relationship. I watched in awe for Ulli seemed to instinctively know what Claire wanted and needed – I was so envious of their teamwork.
It was also the first time that I discovered the secret of the cream cheese tubes. The reward system is based on high and low rewards: bits of carrot and broccoli are low, while cream cheese is high (and no, I’d never thought of giving a dog cream cheese either!). The advantage of the cream cheese tube is that it’s transportable and you don’t have to put your hand into a wet mush of carrot, sausage, broccoli and cheese mix while travelling. Instead you roll up the tube and let the dog lick a bit from the end.
I asked Claire lots of questions: in fact, I grilled her. How much does Ulli do for you? Does she get enough exercise? Do you ever worry that she might be bored? Does it feel like an awfully big responsibility caring for a dog? She gave me so much encouragement and advice that I left our conversation feeling reassured and able to imagine life with a dog – it was a fantastic boost at this stage in the process.
We also met a dog who was back at Canine Partners with a view to being given a new partner: a young black Labrador, who my mother instantly fell in love with and wanted to take home. He would be going to a new partner but Mum knew that Canine Partners hold a waiting list of good, vetted homes for those dogs no longer able to assist a disabled person. In the end her head won over her heart and she decided not to ask for details of the dog.
I slept well that night aware that Mum was in the room next door in case I needed her. The next morning I woke to the knowledge that I would be going home and wondered if there would be a dog for me. Or had I already met him or her? Breakfast was a jolly affair and a welcome coffee got me going. I was beginning to sense the MS ‘porridge’ effect creeping in but I knew I could beat it: I had dogs to meet.
After breakfast I was introduced to Ann, my trainer for the day. Apparently if Canine Partners think they are drawing close to a match then that dog’s trainer works with the potential partnership, but I didn’t know it at the time. Later I discovered they had thought Caesar could be a possible match. I worked with Caesar and Harry, and then Ann went to get Harmony again.
We were so pleased to see each other. There was something about Harmony’s fine features and white-blonde coat that spoke to me. She was smaller than the other dogs. On first impression, she might be taken for a dizzy blonde. Instinctively I knew there was more to her than that. In comparison, the other dogs were less of a psychological riddle, at least they were not so interesting to me: I wanted to know what made Harmony tick because I had a feeling I already knew.
Harmony and I did the lift sequence which I can only describe as a work of artful choreography – it’s as clever as anything you’ll see on stage. First, you have to get as close to the doors as possible to block them when they open. Remember, you and the dog are getting in at the same time; also, the dog is on a lead and if he or she gets into the lift but you don’t then there’s going to be a big problem. Harmony needed lots of encouragement: it was relatively new to her and she had the beguiling combination of being a hapless newcomer supposedly in charge, rather like the shop assistant who tells you it’s her first day and you have to guide her through the process of taking your payment.
Vicky took us through the lift sequence. Someone came and tried chatting to us (not helpful when I was trying hard to focus), but Harmony and I got through it, not perfectly but safely. I just took to this little soul. We went from the lift sequence back into the main arena, opening and closing doors on the way, by which time I felt more in control, which in turn meant that I didn’t have to be reminded not to raise my voice or repeat her name as many times – I could communicate my needs in a way that I felt happy with.
Dogs respond to fun and rewards. Fun? I remember questioning this at the very first session with the dogs. How could I get a dog to work for me and have fun? It seemed an impossible task, yet the harder we worked together, the more fun we had.
Now I knew I had
a preference, the other dogs just faded into the background. So, how do you know when you’ve found the right dog? How do you describe that feeling? It’s a bit like finding a partner (with a different rewards system, obviously!). There’s the first sighting, the crush, followed by curiosity. Then comes the initial spell of shyness quickly followed by all the barriers going down and a sense of uncanny familiarity: Don’t I know you from somewhere? Haven’t we met before? Can we see each other again … and again and again?
After this session with Harmony, I was taken to the animal welfare room where I was tutored in grooming the dogs. An animal welfare nurse called Nicky showed me how to check Elmo’s paws and ears.
‘You are responsible for the wellbeing of your animal,’ she told me.
It was at once liberating and empowering to be thrown into the role of carer without any fuss. Indeed, the trainers were remarkably sanguine about our abilities. Their attitude was, ‘Of course you can do it!’ That belief translated into our own self-belief. Who would have thought, a couple of weeks earlier, I could care for a dog?
We had lunch while the trainers met for a conference. Joining us was a couple called John and Stephanie accompanied by Stephanie’s lovely Canine Partner, Frodo. After 12 years Frodo was to retire into John’s care and Stephanie was looking for a new Canine Partner (later I learnt she had been partnered with Elmo and he is nicknamed ‘Frodo’s apprentice’ by John and Steph). They regaled us with lots of stories and in common with Claire, reassured us that it was perfectly possible – and great fun – to live with an assistance dog. Apparently in the early Canine Partner days you didn’t learn which dog you had been partnered with until you turned up for the training session.
