by Sally Hyder
Back in my room, I closed the door. Hmm, I thought, looking at Harmony who wasn’t sure either (she was used to living in the kennels in the centre). What’s this? As she looked at me, her ears pricked up.
‘Yes, it’s you and me now,’ I told her.
I negotiated giving Harmony her first meal: I had persuaded Ann to explain and supervise exactly what I was doing. It’s really important that working dogs are kept at a good, healthy weight and those of you who own Labradors will know how hard this can be. They like to eat and can easily run to fat. Following this, Ann left. Hmm, what to do next? We were looking at each other, each as uncertain as the other.
‘And now I think we need a cuddle,’ I said, getting down on the floor. ‘Do you think we’ll be OK?’
Although I might be considered mad to say that Harmony speaks, she certainly communicates (and very clearly, too). Tail wagging, she tucked her head into my chest and then gave me a big lick as if to say: We’ll be fine, Sally! We’ll have loads of fun as long as you cuddle and feed me.
‘Agreed!’ I hugged her. ‘We’re going to be fine. Anyway, we have two weeks to get used to this.’
She reversed back and sat on my lap so I could scratch her back. I buried my face in her fur. Harmony loves having her back scratched and sitting on my lap is a favourite position but we were just going on instinct then. As I was getting up to stand, I leant on my wheelchair and the side broke off. In fact, it snapped off with all the controls.
HELP!
I pressed the emergency button. Moments later Yvette appeared and picked me up off the floor. I didn’t know what do to – all I knew was that I really needed my chair. Luckily, Gemma (another of the trainers who hadn’t yet gone home) brought through a wheelchair with a left-hand control so I now had a strange wheelchair and a dog to get used to. Let me correct that: my dog. To say I felt scared and overwhelmed would be an understatement.
Dinnertime was chaos as we tried to get our dogs to settle down in the dining room. We were exhausted. Afterwards I went back to my room with Harmony and let her lie down as I groomed her. Then I needed to get back outside into the middle of the field to ring home and speak to the family. I couldn’t stop talking: I was on such a high, pumped full of emotion, adrenalin and the excitement of having my new companion, my own darling dog. She was with me, sniffing occasionally and then coming up to me. Melissa kept asking if Harmony would talk to her.
Another first! I ran the bath and got in. At some stage, not long into soaking in the suds, feeling my aches and pains ease and the craziness of the day recede, I realised that I had left my towel out of reach.
Could I, dare I?
‘Harmony, get it! Bring it here!’ I said, pointing to the towel.
And she didn’t hesitate: she got up from the floor, walked over to the towel rail, dragged a towel off it and handed it to me. Success, I was in control of my life! I felt as if we had both been exceptionally clever.
That night I knew she might be a bit unsettled but I got into bed and said to her, ‘Go to sleep!’ She was very good and did as she was told. In the middle of the night I woke up and coughed; she jumped up, too. We fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, which was exactly how we woke up. What joy it was to wake up, no longer alone with the misery of my aches and pains.
That first week of the residential training course we didn’t leave the site. It was beautiful weather and the days filled with lessons about dogs and raucous mealtimes just flew by. Talk about chimpanzees’ tea parties, it was exhausting! The residential training course is extremely hard work: we were disabled, there for a reason and if one of us burst into tears, saying, ‘I can’t do another mealtime!’ then Shirley was there with comforting cups of tea. She obviously cared about her partners, canine and human.
Remember, a meal wasn’t just a meal: we were all trying to eat and working with our dogs at the same time. It’s a bit like taking a toddler to a café and trying to eat your sandwich while dealing with his tantrums as the waitress scowls at you. During the fortnight we gradually improved but initially the dogs got in a tangle; like all kids they wanted to push boundaries, leaving us flustered – and hungry. Usually a trainer was there to keep an eye on us so that we could sometimes switch off and eat, as well as control our dogs.
Harmony would be endlessly standing up. I’d get her to settle down and reward her but then two seconds later, up she got. ‘Settle down!’ I would say and reward her, but two seconds later …
‘Sally, try not to reward her for getting up,’ one of the trainers gently reminded me.
Good advice.
‘Just ignore her. She will soon settle down,’ was another line familiar from child rearing.
Ignore the bad behaviour. Praise the good.
But learning to do everything properly wasn’t so easy. I took Harmony out on exercise while the trainers made sure we were safe – they were always there for support and to make sure that we were doing it right.
‘Don’t hold the lead – you adjust it but then leave it alone,’ said Gemma.
I kept repeating Harmony’s name but not giving her an instruction, which they soon picked up on. It was a wonderful thing to feel myself gradually growing in confidence, though. Like proud mums, we were all obsessed with how many times our dogs had pooed and peed. We spent ages saying or rather singing, ‘Better go now!’ over and over while holding the dogs on loose leads so they could use the toilet area. Of course, after 10 minutes all we wanted to say was, ‘For God’s sake, GO!’ The trainers wanted us to see patterns: dogs can do things regularly.
I’d brought waterproofs but didn’t need them. In the evenings we shared wine over meals. I texted Andrew, saying: ‘bring alcohol’! That same week Caroline’s father Trevor took my broken wheelchair away in the back of his car (he had arranged for someone to weld the arm back on). He really rescued me, which was incredibly generous.
Quite often I’d take Harmony to one of the smaller enclosures at the bottom of the meadow. It was big, but fully enclosed so I felt safe. Exhilarated, I’d let her off the lead and watch her chase dandelion clocks and bark at the shadows. I spent ages grooming her, talking to her, getting to know her. Her favourite thing was to run with us weaving in and out of each other, followed closely by chasing her ball and playing tug.
Grooming she found very boring, and in fact still does. She has an incredibly thick coat that sheds constantly so it’s a real struggle to try and control the hair. Once I threatened Wendy that I would send her a cushion filled with Harmony’s hair! I start with Harmony standing and gently rub the Zoom Groom rubber brush over her coat to loosen any stray hairs (unlike a comb, this doesn’t need to be in the direction of the hair) and then a comb or the Defurminator, a new invention that gets so much hair out, although Harmony doesn’t seem to like it much. It’s incredible how I never get to the end! I groom for an hour and the loose hair is still coming. During grooming, I also check her pads, teeth, eyes and ears.
Anyway, William’s Garden is a wonderful spot at the charity’s headquarters that was planted by a volunteer. It’s filled with sweet-smelling broom, pansies and daisies; the lawn is beautiful and there is a picnic bench (the dogs stay on their leads there). Like a salve to an exhausted mind, its beauty was our sanctuary. In the evenings we took glasses of wine out there and began our days with tea and sympathy; it was where we opened up about our lives. The garden also offered space for quiet reflection in between exercising and training the dogs. I’d close my eyes and think of my family, hoping Melissa could cope with the change and worrying about them all.
Yes, I was badly homesick!
The middle weekend of the training course was liberating. Shirley and Yvette were there, but no trainers. We couldn’t leave the site but what we did was up to us. They stressed that we should rest, which is exactly what we did. We respected each other’s need to exercise our dogs by ourselves, slept, read and relaxed.
On the Saturday, Andrew arrived late from Edinburgh. I’d been exci
ted all day – I had missed him so much and wanted to share what was happening, for him to see it all for himself. It was so wonderful to see him again; his soft eyes twinkled and even though he contained his excitement, I could still hear it in his voice. I had reminded him of the ‘hands-off’ rule the previous day: friends and family have to be trained to sit on their hands. They mustn’t pet the dogs nor can they give commands. This is so that the bond between dogs and owners becomes strong. If someone else was more fun or gave rewards, it would confuse the dogs and interfere with that bond.
Harmony was delighted to meet Andrew and had an entirely different take on the hands-off approach, however. Don’t you mean hands-on? She bowled past me and leapt into his arms, checked him all over and gave him a kiss. Once I had gained a semblance of control and she settled down, Andrew and I were able to talk. He was flying out from Gatwick on the Sunday evening for a meeting in Holland. Before that, he would meet with the others and restock the depleted wine reserves, though.
At the beginning of that week we were taught how to use clicker training. It’s a simple method of telling a dog that they are right, if you ask them to do something. They will offer different forms of behaviour until you click so they know that they are on the right track. There followed a hilarious session in which we trained the trainers as if they were dogs. It was comical but also very useful to realise how and when to give clues to your dog.
From the safety of the Canine Partners’ site, we then took the big step of taking our dogs out into the big wide world. From Wednesday onwards we began going to shopping centres and cafés. Now we were on our own: the trainers were there but only to intervene in a crisis. This time we had to resolve everything and feel in control in order that the dogs felt safe. Ann was always with me – she had trained Harmony and knew her well. She was my safety net, should I fall (which I didn’t).
On the Wednesday the trainers decided Wendy and I should go into the countryside to exercise off-site. I was in the bigger wheelchair. Wendy drove her van while Ann drove Harmony and me. We got out into a big field and I spotted some woods over on the far side.
‘Let’s head over there,’ I suggested.
‘I don’t think the chair can go down there,’ said Ann. ‘I’ll ask Gemma.’
‘Come on, let’s just have a look,’ I insisted, as I wheeled over to the path. ‘Oh, it’s not much of a slope!’
‘I don’t know … Too late, she’s gone!’ I heard Ann say behind me.
Grinning from ear to ear, I began to have as much fun as Harmony, who had up to that point been rolling in fox poo and getting muddier and muddier. Together, we careered down muddy tracks.
Let’s go this way. Can we go that way?
Back at the centre Ann showed me how to shampoo Harmony to get rid of the smell of fox dung (top tip: put a small amount of white wine vinegar in the rinsing water). This was a skill that I would need to perfect, as I found out later. No matter how much she hates the wash, Harmony still forgets the consequences and rolls over and over. Some folks never learn!
During that week we went to a café for lunch and visited Waitrose for shopping. For the first time, we met the general public (by which I mean curious public). By now, we had an entourage as Andrew was there, hanging back, never intruding but always there for me. We managed to collect goods from the supermarket shelves and do the checkout sequence. All was going according to plan until I failed to notice that Harmony had spotted a child with a biscuit in a pushchair. Luckily one of the trainers intervened and stopped her from disgracing us all.
Ann stayed calm: ‘Just remember to shorten her lead after her task so you stay in control!’
Another challenge was lifts so we visited the local hospital, which had big lifts with wide doors. I could not get this sequence right and Harmony looked as baffled as me. Where are we going? Up or down? By this time I knew her well enough to recognise the signs that she wasn’t happy. She wasn’t drooling, not exactly, but she had moist lips and her ears went back very slightly. I became flustered and then finally, we got it right. Becca was there too that day and she devised a way of making it simpler for us: if the lift is big enough, we go in together rather than follow the laborious method of keeping the door open with the chair, getting the dog in, turning round, then reversing and sitting at the back before going in. Coming out, it’s best to block the door, get the dog to go through and then leave the lift, especially with smaller lifts to keep the dogs safe. This was all mixed in with remembering to offer our dogs water, allow them sniffing time and all the while being aware of them and their safety.
Lifts completed, we went back to the centre where I enjoyed some much-needed hugs from Andrew and a glass of wine. We were approaching the end of the week.
‘What do you want to work on for the last few days?’ asked Becca.
‘Off-site exercise,’ I said.
Now I can’t believe how silly I was. Harmony was, and is, as good as gold. And yet at the time, I was terrified of losing her. It reminded me of the lost-baby dreams I had after the birth of each of my children; those dreams in which you get home, unpack the groceries, set the table and then realise you’ve forgotten something. Oh no, the baby! I was scared of Harmony running away, but I was also experiencing the fear of loss associated with having something big and new, something life-changing.
I took away lots of happy memories from the residential training programme and one in particular stands out: Wendy and I are in the countryside with Claire, Andrew and Ann. There’s a duck pond and some scrubby bushes. The dogs jump into the pond and have a wonderful swim together, splashing about. I start to laugh at their antics and I’m thinking how good it feels to laugh properly, in such a full, happy way. The dogs scramble out and shake themselves dry. We’re all laughing and everyone is soaking wet.
On the Thursday night we had a celebration. It was so warm that we sat outside in the courtyard. As usual, Shirley had done us proud with a magnificent buffet supper. All the trainers and carers were there and we were given certificates to prove we’d passed the course. The trainers came to say goodbye to the dogs and we gave them presents. During the week I had wondered why Harmony sometimes seemed slow to respond: she seemed to think before she acted but I was still annoyed when Ann and Claire commented that I had been very patient with their ‘blonde bimbo’ and how she was always slow to act. She was my baby, after all!
In fact, her puppy parents also told me she was often the last to do something in training classes: she would watch the others and then it would slowly dawn on her that everyone was looking at her. Oh, you mean ME, too? Harmony has a lovely relaxed approach to life unless there’s a rabbit or a squirrel to chase. She still has her days when I’ll issue a command to sit and she’ll respond by fidgeting and looking at the ground. It’s as if she’s thinking: Sit, I know that one! Hang on, wait a minute … Hmmm, don’t help me, I can do this. Ah, of course, SIT!
Wendy had come early to talk to us about managing our dogs’ welfare. We had been given all the necessary documentation and the vets’ books. There was also a report system: I would be expected to send in a monthly report, which included her weight, any attendance at the vet’s, any problems that needed to be resolved and fund-raising activities undertaken. I handed over my £1 forming part of the legal arrangement that effectively made me her guardian (Canine Partners retains ownership – Clara always says it’s the pound that changes lives). Now I was officially Harmony’s proud guardian. I was also given a green disc for her collar that said she was chipped; it has the centre’s phone number in case she gets lost. Up until then she had been wearing a red disc, which showed she was a dog in training.
The next morning, a little bleary-eyed and emotional, we had a final mop-up session where we talked about what had been good and bad about the course; also our futures.
I was genuinely sad to say goodbye to Caroline, Trevor, Hazel and Wendy. Together, we’d been through a lot. Andrew and I put Harmony in the car and managed to work out
the safety harness (she still makes it hard to get the straps and buckles round her). It’s the sort of apparatus that once you know how easy it is then it’s fine, but until then it’s a nightmare. Like so much to do with having a Canine Partner, it’s easy when you know how.
As we headed off into the complete unknown, Harmony settled down comfortably in her vet bed on the back seat.
Chapter 14
Mayhem and Miracles
We turned left into our road and were met by five sets of eyes at the front window. The welcoming committee waved us up the drive. We’d rung an hour before arriving as we turned off the motorway to say, ‘We’re nearly home!’ I felt just as nervous and excited about introducing Harmony to everyone as they did about meeting her.
‘Hi,’ I said, climbing out of the car as Melissa, Clara, Peter, Ali and our au pair, Aurélie, rushed out in a mad scrum. I opened the car door, Harmony jumped out and walked into the house as if to say, we’re home – there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. We put her vet bed into her bed at the bottom of our own bed so that she could smell it and feel comfortable. All the kids brought out their presents (more soft toys) and lined them up in her bed. Like the Pied Piper, Harmony walked around the house followed by a tangle of legs and excitable voices. Melissa pointed out where the loo was, why she has planet wall-paper in her bedroom (‘What makes the stars twinkle, Mummy?’ is one of her bedtime questions) and how delicious mayonnaise is with chips. She kept asking if Harmony had liked school and pointing out we were her family, this was her home.
Everyone wanted to cuddle Harmony, which isn’t strictly allowed but if you’ve got three kids and a gorgeous dog, it’s a tough call to make.
‘Everyone’s allowed a cuddle to say hello but let’s not turn it into a huge event,’ I said.
As I watched Melissa kiss and stroke Harmony, I realised this was everything I’d dreamed of: Harmony had taken on her new home and family without any fuss. Credit has to go to the puppy parents who raised her for the first year of her life with cuddles and proper training. Harmony was fantastic, my superstar!
