Finding Harmony

by Sally Hyder

  I wanted to cry. However, it seemed the whole plane was sympathising with poor Harmony. Eventually I got her to, ‘Go under!’ the seat and moved her out of harm’s way. The rest of the flight was uneventful: Harmony was happier about crossing the bridge into the airport now that she had done it once and we walked into the terminal. I was so happy to see Jill from Canine Partners standing there with a big smile.

  Off we went to Canine Partners’ headquarters. Gosh, it was good to be back at Heyshott! Becca came out to greet us, showed us our room and rustled up some lunch. Harmony wanted to jump up. I was so embarrassed (did they think we’d forgotten all the rules?).

  ‘Harmony, OFF!’

  She was just so pleased to see everyone. Then, as we assembled for the photo-shoot, I could sense Harmony was becoming tense and unsettled; she wouldn’t curl up beside me. Instead, she kept standing and nudging my hand. I was absolutely shattered and so off we went for a rest. By now, Harmony was clinging to me, giving the odd little whine and constant licks and cuddles.

  One of the trainers – Ann, Harmony’s original trainer – offered to take her for her night-time toileting.

  ‘Come on, Harmony!’

  But she wouldn’t leave my side and suddenly it clicked.

  ‘Harmony, I’m not leaving you here,’ I said, bending to stroke her. ‘We are just visiting! You’re coming home with me again.’

  I’m sure she thought that returning to Heyshott meant she would be left behind, that our time together was over. I was filled with emotion – it told me everything I needed to know. We were a team and she needed me as much as I need her. That night, full of pizza and wine, I snuggled up next to her for a good night’s sleep. (But don’t tell them she stayed on my bed all night, especially don’t tell Shirley. It’s a secret, OK?)

  The next day we flew home: this time, all the staff at Southampton made it incredibly easy, though. Harmony was relaxed crossing the bridge and we didn’t have an audience to distract us. I put her into the seats first so she was properly tucked away and she soon settled down.

  ‘Due to operational reasons we will be delayed by about 20 minutes,’ announced the captain.

  Great! Eventually we took off. When we arrived back in Edinburgh, I was as usual forced to wait for the ambulift. (An international airport with one ambulift? Please get it together! All the disabled people and airline crews I have met agree Edinburgh is the worst for care.)

  But then the captain came out and said: ‘Hi, I’m your personal chauffeur! I flew you down yesterday and brought you back today. Where shall we go tomorrow?’

  I loved it: someone was cracking jokes with me. Mind you, my mood soon changed when he explained that the reason we had been delayed was because a member of staff had a serious allergy to dog hair. Ah well, it was almost a triumph!

  Harmony’s official passing-out parade and Partnership Day were held in September 2009. In the November, Ann came up to Edinburgh to study her progress and to do the final check. If we passed this test, Harmony would be permitted to wear the full coat and no longer required to have ‘IN TRAINING’ on her back. I’ve lost count of the number of people who ask me who it is that I’m training her for – this always makes me smile.

  The appointed day came and I was so nervous. That morning, I took Harmony out for a quick run in the woods so that she would be calm and rested. When Ann arrived, we chatted over life in general and the difference Harmony had made to me. We displayed our task work, went to the shops and demonstrated road safety and shop tasks. Following this, we went on exercise and I showed off our obedience work – I was so proud of Harmony as she did everything she was supposed to, a really clever little girl!

  We came home and Ann looked at Harmony’s record book and conducted a physical check. She wanted to make sure that I’d been using the flea and worming treatments regularly (not only are these important, but also required by Environmental Health as she has access to public spaces such as restaurants and cafés). Ann explained that if Harmony was over- or underweight, or if I hadn’t been caring for her, this was an immediate fail.

  We came and sat in the sitting room while Ann scribbled in her file. Have you ever sat quietly while an examiner notes something and you’re trying to read the writing upside down? Well, it was just like that! I could feel my heart beating in my throat: I knew Canine Partners can, and will, ‘fail’ partnerships in their final assessment and continue to work on trouble spots until the eventual pass but I didn’t want that to happen: I was eager for our partnership to pass because I felt so confident in it.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ Ann eventually asked.

  My heart sank.

  ‘The bad news is that you now have to give your old coats back. The good news is you get new ones!’

  The family, who had been hanging around all this time and pretending not to listen, erupted into cheers. We all hugged each other – and Harmony, of course. I was so proud of what we had achieved: during the training course the trainers had drummed it into us that it took six months for the dog-human partnership to become established and I’d secretly thought, yes, whatever. But now I’d say it’s six months plus: it’s a gradual process that you don’t see happening but when it does, it’s absolutely seamless.

  Partnership Day: this was held before our final check in November. It’s a chance for the trainer to talk about the dog, for puppy parents to see their dog and partner and any sponsors of a dog (it takes £10,000 to get one of these dogs into a partnership) to get to meet the partnership they have sponsored. The partner can also talk about the difference having a dog has made to their lives.

  I was so excited! Andrew came with me; other partners stayed there, too. I had a new outfit for the occasion (a purple jacket and skirt – a bad choice as it instantly showed all Harmony’s hairs) and was supposed to have a speech ready. The night before, I scribbled a few notes. Oh heck, whatever was I going to say? Usually I have no problem with public speaking but this was different, this was Harmony’s day.

  I looked out at a room filled with hundreds of people.

  ‘The first thing I have to say about Harmony is I asked for a dark-haired dog who didn’t moult,’ I said, casting a glance at her.

  After the laughter faded, I went on to explain what a perfect match we were and how impressed I’d been by the matching process. I told everyone about Harmony, her character and all she has done for me; I also talked to them about Melissa and the transformation in our lives. Then I thanked everyone involved in Harmony’s training and care for without them this would not have happened.

  I was so very proud of Harmony and our partnership that day. The puppy parents had brought puppy photos with them and told me lots of stories – it felt as if they were filling me in on the bits I’d missed. It turned out that one of Harmony’s early puppy parents has an autistic son and another has a trumpet-playing daughter.

  During our team photo, I dropped my pen (I pretended I hadn’t noticed as I didn’t want to get Harmony to pick it up in front of all those people). I was so nervous about things going wrong, despite the fact that at home she would do everything without a moment’s hesitation. As I set off, the puppy parents pointed it out.

  ‘Is that your pen, Sally?’

  Harmony had to retrieve it, and of course she did so successfully.

  Naturally, there were other dogs there, too: all of them were special and had amazing relationships with their partners. I was moved to see and hear about Glen’s dog Geri, who is dual-trained. He is a Hearing Dog for the Deaf and a Canine Partner as Glen is both disabled and deaf. Now that’s a clever dog! There is also a partnership where the dog is dual-trained as a Guide-dog for the Blind and a Canine Partner – it’s amazing what the charity manages to do with its dogs and skilful training techniques.

  Nine months after Partnership Day, in June 2010, Canine Partners celebrated their presence in Scotland with a gathering of the five people in Scotland who now have dogs, plus the many supporters. I
took Melissa and Clara. We were welcomed into the lovely home of Suzette Rankin in Tullibody, Perthshire. All of the fundraising committee were there, as were those who have been generous with their time and money. Andy Cook was there in his role as chief executive too. I had been asked to say a few words about Harmony.

  ‘No leads, it’s the dogs’ party too,’ said Suzette, when she met us at the door.

  What a brilliant idea! Suzette has a huge garden that resembles a country park. It was a glorious place for the dogs, who soon found their way through the trees and down to the Lochen (a mini-loch or lake).

  I’d put on a floral skirt and a pretty top. As Clara recently pointed out, my wardrobe has changed since getting Harmony: no longer do I buy exclusively black (mourning) clothes. We were all outside in the garden and I’d asked Clara if she would agree to talk about how much a Canine Partner changes the job of a carer and about her own caring role. She was also providing the background music with her clàrsach (harp). It was the first time that she had spoken publicly about Harmony, but Clara is such an assured speaker and she was just superb. I felt so proud and moved, listening to her talk to the garden of about a hundred people, telling them: ‘My mum has always been my rock but I had to help her a lot too, now that I am a teenager …’

  ‘Thanks, Clara,’ I said, afterwards, aware that people were pointing and beginning to giggle although I didn’t know why. Suddenly, out from behind me tore a pack of dogs, including Harmony: the five partnered dogs and all the supporters’ dogs. They had been in the Lochen and were soaking wet! After bowling up the hill, they waited until they were in the middle of us and then shook themselves dry. Cue an outburst of screams and squeals. It was a good moment and a timely reminder: Canine Partner dogs are allowed to be dogs, too.

  I hadn’t planned to become a public speaker yet through finding Harmony, I’d found my own voice: no longer was I invisible for I had an assistance dog and a story to tell. Around this time, I began to give other talks to help raise awareness of the amazing work that Canine Partners do and to highlight my case. At a lunch for a local garage that sponsors a Golden Retriever called Piper, I was asked to speak and do a demo. It was to be our first. Although extremely nervous, I did my little speech and demonstrated sock removal, dropped phone and keys’ retrieval. I now have a bag that I take along to my demonstrations – it didn’t do my real mobile any good to be constantly dropped, nor do I necessarily wear socks!

  The garage had made a donation for every puncture repaired and every tyre replaced, plus they held various fundraising activities such as this. Later I discovered that there had been a lady with newly diagnosed MS in the audience: always someone will benefit from hearing about our experiences if we just let them be heard. Again, Harmony was fantastic – I even got her to pull the raffle tickets.

  Earlier that year, in April, I was asked to attend a fund-raising lunch at an exclusive golf club in East Lothian. I decided to take Melissa along as it was during the holidays and I had no one to help me with her that day; Clara came, too. On the journey there, I had tentatively asked Melissa if she would speak and what she might say; together we had practised in the car. It’s an annual event: people pay for a ticket, which includes an outdoor demonstration, lunch and a day of golf. We were to speak at the end of the demonstration lead by Andy and various dogs-in-training to show off their abilities. All I could think was: Help, they have it all covered – and so slickly, too! Now what do I do? Quietly I passed a piece of cheese to Clara, making sure Harmony saw. I started off slowly by dropping my keys, but explained how essential that task is. Then I sent Harmony into the crowd to find Clara, who had gone on ahead.

  After the demonstration, Melissa seemed very relaxed. Having glanced at her, I decided that she could cope. I then crossed my fingers and took a deep breath before announcing: ‘I’d like to introduce Melissa.’

  She stood up.

  ‘Now talk to the ladies and gentlemen in a big voice,’ I whispered encouragingly.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  ‘Harmony helps my mummy because her legs don’t work and she helps me because when I get scared, I can put my face on her and when I am sad, she makes me happy!’

  As she sat down, I put my arms around her and gave her the biggest hug a mum could give. No wonder Canine Partners’ fundraisers call us ‘Team Hyder’.

  ‘Well done, darling,’ I told her. ‘That was lovely!’

  Chapter 18

  By Royal Invitation

  It’s not every day that a man in a top hat asks if you would like to present your dog to the Queen. As you can imagine, the invitation to attend the Royal Garden Party at Holyrood Palace in July (a far more intimate affair than Buckingham Palace, I’m reliably informed), courtesy of Canine Partners, triggered a major wardrobe crisis. What does one wear to tea with the Queen?

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Clara. ‘Maxi dresses are in. You’ll look fab!’

  Isn’t it great that long dresses are back in fashion? The maxi will look so elegant with my new wheelchair, too.

  Dress bought, all I needed now was a jacket and matching accessories. Mid-week, Clara and I headed down to Princes Street by bus: I was keen to use my big, properly supportive wheelchair and I wanted to go on a bus. I hadn’t been on one for years but all the Lothian Regional Transport (LRT) buses now have disabled access. It felt strange not having Harmony at my side, but I also knew she was better off at home – she wouldn’t have wanted to be dragged around the shops for hours. Instead I had Clara, my personal shopper.

  That first bus ride was so exciting: the ramp came down and it was easy to get on.

  ‘Mum, it’s just a bus!’ Clara protested, as I chatted away excitedly.

  First stop was the House of Fraser to look for a jacket. Disability access? Hah! Now believe me, I’ve been to a lot of places where they don’t have wheelchair access. If someone tells me, ‘Sorry, we don’t have disabled access,’ I’ll show up in my wheelchair and forcibly introduce it, much to my family’s horror. The House of Fraser is old, with all sorts of half-levels. Obviously, I couldn’t get to the lift. I had visions of bumping into a purple-rinsed Mrs Slocombe from Are you being Served? Now she would have saved me! In the end we had to go to a side entrance, where a security guard met me and put a ramp in place. Then it was into the lift and out, only to find the jacket section was on another half-floor.

  OK, so off we set through the lingerie section to the disabled lift, except this time the racks were too close together. Bras and pants trailed from my footplates. Clara sighed but put them back.

  Into the lift and down we went: no problem. Out of the lift, we found ourselves in an ocean of jackets on sale (yes!). It wasn’t too long before we had picked out six to try on. So where was the changing room? On the half-level up! So back into the lift and up we went; that’s when we hit the really BIG problem – the lift had a front entry but a side exit. I’d reversed into the lift on the way up and now I was stuck, totally stuck; I couldn’t move forward or backwards. Turning non-existent circles, I could feel the panic rise and tears pricking my eyes.

  I HATE THIS LIFE!

  I hate the stupidity of engineers and architects who adapt buildings for people like me, but haven’t tried them out properly to see if they really work.

  YOUR STUPID LIFTS DON’T WORK!

  ‘Mum, Mum, calm down! We can work it out.’

  My beautiful, brainy daughter was there, telling me to take a deep breath. She handed the jackets to the sales assistant, got down on the floor, removed my head support, squeezed over and took off the foot-plates, leaving my legs trailing. Finally there was just enough room for me to get out. She helped me into the changing room. Another first! This being that the disabled changing room was not doubled up as storage for boxes. We shut the door, Clara gave me a huge cuddle and she helped me to try on the dress we had brought with us.

  ‘Mum, you’ve got the wrong bra on!’

  Damn! I had bought some bust scaffolding especially to make
me look more elegant but in all the excitement, I’d forgotten to wear it.

  ‘Never mind,’ said my ever-patient daughter with a big sigh. ‘We can imagine what the dress will look like with the bra you’re wearing.’

  Then we tried the jackets and began to giggle for some of them looked like something my dad might have worn and literally draped around my shoulders. ‘Boyfriend jackets’ is how Clara described them. Others were too fussy, badly tailored or just plain silly. In the end, it came down to two: one pink that I loved (it fitted beautifully) and the other was an elegant emerald. I compared prices: the pink was £100 more expensive.

  ‘OK, Clara, we’re going green!’

  Success. In the meantime the sales assistant had brought over the duty manager. Before I paid, I took her over to the lift, collecting more lingerie on my footplates en route and showed her the problems. She was very pleasant and extremely apologetic, promising to move the racks (of course, she couldn’t do anything about the lift itself).

  Back down on the ground floor, we got to the side door only to discover the ramp had been moved. Clara went off in search of a security guard and came back with the same man as last time: he didn’t have a clue where the ramp was. Eventually a senior sales person appeared; he got the ramp out and I got out of the shop.

  OK, so I can shop but not without my lovely daughter, who yet again had to ask for assistance, even crawl across the floor. Feeling more than slightly frazzled, I suggested we took lunch.

  ‘I’ll just pop to the loo,’ I said.

  Great, there was a disabled loo but it had a heavy door that was locked. Someone went to get the key from the bar. In I went. Phew! Ah, now the door was too heavy to open: I couldn’t get out. So, I phoned Clara. No reply. Eek! Now I was beginning to panic. OK, reverse chair; now use said chair as a battering ram. Oomph, out!