Autism Service Dogs

There's a reason why dogs are called "man's best friend." While I usually blog about training and legal issues, I also spend a lot of time reflecting on the nature of my bond with dogs, and thought I'd share a bit of that here.

Glindy is my service dog. We work together. But we also love each other--never mind the armchair philosophers who have trouble defining love or claim that dogs can't share human-comparable feelings. While anthropomorphizing can be detrimental to a working relationship with dogs, there's no doubt in my mind that there is love there.

First, what is love? To me, that's a simple question with a simple answer: love is commitment, obligation, and a sense of connectedness to another living being. When another's happiness is essential to your own, you love them. It really doesn't have to be any more complicated than that, unless you're a philosophy major.

I know that Glindy and I love each other, because we meet all three criteria. Let's look at each one.

I've made a big commitment to her, and would never abandon her for any reason. Things have been tough from time to time, especially with the intense separation anxiety early on, but I've gone more than a few "extra miles" to resolve our problems because of that deep commitment.

In return, she tries her hardest to please me. She often works for long stretches without reward, simply for the pleasure of being with me. She takes pleasure in my praise, and seems to treasure my smiles. But even when the praise or the smiles are few and far between, she often chooses to stay close by my side. That's commitment.

I've also got a strong sense of obligation to her. I am responsible for her most basic needs: food, a place to sleep, and even elimination. I also provide her health care, and ensure that she gets enough exercise. However, I enjoy taking care of her, so my obligation feels the lighter for it, although it is not lessened in any way.

In return, I know that she feels an obligation to me. She wants to protect me from strange dogs, warn me about people at the door, and to comfort me when I'm depressed. She follows me into crowded rooms, even though she's not a "people dog," because she feels that it's her job to keep me company. She seems driven to provide me with the quiet companionship that I need to make it through my day, even on those days when I can tell that she'd rather be curled up in front of the heater or sitting on the back porch. Her obligations drive her, but they also uplift her.

As for connectedness, there is no doubt. Because Glindy and I are individuals, we don't always want the same things. Still, we are aware of each other, and can often sense what the other needs and wants. I know when she's restless, and she knows when I'm moody. I know when she needs to curl up quietly in her own space, while she can often tell when I need to feel her curled up next to me. We are very different creatures, and occasionally find each other inexplicable; but even across the unfathomable gulf between species, we connect. That is truly a miracle.

Lastly, I want Glindy to be happy. I need her, it's true, and she needs me. But beyond that, I want her to feel joy, and to experience life to its fullest. In return, she offers her eagerness to please, and her boundless devotion, in hopes of providing joy back to me.

No, it's not scientific--and no, it wouldn't stand up to a rigorous philosophical proof. But the love that Glindy and I share fills a space in my heart, and that's apparently enough for the both of us.