Autism Service Dogs

Glindy is a very sensitive dog. You might not know it if you saw her around the house, where she can be quite pushy and demanding. However, she's definitely very attached to me, and is prone to separation anxiety.

Earlier this week, I ended up taking an ambulance to the hospital in the middle of the night. (For those concerned, it turned out to be an exceptionally virulent—and obviously non-fatal—case of the flu.) Since I was at home, instead of on the road as I so often am, I decided to leave her safely crated rather than take her with me to the hospital.

This sounds like a simple decision, but I actually thought about it a lot while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The law would have allowed her to accompany me; but, to be honest, I wasn't up to dealing with all the hassles. It might have gone smoothly; but then again, it might not. Even had my service dog been welcomed by the paramedics and the emergency room staff, I would have had to worry about handling Glindy in a totally new environment instead of being able to focus on my own needs that night.

It turned out to be the right decision for me at the time, but perhaps not for Glindy: for the past several days, she's been in a strange mood. I'm sure she could tell that I was seriously ill that night. In addition, our routine was clearly broken when I crated her and left the house in my bathrobe at two in the morning. So, now she acts a little panicky every time I leave the room or put on my bathrobe. It's going to take a little time to reassure her that I'm okay, that she's not being abandoned, and that we're still a team.

Meanwhile, my experience forced me to reconsider some things that I've given short shrift to before. Emergencies, by definition, are things you don't expect, but for which you can still plan contingencies. Sometimes, though, it's not always obvious what the right thing is to do.

In this case, I decided to leave Glindy behind. But what if I'd been on the road, and forced to take her with me to the hospital? Setting aside unproven concerns that she'd be jumping on me, getting tangled in IV tubing, accidentally knocking my IV needle out, or pulling me off-balance when I'm too sick to stand up by myself, there are still practical matters to consider.

Hospital personnel are not required to handle or care for a service animal. So, who would take her out for potty breaks if I were unconscious for any length of time? If I were kept in the hospital longer than a few hours, how would she get watered or fed? What would happen to her if my condition worsened and I needed to be placed in an area where Glindy couldn't go—an operating room, for example?

These are policy questions, of course, and I suppose I could call the hospital and ask. But they are questions which may not always have the same answer every time they are asked, even at the same hospital, and certainly not at different hospitals in various parts of the country. I absolutely hate unknowns.

On the flip side, if I leave Glindy crated at home and something happens to me while I'm out of the house, who knows to check on her? If I had ended up spending more than a night in the hospital, who would let her out of her crate to potty? If I had been unconscious for a long period of time, and unable to inform anyone about having a crated dog at home, would Glindy die of starvation or dehydration simply because no one knew she was in there?

We live in a world that simply assumes that one has family or friends to do all the necessary things if one is incapacitated. For some of us, this may not be true. Even if we aren't alone in the world, how do we communicate those needs to those who can help? How do we tell them when those needs become urgently real, and are no longer hypothetical? How will they know that the moment is now, rather than "someday maybe?"

Tonight, I have no answers. But I still think it's good to ask the questions.

A lot of people, even those with service dogs, don't often realize some of the challenges of dating in the Internet age with a service dog in tow. If you ever find yourself in the same situation, maybe some of my thoughts on the subject will help you find your own answers.

I've been on only one date since Glindy became my service dog, and that was with someone who already knew that my furry companion came as part of the package. However, most of the people I'm likely to meet in future are essentially going to be blind dates or introductions from a dating service, which creates a unique challenge.

The question of disclosure is a complicated one, especially when dealing with blind dates. If, when, and how much are all questions that need to be answered, and I am admittedly in uncharted territory.

For example, I signed up yesterday with a local introduction service. Glindy came along with me, of course, dressed in her service vest and "in training" leash sleeve. The interviewer asked me if I was training her, and some questions about how one learned to be a dog trainer. She did not, however, ask me if I was disabled.

Setting aside whether or not asking the question would have been unethical or illegal, I always tell the truth when asked, but rarely volunteer that sort of private information. I'm not convinced that I have an ethical obligation to correct people's assumptions about me, especially in situations where the response is likely to be prejudicial.

I certainly think I'd need to answer any questions a date might have about Glindy honestly, but having a dating service restrict my pool of potential dates before they've even met me seems like a bad idea. If they allow it to color their judgment, they're likely to either set me up on fewer dates, or scare people away by warning them ahead of time that I've got some horrible disability.

As it is, I expect them to tell people that I'm training a service dog (a true statement) so that my dates can be aware of the fact that a dog will accompany me, just in case they're allergic or phobic. There's no sense in going out to dinner with someone who can't stay for the whole meal because Glindy is with us.

The reality, of course, is that I can't keep my disability a secret forever, nor would it be ethical to do so. On the other hand, I will not wear my disability on my sleeve—just on my waist, where I'm belted to my service dog. Both my future dates and the dating service will all eventually get the full story, but only as they get to know me as a person instead of as a file number.

Other people might make other choices. For me, however, the goal is balance: I need to maintain my personal integrity by doing the right thing, while still controlling the flow of disclosure. Hopefully, I'll get the balance right; if not, it's never too late to revisit the issue.

The other day, I took Glindy with me to Claim Jumper as I often do for lunch. However, the visit was not routine.

As I was leaving the restaurant, a young woman carrying a baby was standing by the hostess counter, and Glindy decided the baby merited closer investigation (she's fascinated by babies). Before I knew what had happened, Glindy had stood up on her hind legs, put her front paws on the woman's hip, and took a big sniff of the baby.

Of course, I immediately pulled her off, and apologized profusely. The woman didn't seem particularly fazed, but an older woman standing near her seemed a little panicky about the baby's safety. No harm was done—Glindy is a rude but gentle soul—but it was a very embarrassing moment nonetheless.

This situation brought two important points home to me: control, and neurodiversity.

Firstly, Glindy's behavior was clearly not acceptable. Part of the problem is that I haven't been working Glindy very much of late, and we've both fallen out of practice. (That's not an excuse, but an observation.) The other problem is that the longer leashes I often use with Glindy do not afford me the level of tight control I need in these situations, so I've taken steps to remedy that.

Since that incident, when I expect to be in tight quarters I keep my longer leash attached to her buckle collar, but also place a short 8-inch traffic lead onto her prong collar. This enables me to get instant feedback about her position, and to deliver instant corrections if she's not heeling closely enough. The other leash remains attached so that I can drop the traffic lead when necessary (e.g. when sitting in a chair to eat) without allowing her totally off-leash.

Because of the importance of good behavior in public, I can't rely strictly on positive reinforcement to resolve this the way I would prefer. However, this new two-leash system is creating a marked improvement in her heeling. We're definitely going to need to work on this until I regain full confidence in her, though.

Secondly, while I apologized very sincerely to the woman for Glindy's behavior, my social instincts were (unsurprisingly) not entirely on target. I assumed that no harm had been done since nobody was screaming or running around in panic. It only occurred to me much, much later that the situation may have called for a little more sympathy on my part.

You see, part of having Asperger's Syndrome involves a limited capacity to sympathize with others. I can certainly empathize with someone's desire not to be jumped on by a strange dog, no matter how friendly—hey, I wouldn't like being jumped on, either!—but in the heat of the moment, it simply never occurred to me that the woman might have been frightened or angry; I had no awareness of her emotional state at all. Instead, my mind focused on the concrete facts: that jumping on people is wrong, and is socially unacceptable.

As a result, the apology I gave the woman was sincere. "I am so very sorry," I said as I pulled Glindy away. However, it wasn't until much later that I realized that most neurotypical folks would have instinctively followed up with "Are you okay?" or "I'm sorry if my dog frightened you or the baby."

Anyway, these problems happen in the course of training—thank goodness Glindy was wearing her "in training" leash sleeve. The important thing is to analyze what happened, and take steps to address it constructively. After all, you can't prevent mistakes, but one should always try not to repeat them.