Autism Service Dogs

All three dogs are at day care today. I think all of us needed a day off. Glindy, especially, needed a chance to get out of the house and run around like crazy.

Perhaps just as importantly, I needed a day off, too. While I love my dogs dearly, their constant demands for attention and the responsibility of ensuring that their needs are met throughout the day can be very wearing.

I'm going to enjoy my day off. I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I'm taking great comfort in the fact that it won't involve letting the dogs in and out all day long, or having a head thrust under my hand for ear-scratching every time I pick up a book to read.

Even so, I'll be glad when the dogs are home again. A house without dogs seems so empty. A day off is nice, but the love of one's pack is even better.

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.

Last Saturday was my first day as a volunteer trainer at The Canine Club. I'm on good terms with the owners, and had asked if they needed any help teaching classes. They said yes, which was a win-win for the both of us. The get my services for free, and I get to work towards the 300 hours or so of formal training time I need to become a Certified Pet Dog Trainer.

The class went very well, from a purely practical perspective. I was able to provide a lot of hands-on help to individuals that they might not have gotten without an extra person there, and was able to share a lot of insight with some of the folks with problem dogs.

After class, I went in search of Robin. I've learned over the years that, unless I ask them directly, people don't give me enough verbal feedback for me to accurately determine how things went from their perspective. There's nothing worse than strolling along, thinking things are fine, and then getting sandbagged with the sudden revelation that little frustrations have been building up in the other person. So, I asked.

Part of Asperger's Syndrome is that I don't always fully understand other people's frame of reference, even when I think I do. This was one of those times. Robin hinted that, while the training itself went well, she was unsure about my impact on Monica, the lead trainer.

Apparently, the other trainer hadn't said anything to Robin (and wasn't there to ask), but Robin seemed to feel that I might have shunted Monica off to the side or usurped her role in some way, and that Monica might feel upset about this. Since that had certainly not been my intention, and because Monica wasn't there to confirm or deny this supposition, I was forced to conclude that this was exactly the sort of projective empathy that neurotypical people do so well, and which folks with AS do so poorly.

Granted, Robin was assuming that she knew what Monica felt, and it is possible that she was mistaken, but I've learned that one has to assign a certain level of presumptive accuracy to this sort of feedback from NTs because they have a "social sixth sense" that I lack.

Still, there's nothing like taking the guesswork out of things. I let Robin know that I certainly would never mean to hurt Monica's feelings, and that I had only been trying to help. I suggested that she speak with Monica, and that if Monica really did feel slighted in any way, to make sure one or the other of them gave me that feedback directly.

I also suggested that if Robin or Monica wanted me to do (or not do) something during class, or to modify my behavior in a specific way next time around, they needed to be very explicit about it. I assured her that telling me exactly what was expected, and how to meet that expectation, would not offend me in any way.

Of course, I fully expect that advice to be discarded. It violates the unwritten social rules and expectations of NT interactions (e.g. "Why should I have to tell you what I expect? It's obvious, and something you should already know!"), and most folks aren't even aware at a conscious level of what behaviors and responses they're expecting from others in any given situation. They just know, on an emotional level, when those expectations aren't met.

Regardless of how things eventually work out with Robin and Monica, I am enjoying the chance to work with both of them, and love being able to help other people out with their "problem" dogs. Teaching is a great learning experience for me, as well as for the students in the class; after all, honing my training techniques will certainly help me work better with Glindy as we continue our service dog partnership.

Meanwhile, I'm still on deck to teach again this coming Saturday. I really hope it goes well.

I don't often have wake-up-in-a-panic nightmares, but I do often have bad dreams which repeat endlessly during the night, becoming more and more discomforting each time through the loop. I had one of those last night, and although I can't remember the details now that I'm awake, I know it was one of the more macabre ones.

At one point, though, I woke in the small hours before dawn to find Glindy in bed beside me, resting her head reassuringly on my legs. This was pretty unusual; Glindy usually prefers to sleep downstairs at night, and typically only joins me upstairs after daybreak.

I'm not sure why she decided to join me this particular morning, but I was glad of it. Her quiet presence sent me back to sleep once more--this time peacefully--and I was able to get a little restful sleep before starting my day.

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.

I write a lot about Glindy, Spencer, and Benny in this journal, and thought that others might be interested to see what my lovable dog pack looks like. Enjoy!

Glindy and I were shoe-shopping at Wal-Mart last night. Things were going pretty well, with the minor exception of Glindy walking a bit wider of me than I'd like in the face of on-coming shopping carts.

As we we were standing in the checkout line, though, a toddler came rushing up to us, screaming and waving his arms wildly, clearly intent on reaching Glindy. While Glindy stood quietly, taking this in calmly, I had no intention of some maniacal child traumatizing my dog.

I stepped in front of Glindy, blocking the child with my body, and held my hand out in front of his face. "No!" I said firmly. "Don't touch the dog!" This unsupervised and persistent child tried to circle around me, but I kept in between the child and my dog, and continued blocking. Eventually, he gave up, and wandered off.

I have *no* idea where this kid's parents were during this exchange. It seems surreal to me that I have to keep a well-trained, well-behaved dog on a short leash in public, while feral offspring of our planet's top predators run amok.

Most people won't admit it, but I'll bet leash laws for children would be well-received by the general public. Anyone else want to start a petition?

I have mentioned that Saturday's fire alarm really hurt my ears. Loudness in general is something that causes me a great deal of unpleasantness.

I don't enjoy noisy restaurants. I've noticed that sports bars, "family" restaurants, and other such places seem deliberately designed to maximize noise: they remove carpeting from the floors; have an open floor plan with no walls, tall booths, or other sound-absorbing fixtures; and add TVs, loud music, live bands, or other distractions to increase the general hubbub.

Sometimes, I just find the noise level distracting. I can't think straight, and it makes it very hard for me to have a conversation with people at my table. Even when I can make out what they're saying through the ambient noise, the sheer volume and quantity of the sounds is entirely too distracting for me to follow what they're saying.

Movie theaters and concerts are probably the worst for me, though. I find the sound volume to be physically painful, and have resorted to wearing earplugs whenever possible. Of course, sometimes I forget to bring a pair with me. Now that I have a service dog, maybe I'll slip a pair of earplugs into one of her vest pockets just in case.

Hmmmm. I wonder if the noise levels that bother me are physically dangerous for a dog, since they have more sensitive hearing than humans. I'll have to add that question to the research pile.