]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs one person's training journal en-us Todd A. Jacobs 2008-02-24T14:47:21-08:00 http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-12-28T14_58_06.html 2007-12-28T14:58:06-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
In the meantime, a lot has happened—most of it good. Today, though, I want to focus on my newest community-outreach effort: the Service Dog ID Card Generator.

My motivation for doing this was largely sparked by a recent Service Dog Meetup here in Reno, where I met some folks who seemed anxious to promote all things SARA. This really rubbed me the wrong way for a variety of reasons.

First of all, based on their own web site, it doesn't appear that SARA is either a non-profit or run by a reputable organization. I'm always a little leery of financial dealings with any person or group that doesn't have a real telephone number, and the post office box is a signal that it's probably being run out of some anonymous person's home.

Secondly, they call themselves a "registry." There are lots of folks who charge reasonable (or unreasonable) amounts of money for an attractive ID card, but calling yourself a registry without providing registrar services seems a bit misleading. A registry is supposed to be a central authority for validating information, and nothing on the SARA web site indicates how they do that, or whether they will so much as reproduce your "application" if someone inquires.

Now, I'm not saying that the SARA folks are actually bad apples; maybe they're just privacy-conscious saints with hearts of gold. I have no first-hand knowledge about them either way. I just think that if a disabled person wants an ID card, they shouldn't have to pay an anonymous entity like SARA $35 for one, especially if they think the organization is doing more than furnishing a laminated card and will somehow stand behind the identification/certification they're offering.

My response was to create a web form where people can print out their own ID cards. At this point, there's no "registration" of any kind; it's purely a self-help option that people can use (or not) as they see fit.

I genuinely hope it helps those people who want an ID card, but aren't handy with layout programs like Scribus. If you like the cards, let me know what you like about them, and how they've helped you. Likewise, if you can think of ways to improve them, I'd love to hear about that, too.

A belated Merry Chanakwanzaa and a joyful Festivus to all of you!]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-07-22T14_15_46.html 2007-07-22T14:15:46-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs was behaving aggressively, but not in a way that would be obvious to most people. Aggression is an often-misunderstood term, and most people associate the word with impending bodily harm even though aggression really covers a much wider spectrum of behaviors.

From a purely human perspective, Bear appeared to be gentle giant. He was calm, and wasn't growling or showing his teeth. So, where was the aggression in his behavior? It was in the constant encroachment, and the failure to respect or respond to Glindy's clear warning signals.

Think of it this way: if you were walking down the street and some big bruiser of a guy you've never met came up right behind you—perhaps close enough to breathe on your neck—you'd be wildly uncomfortable, right? You might even be afraid, trying to figure out whether this guy is a vicious mugger, a potential rapist, or just so mentally deranged that he doesn't realize he's breaking all the social conventions by standing so close to you like that. Either way, it's a frightening prospect, and you're hard-wired to see situations like that as dangerous.

When the stress level gets too high, the fight or flight response kicks in. Perhaps you'll scream and run away, or maybe you'll turn around and try to kick this guy in the crotch to get him before he gets you. Or maybe, if you are still a little unsure as to whether you really are in danger, you might take a more civilized approach and ask this person to step back out of your space.

If you ask someone to step back, and he continues to crowd you, almost any sane person would consider that other person dangerous. Whether he means you harm or is simply mentally unstable isn't really the point. The point is that this individual is dangerously unpredictable; if he isn't afraid to violate social norms like respecting your space or backing off on request, perhaps he might violate other social norms like "thou shalt not kill."

When people are involved, the threat implicit in this scenario is obvious. But for some reason, humans don't always see the problem when the participants are dogs. The dog is just being friendly, we think, and are shocked when the other dog responds in a fearful or aggressive way.

On Friday, Bear was clearly encroaching on Glindy's space. She couldn't run away, because she was tied to me. She was afraid, but not so terrified that she wanted to perform the canine equivalent of kicking him in the crotch when he got too close. Instead, she chose to warn him off by saying "You're in my space. You're scaring me. Please back off!"

In hindsight, the fact that Bear ignored these signals justified Glindy's fear and anxiety. Bear was clearly not behaving in accordance with canine social norms, and was behaving in a socially-threatening way even if his intent was not to cause bodily harm.

Glindy does not have a lot of canine social graces in her repertoire either. She rarely gives calming signals to other dogs in such situations, and her personality doesn't allow her to give the submissive signals that might otherwise defuse this sort of situation. The real question is whether it's right to expect her to do so. Would we expect a person to behave as well as Glindy did under similar circumstances? I think not.

We sometimes hold our dogs to an unreasonable standard. And sometimes, even with the best of intentions, it's not clear what we should do to help. Should I intercede between Glindy and Bear? Does that reinforce Glindy for growling, or reassure her that I'm in control of the situation? Who knows?

Or, should I ignore the problem and let the dogs sort themselves out? Is that fair, when Glindy is literally tied to me and unable to choose fight or flight for herself? Does ignoring the problem communicate my ease with the situation, or force Glindy into an unsuitable leadership role?

These are tough questions. There aren't any clear-cut answers. Both Glindy and I did the very best we could on Friday, and while we may not have been perfect, Glindy really is remarkably stable even under high levels of stress.

It's only in hindsight that I realize how remarkable she was that evening. I still wish she were more socially graceful, but I'm proud that she's as resilient and patient as she is.

Good girl, Glindy!]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-07-21T23_23_31.html 2007-07-21T23:23:31-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
Ever since I wrapped up my last work project, Glindy and I haven't been working much. I tend to spend a lot of time at home when I'm between jobs, which means that Glindy often spends a lot of time at day care. She really needs the socialization, exercise, and mental stimulation to keep her on an even keel when we're not working; if she doesn't get enough work or play, she gets a little wacky.

Since she spends so much time romping with other dogs, and has even been used at one day care facility as an introducer for new puppies, you'd think that she wouldn't have issues around other dogs. If that were true, I wouldn't have anything to post today, either.

Heading into the weekend, Glindy had been home for several days without day care, and was getting a bit emotionally off-balance. So, for the past few days I've made it a point to at least go out for dinner with her in tow to ensure that we were giving her brain (and nose) at least a minimal workout. On Friday night, I also took her with me to a friend's house for games night, and thus a blog entry was born.

Taking a service dog to someone's home is a bit different than taking one out in public. For one thing, there's no law that says that friends have to let dogs (service or otherwise) into their private homes—although I suppose if they won't accept that Glindy and I are a package deal, they aren't really my friends.

For another thing, people may have dogs of their own. Even if Glindy were a perfect angel around other dogs, there's no telling how other people's dogs might react to her presence in their territory. For example Glindy's unexpected presence might cause someone's fearful dog to submissively urinate on a prized Persian rug.

So, I generally make it a point to ask if it's okay to bring Glindy to someone's home, even though my real friends are unlikely to say no. If they have dogs, they can decide for themselves whether to put the dogs away, roll up the Persian rug, or trust their dogs and hope for the best.

On Friday, my friends opted for the latter option. Their dogs are both pretty mellow, and I was honestly more concerned about Glindy's beta behaviors triggering a problem than anything else.

When we got there, Glindy immediately started whining. She seemed torn between her desire to run over and examine these new dogs, and her desire to shrink back out of the way. I'm sure some of her confusion and stress came from being linked to my waist, which dramatically reduced her physical options and ability to deal with matters on her own terms. Since those terms usually involve scent-marking whenever she's off-leash, I simply couldn't release her in my friends' house; I've learned that lesson the hard way.

Eventually, the dogs all completed their proctology exams, but by this time Glindy was growling and peeling back her lips whenever the host dogs tried to return her sniffs. I interpreted this as beta behavior: she thought she had the right to sniff these dogs and enter their space, but she became fearful or anxious because they weren't respecting her imaginary prerogatives.

The top dog there was named Bear. This guy was simply massive; I'd guess he weighed at least 120 pounds of solid muscle, but it could have been much more. That's more than twice Glindy's mass, and I could tell that she was a bit intimidated. Bear wasn't overtly aggressive, but was perhaps a bit rude; he kept encroaching on Glindy's space in the full confidence of his size and status. But instead of presenting calming signals, Glindy peeled back her lips and growled warningly whenever he got too close.

When I shooed Bear away, he'd watch Glindy from across the room, and then Glindy would whine. It was very strange, because it was more of an anxious whine, rather than a fearful one.

As the evening wore on, Glindy settled in, but she never really got comfortable with the other dogs. Several times, she and I had to walk past Bear. Each time we did, Glindy would hang back as long as possible, and then sprint past him in an effort to clear his personal space as quickly as she could. It wasn't just canine politeness, though; her body language almost shouted "slinking in fear" the way a person's might while hurrying past a dark alley at night. Even though Bear seemed calm and stable to me, I think Glindy was genuinely anxious about being that close to this particular dog for reasons I couldn't identify.

It was a difficult evening from a training perspective. I verbally corrected Glindy a few times for growling when I felt it was unwarranted, although I didn't really want to punish her for expressing her discomfort in a non-physical way; I'd much rather she growl than bite, after all. I also tried reinforcing her when she seemed calmer, although it was complicated by my desire not to reinforce her anxious behaviors by mistake.

On the plus side, despite her anxieties, Glindy did her job well the entire evening. Fearful or not, she walked with me each time I passed Bear to get to the restroom. And she even managed a nap, with the requisite loud snoring, when Bear was safely lying down on the other side of the room.

Most of these canine interplays are invisible to non-handlers. We spent almost seven hours there, with Glindy at my feet or by my side the entire time. I received a lot of compliments from my friends about my incredibly well-behaved dog. I was proud of that, of course, but also aware that this is an ongoing issue with no simple solutions.

I'm very glad that Glindy is stable enough that the level of anxiety these situations create remains manageable for the both of us. It really is a huge testament to both her and the working relationship we've developed. I wish I were able to do more to reduce Glindy's anxiety in these situations, though. In the meantime, I just have to keep doing the best that I can.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-05-26T23_34_21.html 2007-05-26T23:34:21-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
Glindy started making her excitement whine, and it took me a few minutes of following her darting eyes and twitching nose to spot what looked like a Pomeranian that was sitting in its carrier several rows and a dozen yards away from us. Impressively perceptive, but annoying.

So, I figured it was a good time to practice. At first, I tried to distract her with some chin-scratching and ear-rubbing, but she kept whining. I didn't want to reinforcing the whining, so I stopped petting her and tried Plan B.

I'm embarrassed to admit that Plan B was positive punishment: every time she whined, I'd poke her gently but firmly with my toe and say "no." My idea was to make whining unpleasant, and to distract her, with the idea that I'd praise her when she was quiet. Alas, this actually increased her level of arousal, and the whining went from excited-curious to a much louder almost-howl. I've created this reaction in the same way before, so I really had no excuse for doing it again.

So, I dipped into my backpack and got out some Grizzly NuTreats and began working on focus exercises. In about five minutes, the near-howl had become an intermittent (and much quieter) whine.

While I wouldn't call this brief training exercise a success, it was a good learning experience for both of us. It reminded me of several things:

1. Positive reinforcement is still usually the best training tool.
2. Even though Glindy isn't food focused, and will not always work for treats, treat training is still more effective than other methods when it works.
3. It's not always convenient to use real-life situations as training exercises, but it's important—and often unavoidable.

On a much more positive note, once we were on the plane, Glindy was an angel. Our last flight segment was a Boeing 737 that was completely full; every seat was filled, and Glindy had to share the bulkhead with three clumsy humans (including me) with big clod-hopping feet.

With a little nudging, she curled up in the narrow gap between the economy bulkhead and the first-class seats in front of us. Even though I stuck my foot out to protect her, the real success was that Glindy managed to keep her tail safely tucked for most of the flight, with only a few reminders from me whenever the beverage cart trundled past.

A number of passengers and flight attendants commented on how well-behaved she was. That made me feel good, and reminded me that while Glindy and I will always have behaviors to work on, she and I really do make a good team.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-05-26T23_26_32.html 2007-05-26T23:26:32-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
Apparently, forcing disabled frequent-fliers to wait on hold upwards of 45 minutes per call, and involving at least two levels of support, is "business as usual" at Delta. Imagine having to go through this every single week!

To add insult to injury, requesting accommodative seating on Delta ensures that you will have to wait in long lines at the airport ticket counter; their system for accommodative seating makes you ineligible for kiosk check-in. Even if you jump through all of those hoops, Delta's system still doesn't transfer the necessary information down to the regional jets they operate. This ensures that you'll have to make special requests, in person, at every gate on every segment of your journey.

Delta customer service sees nothing wrong with the system. In fact, they are so sure the system is perfect that you can't escalate problems beyond the second level of their call centers under any circumstances. The folks over at IS Survivor call this "customer elimination management." Delta has certainly managed to eliminate me as a customer.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-05-17T14_07_37.html 2007-05-17T14:07:37-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs Advocacy, Products her comments on the presentation were noteworthy. I appreciated her kind words, and was also glad to hear that some things I'd mentioned over dinner made a positive impact on her personally.

On a side note, her blog entry also contains a photo of Glindy and I with the Buddy System hands-free reflective leash. Since the picture was taken with a flash, you can get a pretty good idea of how useful this leash could be in low-light situations.

This other photo shows Glindy wearing her chest strap cover from The Raspberry Field. As you can see, the cover makes her "service dog" markings visible from the front, which makes it easier for people to identify her as a service animal when she's sitting or lying down. I've found this to be important when store clerks are peering over their counters, or when waitresses peek under the table at restaurants. YMMV.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-05-10T23_38_21.html 2007-05-10T23:38:21-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs Advocacy U.C. Davis M.I.N.D. Institute to present two hours on autism service dogs. The evening went well, and I think the speech was well-received.

Our hosts from Sacramento Asperger Syndrome Information and Support were, I think, pretty impressed with Glindy. It often surprises people how well she behaves in restaurants and other public places, and how well she travels in cars and other conveyances. Overall, she made a good impression.

There were a couple of low points, though. Despite my efforts to desensitize her ahead of our speech by giving her a chance to sniff the strange dog, Glindy couldn't be dissuaded from barking and whining at a puppy-raiser's SDIT who was in attendance. She settled down with a bit of distance, as I knew she would, but it was still a bit embarrassing to have one's service dog making such a fuss in a public forum. As this has been an ongoing issue for us, I wasn't really surprised, but I was still a bit disappointed that the desensitization training I'd given her over the past year hadn't really made more of an impact.

Also, Glindy was a little less sedate and a little more attention-seeking than I might have liked during our two-hour presentation. Part of this was no doubt because it was the first time the two of us, as a team, had ever been in front of such a large audience. While I've done my share of public speaking before, this was something totally new for Glindy. Dogs consider direct eye contact as a challenge, and here we were in front of 50-plus people all looking directly at her. Considering that, I think she managed with considerable aplomb.

In addition—and this was probably my fault—I didn't put her into a down-stay or otherwise tell her what to do when we got started. That was largely because I wasn't sure what to do myself; I was still trying to decide whether to use the podium or wander the stage right up until showtime. In the end, I stood directly in front of the audience, which probably seemed a bit unnatural to Glindy.

She was pretty good throughout the entire two hours, but several times she miscued, thinking we were ready to walk off-stage before our time was up. My guess is that there were sounds from the audience that I didn't cue in on, but which she determined were "we're done here" signals. Or perhaps the shuffling of pages from my own speech acted as a false signal, since she's attuned to the sound of shuffling paper as the cue to end our therapy sessions. Aside from causing her a little confusion, though, this wasn't really a big deal.

Glindy also pawed at me increasingly as the talk went on, and several times during the last hour offered me her belly for scratching. Glindy isn't a submissive dog by nature—she's a status-seeking beta—so I'm pretty confident that this was intended as a calming signal for me rather than a submissive gesture to the audience.

The tactile support actually helped tremendously. Even though I felt confident and comfortable with being onstage, the stress of the constant sensory input from the lights, the echoing sounds in the room, and the constant interaction with the audience were definitely putting a strain on me. I think Glindy sensed that, and was doing her best to provide a relief valve for me. It worked, and the periodic belly-scratches enabled me to finish the entire two hours without needing to take a break.

I don't really know how other people perceived my interactions with Glindy, but overall I felt that we'd done a good job as a team, and that the speech itself presented a good model for how autism service dogs can help in a real-world setting. While we could have been a bit more polished, I think we did exceptionally well for our first speech together.

I hope that Glindy and I will be able to take our message to more such groups in the future. In the meantime, it looks like desensitization to other dogs is back on the training agenda.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-05-07T19_19_07.html 2007-05-07T19:19:07-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
Glindy finds little children fascinating: they make high-pitched noises, they smell funny, and they move erratically. And so, when this little girl started squealing and making direct eye contact with Glindy, she had Glindy's full attention.

With this little girl's encouragement, Glindy started whining in excitement, too. A squealing girl and a whining dog: quite the matched pair, I thought. I knew what was coming next, though, and was therefore unsurprised when Glindy broke her stay, fully intent on inhaling a noseful of child-scented air from as close as possible.

I calmly put Glindy back in a sit. I pretended to turn my attention elsewhere, and waited for her to try again. My expectations were met rather quickly, as she broke her stay the moment I was no longer looking directly at her.

No biggie. I just put her back in her stay again, intending to do this as many times as necessary. After a few repetitions of this, she got the message and settled in at my feet.

As the girl's father finished paying, he turned to me and said he was sorry. I told him not to worry, and that I was grateful for the training opportunity they had provided us. I waved to them as they left and praised Glindy for sitting quietly at my feet, however belatedly.]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-04-16T15_15_30.html 2007-04-16T15:15:30-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
One of the functional things that Glindy does for me is to provide an external, non-human focus in social situations. However, because of the leash system we currently use, I'm finding that I sometimes have to multitask in order to keep track of Glindy's physical whereabouts. This is obviously sub-optimal, as I have a hard enough time with social interaction without being distracted. A rigid harness of some type would certainly help me to ensure that I knew exactly where Glindy was at any given time.

I've also been thinking about tactile feedback. Tactile feedback, especially in my fingertips, often helps me deal with stress and anchors me to the external environment. A guide-dog style harness would certainly provide that, with the possible downside of leaving me with one less free hand.

In addition, I have a weirdly lumbering gate that I am usually able to consciously suppress, but which causes me to weave and bob around when I'm not really focusing on it. Having a guide dog harness would accomplish two things here. The first is to help me orient myself a little better, using tactile feedback from Glindy's harness, and perhaps make me a little less clumsy. The second might be to keep me from tromping on Glindy's poor little toes, as I often do now, when my gait and her loose-leash walking intersect.

So, other than losing a free hand when using the harness, there are two main problems that I foresee with using a harness. The first is that I wouldn't be able to use Glindy's lovely embroidered (and very noticeable) service dog vest from The Raspberry Field; however, I would hope that a guide harness would be equally as obvious in announcing that Glindy is a service animal. Secondly, and perhaps more socially awkward, is the increased likelihood that people will snark at me about not being blind. I've mentioned before that a lot of folks seem to think that service dogs are only for the blind, and have received more than my share of "Hey, you aren't blind!" comments from ignorant strangers and uninformed gate-keepers. While that wouldn't dissuade me from doing something constructive, I have to at least consider the possibility, and be prepared for the social consequences.

Ultimately, the addition of a harness to our working gear represents an experiment at this stage, and isn't and idea to which I'm wedded. So, I'm currently exploring my purchasing options, and will have more to say on this subject in the coming weeks.

Stay tuned!]]> http://www2.codegnome.org:59321/blogs/autism_service_dogs/archives/2007-04-01T18_13_14.html 2007-04-01T18:13:14-08:00 Todd A. Jacobs
SkyWest Airlines is the Delta partner that I'm flying on most frequently these days, and I've learned the hard way that regional jets require different tactics than I'm used to using on the larger carriers. Most of the flights operated by SkyWest are on small commuter jets such as the CRJ-100 or CRJ-200. The important things to note about these two aircraft models are:

• The bulkhead seats actually have less legroom than the regular seats. This pretty much ensures that there will be no room for a service animal unless the airline blocks the seat next to you, which they won't do on a completely-full flight.
• The regular seats are configured with two seats on either side of the aisle, and each set of seats are bolted only under the aisle and window armrests. Since the seats don't have a center stanchion between the seats, the entire area (around 35 inches wide) under the seats in front of you is available. This means that a moderately-sized service animal can fit at least partially under the seats in front of you, and that sharing foot-space with a fellow passenger is at least possible.

Most of the time, reservations agents have been taught to steer disabled passengers to bulkhead seats. This is definitely sub-optimal on these particular planes, though, so I now request forward non-bulkhead seats on segments using the CRJ-100/CRJ-200. However, I still request bulkhead seats on segments using the 737-800, which have three seats and two center stanchions on each side of the aisle.]]>