Maggie | Nate | Stormi | Stanly

Changing perceptions one Paws-itive step at a time...

Pictured is Maggi, a former Charter Canine, handled by the young boy who replaced his fear of dogs and changed his perception.

Recently, we completed another 7-week session of the Canines Can Change Program; this time at the newest school-N.W. Middle School. The students here were a bit on edge in many ways, and one particular student had a severe fear of dogs. During the program, he handled a former Charter Canine named Maggi.

Upon the graduation of each school, we test applicants for Therapy Dogs International, Inc. and when the applicant entered the room to be tested, her dog wore a choker chain. This young labrador was one which did not make the cut to be a leader dog for the blind, and was now owned and handled by an experienced puppy raiser for the leader dog program. As you know, the leader dogs use correctional methods of training, which at times can be controversial to those training solely with positive reinforcement methods.

The entire room was shocked at what they heard come from the young boy's mouth as he tapped the handler on the shoulder. He naively asked "Miss, why do you jerk on your dog's neck like that?"

A shocking silence filled the room as the young boy stood with innocent eyes, awaiting a response. The handler replied "This is a guide dog for the blind, and we give her a correction for each thing she has done wrong." This explanation did not seem to suffice for the young boy, and so I diplomatically added, " ...There are different methods to train a dog, but never a single correct way. We do not need to use that method in here."

During this simple conversation, I realized that the goal, to change perceptions, has absolutely - paws-itively been accomplished! For not only did the young boy overcome his fear of these dogs, but he gained and understanding of how dogs learn. If he only realized that children learn the same way.

---

Pictured is Nate, Jenni's special pal.

Several years ago I attended West Virginia University. It was a rough road for me, and I often used my dogs as a stress outlet. At the time, Nate was an active Therapy Dog and we visited a different facility nearly every day. Nate and I would often visit just before my Biology class, so I received permission to bring Nate along with me to class, so I would not be late. Rarely did anyone ever notice my quiet, catatonic-like dog and as I would slip into class Nate was already snuggled deep into the underside of my seat. He found it nice to take a break and often times that break lasted 3 hours into a complex biology lecture. One particular day, as we sat inside the 300 capacity lecture hall, I was jotting down some final notes as many students were filing out the door. The steep incline of the stairs was enough to make a person dizzy, but I usually sat in the front row of seats as not to intrude on the non-dog-savy student. I noticed a tall, lean student coming down the stairs, and suddenly he fell and began having a full-blown seizure. His head repeatedly hit the metal bottomed seat his feet were just inches away from my chair, as he lay stretched out in the aisle way. As most students were in shock as to the sight, I thought not and ran as fast as I could to the emergency phone outside the building to call-in the emergency. I overheard that there was blood coming from the boys mouth, and he was unresponsive. By the time I returned, paramedics were surrounding the student, a freshman about 6' 3'' tall. It wasn't until I walked into the room that I suddenly remembered, "NATE!" I forgot Nate was even with me. I tried to look under the seat but nearly a hundred students crowded around. I was in a total state of panic! Just then, I saw my professor emerge from the crowd, with tears streaming down her face. Her lip quivered, as I asked her "Have you seen Nate? Where's Nate?" The students cleared the room and I will never forget what I saw. No longer convulsing, the now-responsive student rested his hand upon my Nate's head, for Nate realized the anxiety carried by the student and took it upon himself to execute the "go say hi" command. The words of my professor were classic, "Now I know what a Therapy Dog does."

---

Pictured is Stormi, a new therapy dog.

While conducting a Canine Safety Clinic in Raleigh Durham, I hosted a therapy dog reunion, which reunited several Swiftdog members. The clinic was conducted for a roomful of young, eager children and as they filed in I noticed a teacher holding a special pair of crutches. I paid no attention to this, as for me and the dogs, it is an everyday sight.

Upon completion of the clinic, the children were permitted to pet the dogs, and as they formed small groups I showed them several commands Stormmi was accustomed to. Stormmi is usually extremely active, and is extremely intense, carrying high energy everywhere she goes. As a Therapy Dog, Storm was quite green for she had been certified only 4 months prior. To insure that she was executing the commands properly, I Paid special attention to Stormmi only to notice that she took a liking to one specific student in the room. The young girl was vibrant, and beautiful and seemed very social, and well liked.

Once in their groups, the students were approached by the dogs and their handlers. I was assigned to take Stormmi to the group of children on the far end of the room, but Stormmi chose the young, vibrant girl to which she took a liking to earlier. I allowed her to visit briefly, and Stormmi gently crawled up onto the child's lap, turned belly up, and lay motionless while the girl scratched the white on Stormmi's belly. I was a bit shocked for this is unusual for Stormmi's activity level, but I assumed the young girl initiated Stormmi's interest before the clinic began and wrote it off as such.

Not a moment later, the teacher approached, and with a huge smile on her face said, " That is simply amazing! How did you teach her to do that?" I replied with confidence, "Stormmi just knows!" However, I soon realized my gloating mistake, as I watched the children file out of the room. The young vibrant girl was assisted in leaving as she was handed her special crutches and helped to the door. I would have never guessed the young child was handicapped, but Stormmi knew all along what she was there to do.

---

How Stanley Got His Name

Fridays at the Animal Control Unit are unusually dismal, and this Friday was no exception. Walking through those death row kennels is not an easy task for anyone who has a heart, especially a small scale rescuer such as myself; but this time I knew what my orders were- to bring home an owner-relinquished Yellow Labrador Retriever who was due to be euthanized at the end of that day. I entered the kennels with such a narrow mind; it was a miracle in itself that I even saw the big guy sitting there in the dark, rusty kennel. Still, I walked past to retrieve the happy-go-lucky Labrador to which I was assigned.

Moments later, I asked the animal control officer, “What happened with the big guy?” He replied shaking his head, “Oh, he was a stray…picked ‘em up a week ago-gettin ready to take ‘em for his last walk in a few minutes.” I shuttered, for he truly was no ordinary big dog. He was a handsome Saint Bernard, full of youth, and by merely glancing into his eyes, you could see his realistic understanding of how the world works in mysterious ways. Just by passing, any good-hearted human could see that this dog carried a glow of love and intuition that could brighten an entire room. Though, his sixty four pound body could have used more baths than a skunk, he sat there staring, silently, waiting. His love could be felt the minute his presence took hold, after all, he was a Saint.

At only four months old, this dog had a gift he was willing to share with anyone who could receive such greatness, and somehow in those 5 minutes or so, he found a way to let me in on all his secrets. At that moment, I decided to rescue this Saint from the row of death and name him Stanly, which was the county we were in. This name seemed to stick like glue, for it wasn’t long until I realized the wisdom this dog possessed, which seemed to parallel the wisdom of my grandfather, Stanley. As the months passed, I become more aware of how intriguing St. Stanley was, and I began to realize St. Stanley was meant for me.

Suffering from Panic Disorder and hypoglycemia (low sugar), I began having multiple problems which affected my daily routine. Through the years, I have had difficulty holding jobs, completing college and maintaining healthy relationships between colleagues, family and peers alike. I would often become severely disoriented, for instance, causing me to become lost inside a department store for hours, unable to find the front entrance, and becoming so afraid, that I could not speak. Furthermore, my hypoglycemia would cause my body to shut down 6-8 times a day, causing embarrassing situations of trembling, and unstable footing as well as speech impairments. For me, these chemical imbalances occurred on a daily to weekly basis and were unpredictable and difficult to manage. The attacks would even occur at work forcing me to a desperate search for help.

During this time, it was therapeutic for me to continue the path of training St. Stanley and working towards the goal of getting his Canine Good Citizen Certification through the American Kennel Club. The test preparation served not only as a catalyst for me to improve my personal help, but also became a stepping stone for St. Stanley to show others who he truly was. You see, through the rigorous process of training Stanley came an unbreakable bond. With his intuition soaring, he began detecting the intricate changes in my body chemistry which led to the disorientation and panic attacks. Depending on what was going awry in my body, St. Stanley would alert in different ways and this communication became a lifeline for me to begin living a normal and more independent lifestyle. St. Stanley alerts me by taking hold of the leash in his mouth six to eight times a day, nearly twenty minutes before my blood sugar drops below a sub-standard level. He has been refined in his training to find my car within a parking lot, in case the effects of disorientation set in. Due to his immense size, he dissipates a crowd with ease in only a way a dog can, and absorbs my anxiety on a daily basis. Amazingly enough, St. Stanley alerts me by a constant pushing towards a wall or chair nearly six hours before a major imbalance occurs, which enables me to perform my duties at work as a dog trainer unreserved with knowledge of time. I no longer live in fear of an unexpected anxiety attack, especially those that last for days, and I can now plan and manage my life better in his presence.

Today, St. Stanley is a Service Dog who along with access rights, carries the responsibilities of any other working American. He trudges into the time clock just as any other paid employee would, though his check comes in the simple form of a biscuit and a new life. St. Stanley affects all who encounter him, changing their perceptions of life and death. His rotund body and charming nature brightens a frowning face, enhances curiosity, drawing people of all ages to ask questions about his bright red backpack. His silent nature can enter a room and bring smiles to faces he has never seen before and his enthusiastic perception of life brings magic into the stuffiest of places. The saying “a penny saved is a penny earned’ applies greatly here, for the simple act of saving a dog is indeed a new life earned.