Let Us Sit Upon the Ground and Tell Sad Stories of the Death of Kings

Arthur was Karen’s third, and final, Seeing Eye dog, coming to us in early 1999. He was a German shepherd and was coming in to replace Vinnie, the black lab, who was retiring due to advancing age and chronic silliness.

If Vinnie was more concerned with comfort and culinary misdeeds than his job, Arthur was, to put it mildly, a reminder of what the other end of the guide dog spectrum was like.

Like Karen’s first dog, Lyric, Arthur was a long-haired shepherd. But while Lyric had been the runt of her litter, Arthur apparently came out of the birth canal an alpha dog, and never looked back.

When Karen was training with Arthur at the Seeing Eye, the reports I got were very different than those I’d received about Lyric and Vinnie during their training periods. Lyric hated Karen, Vinnie loved everyone, and Arthur, well, Arthur was essentially perfect. He accepted Karen instantly as his new mistress, and from the first day of training rarely, if ever, made even the slightest mistake.

There were a few problems unrelated to their work.

Arthur didn’t seem to like the other dogs at the school, and this could be seen in his attitude. He would become visibly impatient when he and Karen had to wait for the rest of the class to catch up with them, as if he were thinking, “What is the matter with those guys? I trained with them. They know how to do it. Why won’t they work right?”

At the Seeing Eye the students and trainers all eat at round tables for five or six, to simulate a restaurant, and the students keep their dogs under the table, out of sight. On several occasions, Arthur started a fight with another guide dog under the table, for reasons unknown to Karen, but seemingly quite clear to Arthur. Since he was the biggest dog in the class, as well as the smartest, the fights were very quick, ending with the other dog, unhurt, but as submissive as a puppy. Naturally this behavior was a little worrisome to Karen, and to the Seeing Eye, but in reality, situations where five large dogs are crammed under one small table are pretty rare, and the school felt Karen was a strong enough guide dog user to control any potential problems he might exhibit.

She was, generally, although when she and Arthur first came into our house, where Vinnie and four other dogs already lived, he immediately set the ground rules according to Arthur. Vinnie was so delighted to see Mom after her three week absence that he ran to her to throw himself into her arms and kiss her. Arthur couldn’t have mistaken Vinnie’s approach for aggression, but he nonetheless brought the ten year old lab down in a flash of fur and teeth. We were horrified and tended to Vinnie, who was completely unhurt but terrified and baffled. What had happened? Arthur watched our solicitousness towards Vinnie without a flicker of regret. He nicely met the other dogs and cats, and, a couple hours later, he approached Vinnie and did what he could to make up. It was as if he was saying, “Hey, nothing personal, man, it’s just that there’s a new alpha in town!” Vinnie, who couldn’t hold a grudge, accepted the apology, and his new role in the pack, with cheerful equanimity.

To watch Arthur and Karen work was to see a miracle. There’s always something magical about watching a good human-guide dog team, but Arthur was like nothing I’d ever seen before. He was fast, and precise. None of her dogs would have let her stumble over a curb; Arthur wouldn’t let Karen hit a crack in the sidewalk. He guided her around overhanging branches without breaking stride. When they crossed the street, Arthur made eye contact with the idling cars at the intersection, both, I suspect, to make sure the drivers saw them, and also to communicate to the drivers exactly what would happen to them if they broke their idle and attempted to move before he and Karen had crossed.

At home, Arthur became a pretty nice guy. No more fight or displays of dominance were necessary. He was King, and it was good to be King. He enjoyed playing with balls or Frisbees, and was a pretty normal, if intense, kind of dog, never displaying the kind of neurosis that tortured Lyric through her life. He was a good dog, a world-class Seeing Eye dog, leader of a pack of six, and at peace with the world.

Within nine months of Arthur arriving, Karen was diagnosed with breast cancer. The first component of her treatment was a modified radical mastectomy of her left breast. Because you work a Seeing Eye dog with your left arm, the surgery crippled Karen from being able to work Arthur. Well before she was healed from that she began chemotherapy, and between the chemo sickness and the surgical pain, she found that she could no longer work a dog. On days she felt well enough to try, she’d put Arthur’s harness on him, and he’d stand there, refusing to move. He could sense her lack of confidence and comfort, and if his teammate couldn’t work, well, then, neither could he. The Seeing Eye sent a trainer out to work with them, but, in Karen’s condition, nothing could be done. If and when she recovered, retraining work would begin.

Around this time, Arthur’s life began to focus on his daily trips to the park and his Frisbee game. He became as dedicated a Frisbee dog as he’d been a Seeing Eye dog. He had no interest in other dogs at the park, unless he thought they might want to steal his Frisbee, and then he’d chase them off and bark at them until he was secure his treasure was indeed his.

The Frisbee became Arthur’s life. He slept with it, carried it around, offered it to you, or teased you with it, on a constant basis. He had unbounded enthusiasm for the Frisbee. Playing catch itself became secondary. Holding the Frisbee, guarding the Frisbee, I suppose, in a sense, working for the Frisbee, became Arthur’s life.

In January, 2002, Karen and I were living in New Mexico with Arthur, Levi, who was just a puppy, and Erica. Karen’s pain from the mastectomy never abated, and she never worked Arthur again. She’d take him when she went out, but she’d hold my arm and Arthur had no decisions to make. His work as a guide dog had come to an end, and he was beginning a second career of his own choosing, that of a deranged, obsessed, Keeper of the Frisbee.

On the morning of January 18, 2002, I was in the living room with Levi, while Karen was in bed, sleeping, with Erica. Arthur was outside somewhere with the Frisbee. At sometime around 10:00 AM, Erica came running out of the bedroom terrified, as if she’d seen a ghost. Maybe she had. Karen had died.
I went into the bedroom with Levi to check on her. She wasn’t breathing and had no pulse, but she wasn’t cold. Levi sniffed her, startled. He jumped on the bed and examined her face, carefully, without licking her. He didn’t howl, and I didn’t see tears, but Levi was crying, his puppy-heart broken.

I called Arthur into the house. He was carrying his Frisbee, and wanted me to please covet it. I took him into the bedroom, where his mistress had just died. He looked at her, sniffed her, and then turned to me. At this terrible moment there was only one thing on his mind. He wanted to go outside and play with his Frisbee.

When the paramedics came to take Karen’s body away, Levi and Erica were hiding. Arthur was making friends, seeing if one of these nice men wanted to play with his flying disc, please. Despite my grief, I was acutely embarrassed that my wife’s Seeing Eye dog was acting so indifferently to her death in front of strangers.

Erica, Levi and I all took a while to process Karen’s death. We clung closer to each other. Levi didn’t eat for days. Erica would never come in the bedroom again. Arthur, happily, had his Frisbee, and that was all he needed.

Arthur was a magnificent dog, handsome, strong, and brilliant. He’d been born to be a Seeing Eye dog, and his entire life was a build-up to that important job. Then, less than a year after he began working, he was laid off, permanently. His incredible energy and concentration were no longer focused, and his deterioration was fast and heartbreaking. He had been born a King, with his future assured, living in the world of humans, leading his mistress, and being a universally beloved and admired dog. Now he was a half-crazed German shepherd with but a single thought in his expansive brain: Look at my Frisbee! It wasn’t just Karen who was dead. The King was dead, too.

Arthur lived five more years faithfully serving his Frisbee. At age eight, he developed metastatic bone cancer. Though he was limping, we played a last game of catch, and I made him a steak. Then, full, tired from our game, and long deposed from his throne, we drove to the vet, with the Frisbee. He lay down, and I lay down next to him, my arms around his chest. When I told him how much I loved him, he looked up from his Frisbee and into my eyes. He gave me a single sweet kiss on my lips. I told the vet we were ready, and the needle slid in. Arthur’s eyes opened wide for a second, he inhaled, and then he put his great head down and went off, to find Karen waiting for him at Rainbow Bridge. I'm sure that when they met in heaven, she had the grace to throw his Frisbee for him, first thing.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
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Pictures of Arthur not available. Pictures provided for illustrative purposes only.

Meet Lyric

Karen had been blind since she was nine, but she didn’t get her first guide dog until after she graduated from college. Karen and I went to Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington, IL. It was a small, contained, campus without streets with traffic, and Karen could navigate it by herself, without even a cane, let alone a dog.

After graduation, though, as we were preparing to enter what we thought was the real world, Karen decided to get a guide dog. It was a fairly easy decision. Like me, Karen adored dogs, and if being blind meant she got to have a dog with her at all times, then maybe it was worth it after all.

Karen applied to and was accepted by The Seeing Eye in Morristown, NJ. Getting and training with a Seeing Eye dog is a three or four week process, depending on whether it’s your first or subsequent dog. Karen flew to New Jersey for her month long stay, trembling with anticipation at meeting her first Seeing Eye dog, her new eyes, the dog that would give her independence, mobility and increased dignity.

The first day at the Seeing Eye is an opportunity for the instructors to get to know the students, how fast they walk, and, most importantly, what their personalities are like. The most important aspects of putting together a working team of blind person and guide dog is compatibility. The relationship is perhaps more intimate than a marriage. As a working team, a guide dog and blind person are essentially one creature.

On the second day, Karen was told about her dog. Her dog was going to be a female German shepherd named Lyric. Karen was advised that Lyric was an especially sensitive dog who was extremely bonded to her trainer. Lyric had been through one class already, but the person training with her couldn’t handle Lyric’s high strung nature, and retrained with another dog. She was a small shepherd, long haired, and magically beautiful. Karen called me that night to tell me about this great dog she’d be meeting the next morning, and, in my imagination, at least, I began to know the dog who would be one of the most special beings I would ultimately ever meet.

I envied Karen, not so much for being blind and being able to get a guide dog, but because she was getting to meet Lyric a month before I would pick the two of them up from the airport. I might have been more excited than Karen.

On the third day, Karen was presented with Lyric. At the Seeing Eye, once you are given your dog, you’re with it from then on, until you leave. Not only was this dog going to be her new eyes, but Karen was certain she would be her new best friend.

That night, Karen called me, in tears. Lyric hated her!

If Karen wasn’t holding her leash, or didn’t have it attached to something, Lyric would ditch her at the earliest possible opportunity. Over the next weeks, Karen told me about how she was often wandering the halls of the Seeing Eye dorm in the middle of the night, frantically calling for her lost dog. Eventually, one of the instructors would find Lyric for her, which is fortunate because there was no way Lyric was going to willingly return to this strange lady on her own.

Karen and Lyric’s trainer was named Mr. Frank, and Lyric worshiped him. She could see him during training, which she lived for, but if she was going to participate in the training she was going to have to work with that horrible stranger, Karen. Despite the obvious unpleasantness of this prospect for Lyric, she went ahead and grudgingly trained with Karen, so she could at least be near the man she loved.

Karen called me crying almost every day, and Karen wasn’t a woman who cried often. The reports kept coming in. Lyric hates me. Lyric refuses to eat. Lyric cringes and tries to escape when I touch her. Lyric eloped again in the night. The only thing that was going well was the actual training, but given her obvious disdain for Karen, she assumed Lyric was only going along with it so that one day she would have the opportunity to guide Karen in front of a bus, to get the pleasure of watching her die in a pool of her own blood. After, she probably wouldn’t have been adverse to licking just a little of the blood off the street to give her the necessary sustenance to have the strength to find her way back to the wonderful Mr. Frank.

Karen and Lyric finished their third week of training. Their work together was exemplary, but it was obvious to everyone that Lyric couldn’t stand Karen. She wouldn’t look at her and was on a major hunger strike. Special food was brought to her, like carefully prepared and seasoned chicken breasts, and Lyric would daintily nibble for a moment, and then walk away leaving the majority untouched. She was losing weight and seemed to be the only one at the Seeing Eye more miserable than Karen.

In their final week, the intensive training ended, those who had Seeing Eye dogs in the past went home, and the newbies were left to continue getting practical instruction in grooming, feeding and general care and maintenance of their dog. Lyric had been permitting Karen to brush her gorgeous coat, but still would not allow herself to enjoy it.

Though still bad, the relationship had improved slightly by the last week. Lyric no longer wanted to bolt whenever she was in Karen’s presence, but things were still far from ideal.

There was some concern about graduating Karen and Lyric and releasing them into the world. They’d been at the top of the class in terms of work, but the relationship seemed so bad the Seeing Eye was unsure if they’d be able to work as a team. Since this was Lyric’s second class, this probably would have meant that if things didn’t work with Karen, she’d be dropped from the program and become someone’s pet, and not a guide dog.

They decided to send Karen and Lyric home, but with considerable concern about how things would go, and with an awareness that they might be returning soon, to place Lyric in a private home and match Karen with a dog who could stand her. I’d been hearing all about this in Illinois, and didn’t know what to expect when the two of them walked off the plane. Before she left for the airport, I talked to Karen, who was glumly resigned to working with a dog who just plain didn’t like her.

They were driven to the airport in New Jersey, checked in, and dropped off. For the first time, ever, Karen and Lyric were away from the Seeing Eye campus and alone together. There was no more Mr. Frank and no dozen blind students with new dogs who loved their masters. There was just beautiful, long-haired, high strung, Lyric, and her mom, beautiful, long-haired and high strung Karen.

My buddy Gary and I drove to Chicago to pick them up at the airport, nervous after all the negative field reports I’d received. I expected Karen to walk off the plane with a pissed off shepherd who was miserably going on with the life which fate had decreed for her. Still, Karen and I had talked about all this on the phone, and we were going to work with her, play with her, love her, until by sheer force of will, she eventually returned our feelings, or died.

My heart stopped for a few beats when Karen and Lyric walked off the plane. They moved together like a couple doing the tango, woman and dog separate but connected, two individual beings with a single purpose. Karen moved with a confidence which I had seen before but which had never been reasonably merited, and at her side was the most beautiful dog I had ever seen. I hugged and kissed Karen, and before I could even turn to meet Lyric, I felt the sharp nails of one of her paws on my shoulder. The other was on Karen’s shoulder. She was taking part in the hug and the kiss, joining the family.

I met Lyric properly, and to Karen’s slight chagrin she adored me instantly. We took the two and a half hour drive back to Bloomington, and Karen told me how the minute they’d been left alone at the airport, everything instantly changed between the two of them. In that single moment, Karen stopped being “that lady” to Lyric, and became Mom. She not only allowed, but solicited, petting. She wagged her tail. And though Karen of course couldn’t see, she could feel that Lyric never took her eyes off her.

Karen and Lyric were inseparable ever after. Despite her working dog status, Lyric wasn’t a totally one-person dog. She loved her dad almost as much as she did her mom, and she was entranced by Holden, our beagle mix/cur, who we had obtained in advance of Lyric’s arrival so she’d have a playmate waiting for her.

Lyric was one of the greatest dogs I’ve ever known, as smart and sensitive as any person I’ve ever met. She got Karen through law school, and the early jobs of her career. She was friendly to others, but she was mom’s dog, and to a lesser extent, mine. Lyric had found her real family, and suddenly this nervous, standoffish, dog knew what happiness was.

There had been a battle of wills between Karen and Lyric in Morristown, and ultimately patience, persistence, and determined love won out over fear of the new and strange, and attachment to the old ways.

Maybe there’s a general lesson we can take from this, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what that might be.

(c) 2009, Rich Sands, All Rights Reserved
Your Dog’s Best Friend
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Labs, Monkeys, Pirates and the Essence of Fear

My late wife, Karen, was blind, and used guide dogs to permit her full mobility. Karen’s first Seeing Eye dog was an incredible female German Shepherd named Lyric. She was a long-haired shepherd, gorgeous, and full of dignity. A tad oversensitive (the chaos of a crowded K-Mart would sometimes make her vomit, for instance), she nevertheless remains one of my favorite dogs ever. (OK, that’s a stupid thing to say, I see as I write this. They’re pretty much all one of my favorite dogs ever. Except Levi, of course. He’s my favorite dog ever!). Karen got Lyric right after college graduation, and Lyric got her through law school and the beginning of her career.

When Karen first got hired by the DA’s office, Lyric asked to retire. Yes, she did. She’d obviously been slowing down, and her hips were giving her problems, and one day when Karen was heading out to work, instead of going to the door to get the harness on, Lyric resolutely stayed on the couch. When Karen went up to her, Lyric did that dog thing, where they rub their muzzle with both paws and then sort of wave with one. Lyric was done. She’d retired herself.

Luckily, Karen had anticipated this possibility, and was already set to get her next Seeing Eye dog (by the way, “Seeing Eye” is a registered trademark of The Seeing Eye, Inc., the world’s first guide dog school, located in Morristown, NJ. Guiding Eyes for the Blind is the other major guide dog school in America, in California. There used to be a fierce, and to my mind, comical hatred between the organizations, which I hear is fading. The generic term is “guide dog” but that’s why I always capitalize “Seeing Eye.” OK, back to the narrative.)

Lyric was an overly sensitive, somewhat neurotic, dog, who we often said was a college girl in her previous life, probably a post-grad poetry major. The dog Karen came home with from her second stay at The Seeing Eye was a whole other kettle of fish.

Vinnie was a smallish black lab, and though he was a fine working dog, his personality was just what you’d expect from a lab. He was very silly, goofy, impulsive, hungry, and friendly to anyone. He could guide Karen brilliantly, but he didn’t provide the same level of security Karen had come to appreciate from having a German shepherd at her side. Not only did Vinnie look friendly, but we soon realized that he offered only faux protection for Karen, because, as we often said, he’d be licking the sweat off the butt of the rapist as Karen was violated. Happily, it never came to that. And, as I said, he was a good worker, not as brilliant as Lyric or Arthur, Karen’s third dog, but more than adequate.

Vinnie was the darling of the court system, loving and loved by all. If the court wasn’t comfortable for him, something was done. For instance, once this wheelchair bound DA brought a monkey into court, allegedly some kind of helper monkey.

It wasn’t, though. This guy, Pete, had a mail order wife from the Orient somewhere, and my guess is the monkey was some kind of bonus that came with the wife. In any event, it wasn’t trained professionally by anyone, it wore a diaper, and, bottom-line, it was a damn monkey!

Pete had been bringing the monkey to court for a few weeks before Karen had a case against him. We walked into court with Vinnie, up to the defense table, when we first saw the monkey. It looked at us and made some sort of angry monkey sound. Vinnie ran full speed to the door before Karen could grab him. He had to get out and get away from the evil monkey! The judge had been apprised of the situation by his clerk, and he came out and banned the monkey from his courtroom forever more. He wasn’t going to let his buddy, Vinnie, be upset at his job.

Karen and I never vacationed. We were always either too broke or too busy, and when we weren’t we had between 8 and 10 pets. (By the way, when a Seeing Eye dog retires, like Lyric, they just stop working. They aren’t sent away. Lyric quit work when she was about 10 and lived to be just short of 16). But, finally, we arranged to get away for four days. Being the sort of people we were, we naturally chose to go to Disneyland!

We walked into the Magic Kingdom, and Vinnie was like a kid. His tail wouldn’t stop wagging and his eyes were shining. Vinnie thought it was the greatest place he ever saw! Everything was clean and pretty, there were lots of kids and the air smelled like vanilla. I don’t think I ever saw a happier guy. He was strutting like a Clydesdale when we were walking, and when we weren’t, he was just taking it all in, amazed that such a wonderland could exist.

We saw costumed characters and Vinnie loved them! He “got” it. I’m pretty sure Lyric would have been very upset by a man sized rodent, but it was all so good to Vinnie’s way of thinking. I think he even especially liked the minty lukewarm water that comes out of the fountains in the Magic Kingdom. He was ready to live there.

When we went on rides, one of the lovely, clean-cut, Disney employees would hold Vinnie on the dock, or whatever, and when the ride was over, Vinnie was thrilled to see us again, but he’d also made a new best friend for life with the kid holding him. Incidentally, a Seeing Eye dog is as good as a wheelchair for cutting lines. I can’t remember how many times we rode Space Mountain (which, I’ve determined, is the only part of Disneyland cool enough for grownups looking for kicks). What I can remember is how many times we went on Pirates of the Caribbean. Just once.

When we got to the point where you get on the boat for Pirates, the apple-cheeked teenage girl boarding us said, “Oh, take him with you. We have lots of guide dogs and they love going on this ride!” That sounded reasonable. I knew it wasn’t fast or anything, and that there was plenty of room for him. So the three of us boarded the craft.

The boat beginning to move was fine. Vinnie was full of enthusiasm. Then we entered the tunnel, or whatever, where the ride proper begins.

Here’s the thing. A lot of dogs, apparently, just don’t understand the concept of animatronics. As soon as Vinnie say the pirates, saying, “Arrrgh,” and shooting guns and cannons, he totally lost it. He began freaking out and desperately trying to jump out of the boat to swim to safety. It took both of us to hold him down and keep him in the boat. He was looking around, frantically, at pirates chasing wenches, and wearing parrots, or whatever the hell pirates do, and he couldn’t have been more terrified. We were under direct attack by cannons and pistols, weaponless, and maybe Karen and I were OK with this state of affairs, but Vinnie really wanted to save himself! After all, how could he be any good to mom if he was killed by pirates? I ask you?

Thankfully the ride eventually came to an end, and we took the very shaken boy back to the hotel. We were both pretty scratched up from his nails. Karen just held on to my arm for that walk, and held Vinnie on a regular leash. He was way too devastated to work, and, we feared, maybe too traumatized to ever work again.

It turned out that he indeed could still work, fortunately. But that night, I observed, for the first time ever, Vinnie having a nightmare, frantically moving his paws, his eyes almost REMing out of his head. I know it was about the pirates. We’d had Vinnie for at least five years by then, and I’d never seen him have a bad dream before. For the rest of his life, he had occasional nightmares, and we always felt guilty for exposing him to the horror he could never have imagined on his own. But we’d only been trying to broaden his horizons. It wasn’t our fault. It was that little bitch at the Pirates ride.

So, the moral of this story is, dogs don’t fully comprehend what’s meant to be amusing about amusement parks, and if anyone ever tells you that guide dogs like Pirates of the Caribbean, you tell them for me they’re a damn liar.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
http://www.scottsdaledogman.com/
http://www.scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/
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