Guide Dogs
Here I am with Handley among my Seeing Eye classmates, their guide dogs and our instructor, Australian Peter Tomlins, January 2001.
Sally Hobart Alexander
Marit
I trained with Marit, my first female German shepherd guide, in October 1978. Marit was my largest (eighty pounds) and most headstrong dog, testing me every minute of our first six weeks together. In the training program and in Pittsburgh, Marit didn’t want to stop at streets. She didn’t give proper clearance and banged my right shoulder, arm, and hip into telephone poles, door jams, and walls. I disciplined her so often for these mistakes that Marit decided to lie down before every entrance, every space that seemed too narrow. Fortunately, she only bashed my right side, not my tummy. Maybe she understood that I was pregnant with Leslie. After two weeks in Pittsburgh, Marit learned to clear enough space for herself and me. Except for her determination to eat cats, she developed into an angelic guide dog. My son Joel was two when Marit joined our family. He was fascinated by Marit’s tall, pointy ears and loved to bite them. Marit yelped, but never snapped or growled at Joel. After Leslie learned to crawl, she often stood on top of Marit to see out a window. Marit bore it with great saintliness. She absolutely thought she was Leslie’s and Joel’s mother.
Marit also saved my life. On the way home one day, Marit suddenly shoved her back side into me, pushing me backwards. Just as I scolded her, I heard a car, charging up the driveway, right at us. I ran into the empty street with Marit, and the car’s rear bumper knocked my back legs, propelling me forward. Marit could have broken away from me and saved herself, but she took time to rescue me, too.
Ursula
Ursula, another female shepherd, possessed Marit’s loving, loyal nature. But where Marit could be aggressive to cats and assertive when any other dog attacked, Ursula was a complete pacifist, some might say a coward. She was terrified of thunder and trembled well before the storm hit and well afterward. After two smelly Afghan hounds attacked her at an intersection one day, she lay on the sidewalk shrieking like a smoke alarm. In her defense, I swung at the dogs and would have swung at the negligent owner, if I could have found him. Fortunately, he came slinking over quietly and pulled his dogs away, but every pedestrian on the sidewalk screamed at him. From then on, Ursula was terrified of dogs, even those half her seventy-pound size. After a year of soothing and desensitizing, she overcame her fear, at least of other dogs.
As angelic as Ursula was, she did have a sneaky mischief about her. All my dogs have stolen food and crept on beds and furniture, slipping off ever so quietly when they hear me coming. I know they’ve misbehaved by the warmth of the mattress or cushion! But Ursula was probably my cleverest canine sneak. One day she chewed the contents of a waste basket, so I scolded her. The next day I couldn’t find her to go out for an errand. I called and called, then thought she’d somehow slipped outside with my kids and their friends—something she’d never done before. Joel and Leslie didn’t know where she was, and they headed out on bikes in search of her. I phoned neighbors and really began to worry. Was she lost? No! When Joel came back, he found her lying in his bedroom beside the same waste basket she’d delved into the day before. I’d stepped into that bedroom and called her, but she hadn't made a peep. She knew I wouldn't find her and scold her again if she kept perfectly quiet .
Handley
Handley, my shrimpiest German shepherd arrived in Pittsburgh, January 2001. Ursula, now retired because of her returning cancer, ran out to greet me, and the two dogs sniffed each other without any regard to good manners. Bob took Ursula for a brief walk while Handley acquainted herself with the house. When Ursula again ran up to me, Handley growled like thunder. Ursula, fifteen pounds heavier, fled from the room. I scolded Handley and coaxed Ursula back, but Handley barked and behaved like a total brat. Within two days, however, Ursula quietly stole Handley’s food, toys, and dog bed. When I put the harness on Handley, Ursula tried to place her own head in the harness instead. I felt so sad, but realized if I walked Ursula first for just a minute or two, Ursula was happy to sleep while Handley worked. Ursula’s health was really slipping. Her nose bled steadily, because of the tumor in her left nostril. I confined her to Bob’s and my bedroom. Once, I realized Ursula had a nose bleed because Handley stood over Ursula, licking her nose.
Handley was so energetic. When out of harness, she seldom walked if she could leap and bolt and blast around the house. At Seeing Eye, she could be very aggressive in play with other dogs, growling, barking, and nipping, if allowed. But with Ursula, she was very gentle. She seemed to understand that her older friend was sick. When Ursula died, Bob and I were grief-stricken. But Handley was worse. She wouldn’t go into the bedroom where she’d spent each evening, keeping Ursula company. She kept jumping up on me, seeming to ask, “Where’s Ursula?”
Ursula has been gone since August, 2001. Handley is used to being the queen of the household. Of all my dogs, she is the most affectionate, always needing to rest up against my leg, always wanting to sit in my lap. Of course, she doesn’t quite fit. Still, she perches there and allows me to pat her. She’s very intense and wants to be in the lead everywhere, first out the door and in the door. If Bob waits for me in front of the house, Handley nearly flies to the car. I have to scold and make her repeat the walk until she guides me safely.
Enthusiasm is both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. She expresses that enthusiasm very vocally and both talks and sings. Sometimes she impersonates a cow, mooing and moaning, especially in the most brilliant parts of my speeches. Finally, she’s very destination-oriented. If I go somewhere once, Handley turns to that door the next time we pass it. I always pat and thank her, then say, “Hup-up,” to make her continue along the route. But Handley often resists leaving, since she’s convinced she knows better than I do where I want to go. We argue, and she complies, against her better judgment.