Tag Archives: dogs

“S.C.out of there”

Unusually I am starting the week not in crisis. By this statement I know I am probably doing the proverbial, ‘Tempting fate.’ However, all is quiet on the home front. Then my dad arrives in the company of our lovely, working Cocker Spaniel, Scout. Scout is a girl! She is named after the central character in the American classic ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, something I repeatedly have to explain to people who failed to have studied it at school, or who do not have a father who has it as one of his favourite books.

Dad and Scout arrived after a walk at Rudyard Lake, where dad had allowed her to explore the lake through a ‘good paddle’. Thus allowed her to acquire a considerable amount of sediment in her paws and fringes, most of which was deposited on my living room floor. My dad dutifully got the hoover out, which triggered a mammoth barking session and attempts to exact dominance over this noisy, electrical device from Scout.

Dad cleaned the area where the dirt had been deposited, leaving a ery clean patch in the middle of my floor. His OCD kicked in and he began hoovering and dusting the rest of the room so it would look eq

ually clean throughout. I did point out my cleaner was coming the next day and would have nothing to do, but to no avail.

Having a dog in our lives has proved to be a revelation, technically

Scout is our 2nd ever, family pet. Cassie, her predecessor and a Westie, was a different temperament altogether, not particularly into exploring in fact she once got lost when she squeezed under the garden fence and my mum found her in the neighbour’s garden waiting for someone to find her. It did not seem to occur to her that she could walk to the front of the house. Her single great motivator was food and the company of my nan, who she stayed with in the day while we were all at work or college. She had the acquisition of food down to a fine art. When my nan would go to visit her stepmother in respite care she would take Cassie to visit with ‘the oldies’ who would furnish her with Kitkats and other forbidden treats. Such was the mark this made on her that when walking past the home and not visiting she would attempt to drag her human companion into the entrance. Similarly, the owners of the local oatcake shop used to give her a sausage and this meant that she would refuse to go past the shop until she had received said sausage. She was my post-orthopaedic surgery present, the good effects of which lasted longer than the surgery’s, i.e. I benefited more from having her than from having the surgery itself. She wasn’t what you would call intrinsically loving, she would just flap her ears up and down to show she was pleased to see you, but she was funny to have around.

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Scout is a different personality altogether and, I have to say, she is never more than two feet away from you. I think her middle name should be Shadow. She likes to get her nose into everything, followed thereafter by her paws and then her mouth, this is quite sweet until you find her having a discreet little nibble of your left front wheel, or running off with a pair of your socks. Phone conversations with my Dad have now become punctuated by “Scout get down” or “Scout get out of there”. I commented to my Dad that she was very aptly named having ‘out’ in her name. Some of my friends have said I should train her to be an assistive dog. I thought this sounded like a good idea and in the book I bought I was heartened to see that a spaniel was featured. I sat her on my knee and pointed at the picture. I don’t think there a spark of mutual recognition. In this book it talks about dogs loading the washing machine with clothes, the closest we have come thus far (with the possible exception of the day she made me late for art by pulling my trousers off when I was trying to put them on) was when she stole my new, relatively expensive top off the radiator and proceeded to chew it and mop the floor. Not the kind of help I had in mind. Unbelievably my new top came out relatively unscathed.

I have discovered there is nothing like the companionship, fun and love you get from a dog. Scout is a positive force for healing in the wake of bereavement. She is my Dad’s new companion in daily activity, with an endless love of walking, boundless energy and inquisitiveness. On Monday I found her in my kitchen with a pen in her mouth, looking like I do when I am thinking what to write next. I think she is getting to know us both very well indeed!

Irony and Assistance 

I have always said that as a dyslexic writer I am proof that God has a sense of irony. I was reminded of this last week when my nephew, Hamish, decided it was time to come into the world, This was on the same day that our family said our final goodbyes to my mum, following a long battle with cancer.  In the same week I received a text message from my dad saying, “I am in hospital. Don’t worry I have had a TIA (transient ischemic attack) and am waiting to see the stroke bloke. I feel as fit as a fiddle now though.”

That text sent about a gallon of ice-water down my spine and into my scull and I felt as though my brain had frozen in some kind of ultimate brain freeze. The past 12 months have been a great life lesson in the different workings of the male and female brain. I cannot for example think of a scenario where my mum would have broken such worrying news via text, then spend the following two hours being incommunicado by any modern means at my disposal. My local hospital is something of a grave yard when it comes to phone signal, so is my brother’s house but we will get to that later.
The TIA has meant that my dad is now unable to drive, to put this in context he lives in a comparatively rural area some 5 miles away from me and just for the record, I cannot drive either. I have not inconsiderable levels of support need, usually serviced by my dad arriving at intervals in his trusty Volvo to clean the house, change my bedding and take the ironing away to be done. The absence of motorised transportation has made life very interesting. My dad, the avid walker and adventurer, has now taken to to donning a rucksack filled with ironing to be done and taking it home.
This time last week we decided that we would go and see our new arrival, train tickets were duly booked as was the necessary boarding assistance for the rail travel. We turned up at our local station where I was greeted warmly. I do rail travel quite a lot and the station staff know me quite well; a definite advantage when travelling with a disability and normally alone. This was going to be a relative treat as I had my own onboard, physically able assistant.
We arrived at my brother’s house to discover that the camping bench he had ordered as an improvised shower seat had failed to arrive. Apparently for some unknown reason it had not yet despatched though we were assured that it would definitely arrive the next day. I could not get irate about the absence as I was too excited to meet Hamish.
When I met him, he was perfect. After this we went back to my brother’s newly finished house, a converted water-mill. Bedrooms were on the 2nd floor, the ground floor accessible rooms still have work to be completed so it was down to being carried up and down stairs by my younger sibling. I made him go a bit red in the face, so reverted to the soft-bum shuffle ably assisted by Pumba, the family Springer Spaniel. When I was at the bottom of the stairs I discovered that I had no mobile phone signal in order summon assistance to bring my wheelchair downstairs. Shouting was pointless as my father is hard of hearing. I hit on what I thought was a splendid idea and told Pumba to, “Go and fetch Grandad.” She dutifully obeyed. However, Grandad didn’t take the cue and thought Pumba had just come to play.
This led me to think about assistance dogs, and whether it was time for me to have one. I realised how useful it would be and it was comforting that Pumba would not leave me alone and sat by me until my dad finally came. Very reassuring. I began thinking about this instinctive bond between man and canine and discovered the idea of using dogs in this manner wasn’t new. The most well known use is as guide dogs for blind people which was first tried in Paris in 1780 when Josef Riesinger trained his Spitz to guide him. Johann Klein, from the Bling Institute in Vienna, mentioned guide dogs in his books of 1819 and the first guide dog school was opened in Oldenburg, Germany in 1916 to train dogs to assist war veterans.

Pumba providing encuragemeant half way down
I have one friend with a Canine Partners’ Dog. Canine Partners are a charity that provide assistance dogs for people with disabilities. Faye has found Odile a massive positive in her life, giving her confidence,companionship and physical assistance with tasks like getting the TV remote.

Faye and Odile
From my point of view I have always found dogs to be far more perceptive than humans, seeming instinctively to know when you are sad, distressed or happy; they are not self-conscious and will quite naturally come up to you and nuzzle you as if to say, “I am here, you are not alone.”