Buddy System

By A.D. Fitzsimons

Buddy System is a humorous, in depth account of my transition from using a cane to learning how to operate a guide dog. It all began when my mobility instructor, (who taught me how to use a white stick) asked me if I ever considered getting a guide dog. I knew of them but I thought it might more of a responsibility than I was capable of, just the same I underwent an evaluation by a professional trainer. He told me I was a good candidate so I went ahead and applied to two California schools, one in San Raphael and the other in Palm Springs. Secretly I'd hoped to go to the most glamorous setting in the desert, and when this happened I took it as an omen that was meant to be.

Buddy System is a humorous, in depth account of my transition from using a cane to learning how to operate a guide dog. It all began when my mobility instructor, (who taught me how to use a white stick) asked me if I ever considered getting a guide dog. I knew of them but I thought it might be more of a responsibility than I was capable of, however, I underwent an evaluation by a professional.

After a few days of orientation the real work began a leash was handed to me, at the other end was a seventy-two pound alpha male yellow lab named, "Buddy." He was a driven dog and I was a wary handler but we managed to reach a working relationship. We had the fundamentals down by the time we returned to Oregon. From that point on it was a matter of refining our "teamwork."

The first part of the book covers the joining of human and canine and how we were converted into a six legged machine. The second half recounts all of our adventures together locally, then nationally. The book is the same, as we were as a team fast paced and colorful, sometimes unintentionally so.

Buddy was a force of nature who challenged me to keep up and through trust, trial and error I did. He inspired me and gave me back my freedom, so I wanted to tell our story from an awkward start to a triumphant end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.D. Fitzsimons
• Release date: Jul 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311067289

A.D. Fitzsimons

A fiery car wreck was my life changing event. I lost my eyesight and hard to start over learning how to live a different way. The major breakthrough then was getting my guide dog Buddy. He challenged me to be more than I was and I accepted challenged. The book "Buddy System" describes how this happened. It's both insightful and inspirational and proves that guide dog, is man's best friend.

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BUDDY SYSTEM

A Behind-the-Scenes Tell-All Exposé

About a Guide Dog

And His Blind Handler, Unauthorized by the Dog.

By

A.D. Fitzsimons

Copyright 2014 A.D. Fitzsimons

Published by A.D. Fitzsimons at Smashwords

This book is available at most online retailers.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – School Days

Chapter 2 – Week Two

Chapter 3 – Week Three

Chapter 4 – Week Four

Chapter 5 – Back Home

Chapter 6 – The Fine Art of Travel

Chapter 7 – Olympians

Chapter 8 – Domestic Bliss

Chapter 9 – Hot Diggity Dog

Chapter 10 – White Christmas

Chapter 11 – The First Move

Chapter 12 – Canine Trekking

Chapter 13 – The Second Move

Chapter 14 – Date Capital

Chapter 15 – Walkathon One

Chapter 16 – Monique and Trick-or-Treat

Chapter 17 – Walkathon Two

Chapter 18 – Walkathon Three

Chapter 19 – More Guide Dog Incidents

Chapter 20 – Edible Treats

Chapter 21 – Viva Las Vegas

Chapter 22 – Walkathon Four

Chapter 23 – Eat Flap Incident

Chapter 24 – Canines and Cars

Chapter 25 –Two Veterans

Chapter 26 – Walt’s World

Chapter 27 – The Golden Years

Chapter 28 – The Last Circuit

Chapter 29 – Surgery

Chapter 30 – Our Last Big Adventure

Chapter 31 – Reveille

Epilogue

Acknowledgement

PROLOGUE

MARCH, 1987 – CANE VS. CANINE

A new set of 75-pound eyes, the puzzled flight attendant repeated. Enjoying her confusion, I added, Could weigh up to 90 pounds from what I’ve heard--depends on the person and size, of course. Then seeing no need to prolong the suspense, I explained I’m on my way to Palm Springs to go to guide dog school there--to get a dog to help me around, you know?

Oh. It didn’t have the same meaning for her as it did for me, I realized, as she was summoned away to help some other member of the flight crew.

But it was a big step; a commitment. I didn’t know that four weeks later my inanimate companion for the last year and a half, a white cane, would become an obsolete object of disdain that I never intended to use again. Folded up and tucked under my seat in Coach Class, its days of usefulness were numbered.

It hadn’t always been that way. In practical terms, a cane requires no feeding or trips outside to go to the bathroom. In its simplicity it did exactly what it was designed to do, but it didn’t do any more than that.

Deep down, I had some conflicted feelings about it. It was a trademark of the blind. You groped with it like an antenna tapping the ground, and now if everything went well, I was going to have something alive leading the way. We would see--no pun intended.

CHAPTER 1 - SCHOOL DAYS

Are you Alan? I’m Joe, here from the guide dog school.

I reached out and after a firm handshake, asked, Where are you from originally?

Long Island, New York. How many suitcases did you bring?

Just one.

I slid my hand inside his crooked right elbow, which he had waiting for me, and we moved sighted guide through the airport.

Conversationally I asked, How many are going to be in this class?

One of the selling points of Guide Dogs of the Desert was that the student/instructor ratio wasn’t as lopsided as other schools--smaller groups meant more time with their guide dog teachers.

Three. Here, we’re at the luggage carousel. Have a seat while I go get your suitcase. What color is it? Brown, I replied, handing him the claim check. I reached a hand down, oriented myself to the padded chair, and sat.

No celebrities yet. This was Palm Springs. I thought I would be bumping into them all over the place.

As I waited, I had the sensation of actually being there. It was stimulating and a little scary. It was real. I was there at the airport. No room for getting homesick now. The process had begun.

Got it, Joe announced. Just this one, right?

That’s it, I confirmed. I rose to my feet and put my left hand back inside his bent right arm. In my jacket pocket the forgotten, folded up cane.

He reached the door and pulled it open.

I asked, How long have you been training dogs?

Awhile now, he replied in his east coast laconic way. As if he realized how blunt he sounded, he added, I used to be in the Air Force, and I worked with a guard dog; a German Shepherd. I went on to work at another guide dog school before I came here.

From guard dogs to guide dogs, I quipped.

Hold on for a second, I’m going to let this car go. It’s clear now.

I stepped off the curb, breathed in the air, and felt the sun. It was hard to rein in my excitement about being there. That was why I was acting that way. I needed to stay in the moment and observe.

We’ve got a van here. He opened the door. I felt around, found the jamb, climbed in and reached for the seat belt.

Joe opened the sliding door on the side, placed the suitcase in, threw it shut and came around to the driver’s side.

Another plane roared away. I asked, How far is it to the school?

A ways.

So it’s not actually in Palm Springs?

It’s just up Hwy. 10 here. Not far though.

In the early stages, I think I wanted some acknowledgement that he was happy for me, and was as uplifted to be there as I was. But he’d done this before, and I hadn’t.

We slid out onto the freeway and settled into a cruising speed.

How warm will it get down here at this time of the year? I hear it gets pretty hot.

Not as hot as it gets in the summer.

How hot does it get then?

110; sometimes higher.

I was impressed. I had never been to a place before where the temperatures reached that level. In a perverse way, my exotic expectations were being fulfilled.

Do you have classes during the hottest time of the year?

No. There will be one more after this one, and then we won’t start again until fall when it cools down.

I could tell we were going up an incline. A gust of wind hit the van from the side.

What do you do in the summer when you don’t have classes?

Work with the dogs. We do that year round. During the real heat, we go out in the morning when it’s cool; work with them then.

How much training do the dogs actually get?

You’ll hear all about it when we have the orientation class. Then Joe relented a little. The puppy raisers have them for the first year. They get obedience and socialization skills. Then they’re brought in for tests.

What kind?

You ask a lot of questions, you know that? he said, without the least bit of malice. We fire off a starter’s pistol. If the dog gets scared, that’s okay. But if he stays scared, he’s washed out.

The dog is?

You don’t want a guide dog that’s scared when a car backfires or is thrown off by other loud noises.

I guess not, I allowed.

Then their temperament. They can’t be too timid or aggressive.

That makes sense.

The guy who’s going to be your roommate, Bill, was in the last class. He had this Golden Retriever; donated to the school. The fourth week we were driving into Palm Springs. He told the dog, ‘Down.’ It growled at him. That big Golden Retriever’s next stop was the Humane Society.

I could hear a little regret in his voice as if he had personally vouched for the dog, and it had let him down. Evidently, growling at your teammate is a no-no.

The van veered slowly down to the right, then braked and took a hard left. We stopped. By the speed and spacing of the traffic going past in front of us, I guessed we were crossing the freeway. We did and went down a couple of blocks, hung a left, went up a steep hill and stopped. We were there.

To head off any further questions, or at least to allay my doubts, Joe stated, We’ve got a good dog for you. A good dog.

The school was far removed from the glamour of Palm Springs--located up on a hill, at a place called Windy Point. There was the main building, which contained rooms, two for students to live in, which had a large bathroom and shower. There was a small kitchen with a little bar, and a large main room that contained a lounge. The channels on the television, which had fallen over in the last earthquake, could only be changed with pliers. Some of the luxuriousness was starting to wear off.

Since I’d never done this before, I had nothing to compare it to; while it seemed pretty minimal, I was still an optimist. Until they came out with mail order guide dogs, where you just received a large box which you opened to find a harnessed and trained guide inside, along with a book of operating instructions in Braille, this was the way it had to happen. You had to go somewhere.

So you’ve been here before--I mean before this last time with the Golden Retriever that growled at you?

I could have taken that dog home and worked with him. It wasn’t that big a deal; just a little ‘grrrr’, down in the throat. Maybe he heard something, Bill exclaimed.

Bill and I sat on our respective beds in the room we had been assigned. I reached over and fingered the ring bolted into the wall. Do you think it will be more than three days before we meet our dogs? It could be less than that, couldn’t it?

How many dogs have you had?

We went on to compare our experiences--mine with a cane, his with a canine. Some of what he told me was a little unsettling. He’d had one good dog. Another he had retired early with health problems. And then there was the German Shepherd. He was out on a leisurely walk with his young daughter strapped to his back in a papoose, just another routine route, when his Rin Tin Tin clone suddenly bolted after a cat. Bill and his daughter were dragged across somebody’s lawn, breaking his arm. Alarmed, I hoped he was exaggerating. This was more information than a rookie needed to know.

Again I patted my hand down the wall to the ring, put my finger inside, and tugged. We hook them to this? Aren’t they tame?

It takes a while for them to get used to you being their master. After all, they’ve been with puppy raisers and their trainers. They don’t know who owns them. Plus, some of them have been out in that kennel forever.

I flashed on a picture of institutionalized inmates in a prison; a little on the wild side when they get out. It dawned on me that I had a simplistic notion about quietly noble, disciplined creatures. I gave the ring one more hard tug. I guessed it would hold.

The assistant trainer, Patrice, announced the arrival of the third member of our group, a young lady, named Angela, from Los Angeles. That meant we were all there and ready to start.

The next morning we got right into it. It began with mundane lectures, followed by how to put on a choke chain. How many ways could you put it on? Two? All right, all right. I’d go with the flow.

The lectures were informative. I got a chance to ask questions, and found out the average working life expectancy of a guide dog was ten years. Dogs in cities wore out faster than dogs in less hectic environments. Fewer decisions made for less stress.

If you were right-handed, the dog was trained to travel on your left. I had some cane hangover issues, I guess. If you used your strong hand to hold a cane, which I couldn’t, then why wouldn’t that transfer over to guide dogs?

When I asked Joe, he replied, You use your left hand to work with the dog, and keep your right hand free to carry things.

We do some specialty dogs for people that have no left arm but you don’t need to worry about that. But I did.

If your right hand was your strong hand, wouldn’t that be better to control the dog with?

If you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t come down to strength, Joe replied. I could hear in his voice that he was refraining from asking, Why all the questions? Are you going to write a book?

We were kept busy learning obedience. The key to keeping a dog sharp was repetition and consistency--doing everything the same way every time--so there were no surprises.

Gripping the chest strap of the harnesses, the instructors walked backward with us, while we held the handles and pretended there were dogs on the other end. We learned the verbal commands and what physical accents went with them, and how to plant the left foot to stop, reinforced by speaking Halt. It was all very precise and basic, and I understood that you had to do ground hopping before you did your solo flight. But still, another human being walking around backward, acting as if they were a dog, seemed so artificial and lacked gratification.

I also tried to pay attention to what Bill was doing since he was a veteran. He very calmly gave his commands. Would a dog listen to someone who is so low-key? I had been sharply barking mine, being more authoritative. You had to get the dog’s attention, right?

In my anticipation to meet my guide, I’d had a kind of emotional, forward lean. So when we were told, on the third morning, that we would be meeting our dogs, it was almost an anti-climax--except it wasn’t. We had to wait in our rooms, on our beds next to the tie-down ring, while our canines were brought to us.

It was a casual presentation ceremony, yet it had the feel of one of those few events in a lifetime--maybe what a groom feels when the bride comes down the aisle, or receiving a Super Bowl ring, or finding a dollar bill. Down the hall, I could hear a kind of happy panting and the frantic scuffing of paws.

Bill’s dog was brought in by Patrice. This is Mona.

Then Joe brought in my panting Yellow Lab, handed me the leash, and introduced, Here’s Buddy. I immediately reached out and patted him while the instructors stood back.

There was a dog on the other end of the leash all right. I could feel him turn and look quizzically after the person who had been training him the last few months. As Joe went out the door, I reached out with curious fingers; sized up my Labrador. He was tall with extremely fine, soft fur--a large lean chest, no ribs showing, and shoulders that bulged as if he’d been lifting weights on the bench press. This wasn’t just a dog, but a muscular athlete.

He was also distracted and whining a little; not quite sure of the new situation into which he’d been delivered. I patted and talked to him; stroked and reassured. He whined less, and then stopped.

After the initial introduction, we were supposed to put them on tie-down. I had the two-foot length of cable snapped into the wall ring, so I brought Buddy over, located the circle on the end of his choke chain, with my thumb opened the spring-loaded pin on the tie-down, slid it through the ring, and let it snap shut.

Over at his bed, Bill had done the same. He spoke in soft, soothing tones to Mona. So I did the same with Buddy. He tolerated it, but still wasn’t sure what was up. Within ten minutes, Bill put his dog back on the leash and, coaxing her, he went out into the hall for a little