Crackers... Come Hear

By Dennis Robertson

Crackers is Lancashire Heeler and a professionally trained Hearing Assist Dog who bounces in to Dennis' quiet world of living with a profound hearing loss. Through Crackers, Dennis soon learns to respond to a knock at the door, a boiling kettle, a smoke alarm and other sounds that control the lives of everyone. Crackers has limitless energy for his job as well as for all things that dogs do within their natural lives. Sounds never cease in the hearing world so Crackers is available day and nit to warn Dennis of emergencies or dangers.
Crackers...Come Here reveals the adventure, love and heartwarming mishaps over their fourteen years together. The Reader will laugh, cry and experience with this enriched transformation for Dennis as he learns to live with his disability through the help and dedication of this marvelous little dog.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Robertson
• Release date: Jun 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513011400

Book preview

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dennis Robertson is a great-grandfather with eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Kamloops is home to all twenty family members forming a very close family bond. Dennis was inspired to tell his story about his relationship with a Hearing Assist Dog after it grew to become a true love between a man and a dog. For over fourteen years, Crackers helped Dennis with his profound hearing loss to cope within the hearing world.

Dennis enjoys  the outdoors  as  a hunter,  trapper and  make-believe cowboy. He and his wife, Win, own the 5R Ranch situated in the hills a short distance from Kamloops. The family no longer have cattle on the 160 acres, but they continue to enjoy the solitude and peacefulness of the ranch.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

From the beginning of my life with Crackers, many people told me that I should write a book about our experiences together as a Hearing Assist Dog team. I planned to work on that suggestion one day, but the day never came until after Crackers died. Writing our story was a healing experience which helped to ease my pain of losing a wonderful helper and friend.

Crackers... Come Hear would not have been written without the encouragement and support of my wife, Win and our entire family. They tolerated my fixation and mood changes that came with months of research, corrections and revisions. I was single-minded for most of the last year while writing the final changes to be made in preparation for the book to be published. My wish is that when they read the story they will feel the love I have for them and Crackers as it emerges from the pages.

A great deal of inspiration came from the Interior Authors Group, most particularly, Dana Ramstedt, Wendy Weseen and Tricia Saxby, who critiqued innumerable pages of disjointed short stories to develop a smoother flow in the storyline. I sincerely thank them for sacrificing many Sunday afternoons to read and talk about Crackers with me. . . over and over again.

Thank you to Alice Dalton, my friend and editor, who dedicated many hours editing the book with enthusiasm and professionalism. Her help to prepare the book for publication was done while always remembering to keep my voice throughout the story.

Finally, I thank the people and organizations who allowed me to involve them in our adventures, giving the book a personal touch by showing the story is about real people and real experiences.

OOPS

The boys were rowdy but a friendly bunch, We, as buddies, often went out for a lunch.

It was usual to chat and jibe, and just have fun,

With jokes about someone absent; the poor son-of-a-gun. This day the conversation was about our friend Don, Who wasn’t there, it seems he had gone.

Gone to somewhere that I did not hear,

Then the talk turned suddenly really quite queer.

Poor Don’s had it. You know he got buried yesterday? Bob said with merriment and strangely most gay.

I thought this crude and not respectful,

So I told the bunch, You’re really quite dreadful. They gazed at me with wide open eyes,

And said, "We’re always happy for one of the guys, Who goes off with a party, and being so bold,

To a bed with love, where he’ll never be cold."

These guys were beasts about Don being dead and gone, I had to intervene into their sadistic carrying on.

The bunch of you are terrible. I hastily said, To talk that way when Don is buried and dead . "DEAD? Buried?, they all burst out to say,  He was happily married. . . just yesterday."

Oh goodness, how my face turned rosy and red, "It was buried, I thought you actually said."

A pause, a snicker, followed by laughs, and then, You need new hearing aids our old boy Den. Don was safe and happy in his new married life, And I got new aids with the cash from my wife.

Married?

SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?

Trouble with my ears began in about 1943 when I was three to four years old while living in Vancouver. Frequently, I suffered with excruciating ear aches which my mother treated by tying hot salt packs to each side of my head, covering my ears.

Eventually, we moved to nearby Burnaby where I began my schooling. I always selected a desk near the front because it was easier to see and hear the teacher. I did not realize that I also stood close to people when they talked and really did not like listening to the radio, although I would never miss an episode of the Lone Ranger or Superman. These unconscious, subtle adjustments to my slowly deteriorating hearing helped me to gradually learn primitive lip and speech-reading skills by watching a speaking person’s complete face and body language. Through my various comprehensive faking techniques I survived in the hearing world. Answering Yes to most questions usually worked well. However, when I received a responding frown to my agreeing nod, a quick Oh, Im sorry, I meant, No," would cover my mistake nicely.

I married Win in 1961 and immediately we began to raise a family. We had a daughter, Sheila, and a son, Cory. Six years later, we moved to Prince George, B.C. where our second son, Tyler, was born and I became a successful branch manager for a national heavy equipment dealer. The company sold and repaired fork lift trucks, mobile cranes, excavators, front end loaders and various other large machines. We were suppliers to the mining, construction and forest industries which resulted in good profits for the company. . . most of the time. Even so, there were some years when losses were embarrassing and the red ink would glare out from the profit and loss statement like a red hot poker. The job was an exciting with a high level of stress and I loved it.

It seemed natural for us to get something to make us feel like we fit in with the North. A Saint Bernard puppy filled our need, whom we named Krista for a reason I have since forgotten. She grew into a beautiful pet who would allow the children to ride her and romp around our big back yard for hours. Always gentle and always a lady. . . except on January 13, 1970. Cory’s fifth birthday party. This was the day that Krista balked. A stubborn Saint Bernard is not easy to move and requires many doggy treats to make any progress. She loathed having to wear a leather harness and being hooked to my prized Klondike dog sled I had built especially for her. However, eventually we were ready and the sleigh was filled with three boisterous

little boys for Krista to tow along the road in front of our house. Mush! Mush! I yelled, but she would only move if I ran along side of her. . . step for step. Something had definitely gone wrong with my original training of her to be a sled dog. Our antics gave the neighbours a laugh as they peered over the high snow banks to see me and a huge frosty dog steaming down the roadway with boys yelling and waving from under blankets on the sleigh. It became an annual fun-filled affair for everyone, except for me and Krista. Although the rides were short and we were only outside for about half an hour Cory’s birthday parties gave us wonderful memories of the cold winter days in Prince George.

Krista waiting to give Cory a ride through the neighbourhood.

Being a machinery person I needed to fit in with the north in a more mechanical way so I obtained my private pilot’s licence. Flying allowed me to make quick trips throughout the company’s extensive coverage area to give me a chance to meet our customers regularly.

In 1977, the company transferred me and my family, including Krista, to Kamloops in the southern interior of the province to open a new operation. During this relocation I piloted many trips between the two branches. I often found that the Kamloops radio tower reception to be scrambled and needed the controller to repeat the instructions. I assumed it was due to my fatigue and unfamiliar tower personnel. I thought I would get used to the new environment, but a surprise awaited me.

After the new branch was finally open and running smoothly, I planned a short out-of-town business trip for a few days to introduce myself and the new branch to the area customers. I left instructions for the staff to delay sending the month-end reports to head office until I returned. It was

important that I review the financial statements to prepare myself for any queries that may arise from the head office accountants after they received the reports. The trip was a success and I returned to the office in good humour. I immediately called for a quick meeting with the staff to review the happenings during my absence. Everyone had done their job well and I was very pleased until one fellow stated, Oh by the way, we did send the month end reports to head office as you said. I was furious. How could they have done exactly opposite to what I had requested? After a few minutes of venting and raving about their inattentiveness another older man quietly said, But Dennis, he said we DIDN’T send the reports. I bought the whole group lunch that day.

This was a very important day in my life because it was the day that I acknowledged my hearing loss and came out from under my cover of denial. During lunch, I revealed to all the staff that I was losing my hearing and this was why I misread the word didn’t for did. It had been difficult for me to identify the subtle n’t mouth shape when I relied on lip-reading to fill in the gaps between the spoken and hearing word. Consequently, from then on we tried to eliminate contractions from our conversations and the word not was put back into our vocabulary. Everything went much better afterwards and I was greatly relieved that everyone was aware that I was very hard of hearing.

My staff were wonderful. They quickly learned to get my attention when they wanted to talk to me and to face me directly to help me read their words. We arranged our meeting tables and chairs into a semi-circular shape so we could see each person’s face during our discussions. I took the chair in front of the window enabling me to see everyone’s face clearly because there were no shadows created from outdoor backlighting. The sunlight was in their faces but I could read everyone’s lips and gestures with ease. These simple ideas and changes helped me tremendously.

Now it was my turn to help myself if I wished to continue with my career. I made an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist who immediately identified the problem as Otosclerosis, which is a disease of the middle ear. The tiny auditory ossicle bones, which normally vibrate with sound, were being constricted by surrounding bone growth which encapsulated them. The area needed to be surgically modified.

I can do surgery to possibly improve your hearing Mr. Robertson, the doctor began. It is called a stapedectomy procedure. I will replace your inner ear bones with a wire-like system and this often restores much of the patients hearing loss. Would you like to think about this option for awhile?

Without hesitation I replied, No Doctor. I don’t have to think about it. I believe we should go ahead with the surgery. I really need to hear better. My job depends on it.

However, Mr. Robertson, the doctor continued, "this surgery will

mean that you will have to give up flying small airplanes."

There was the catch. He explained that after the surgery I would never again be allowed to pilot a small un-pressurized aircraft due to the possibility of extreme vertigo if the new prosthetics should fail. Increased air or water pressure could cause such a failure and the resulting dizziness would be horrendous. I loved my flying and I was good at it. The thought of not flying as a pilot tore at my emotions, but mostly my ego. Giving up something that gave me such a grand feeling of freedom and control would be extremely difficult. However, my livelihood and family were much more important to me. I would go ahead with the surgery.

I now realized that it was not the Kamloops air traffic controllers or the airports poor radio system that made it difficult for me to understand transmitted instructions. It was my hearing loss. Legally it was easy for me to relinquish my flying privileges because I was due for a pilot’s medical exam before my scheduled ear surgery so I simply did not make an appointment with the approved examining doctor. Without a current medical approval I could no longer fly an airplane.

I still have my licence, number VRP16595 with its endorsements, but it is only valid to fly me back to remember those wonderful days in my life when I soared with the eagles.

Within a few weeks, I was in the Kamloops’ Regional Hospital surgical room under a local anesthetic. During a relatively short time the surgeon installed prosthetic materials to replace the miniature hammer, anvil and stapes bones in my middle ear. The stapedectomy operation was a success. I could hear again. . . SOUND! It was loud and very different. I felt like someone had removed my hands from over my ears. For over seven years, this procedure gave me a new life. Then gradually people seemed to mumble more when they talked and the television was never loud enough for me. The days of did and didn’t were returning. I needed to get help once again. Hearing aids gave me another reprieve and I kept my job with the help and understanding from my friends and co-workers who freely adjusted their ways to help me hear. My family took great interest in making my life easier with my hearing loss. I attended an advanced speech-reading class and then plunged head first into an eight week American Sign Language (ASL) course. I had a difficult time learning this beautiful language of gestures because the only opportunity I got to practice was during the class with

other students. No one else in my family or at work knew ASL so I practiced with names from street signs and car licence plate numbers and letters. This exercise in fingerspelling - spelling a word with the ASL individual letters and from signing complete ASL words along with the closed-captioning printed on television helped me to converse in

ASL, but never fluently or with the grace that the language deserves.

One day, my wife Win, and daughter Sheila, noticed an article in the local newspaper about a Hearing Dog thata service club group had trained. They wanted to place the little Schipperke dog with a hard of hearing or deaf person. The girls showed me the story and suggested that I contact the club. I couldn’t understand how a Hearing

Assist Dog could be of any help to me so I didn’t

pursue the idea. But Sheila never gave up on the thought. One day, while visiting in Vancouver,

Universal symbol for deaf

and hard of hearing people

she had an opportunity to see a school-trained Hearing Dog in action and was very impressed.

Returning home she was more committed to persuading me to at least explore the concept. Dad! All I ask is that you get more information about these wonderful assistance dogs. I really feel a dog like this would make you safe with driving and just plain going around in public. They are amazing animals. Pleeease, Dad.

Win had some good thoughts as well. She felt that a hearing alert, trained dog might reduce the stress of my working so hard to hear. "Just think Den, you won’t have to worry about thinking you hear a phone ringing or siren wailing. I worry about smoke alarms when you travel. You would never hear them if there was a fire in your motel. The dog would warn you to all the bell and whistle sounds in your world. Pleeease try one hon."

That did it. I was finally convinced that I should try a dog to find out the benefits and I knew the companionship would be a definite perk. Together, we applied to Canine Companions (CCI) for Independence in Santa Rosa, California for a Hearing Dog. The application form was very detailed and required proof of medical worthiness to show my need of a trained dog. My hearing loss had to be profoundly severe to qualify as a recipient. The application also stated that the dog would always belong to the training school. Their ownership  was to ensure that the dog  and recipient, or team partners, as they were called, represented the guiding dog culture professionally at all times. The forms also explained that the team would

be required to pass a public access certificate exam every two years and the partner was to keep the dog healthy, clean and well trained. If the recipient did not fulfill these requirements CCI would reclaim the dog.

The rules were demanding and tough. The working dog schools knew it was imperative to always have the partners maintain the professional public image of all guide animals. The world-wide guide dog program for the blind had obtained their dog public access privilege after many years of dedication and very hard work. Therefore, those working dog teams who follow in their pioneering foot/paw steps must retain these high standards for continued public acceptance. Hearing Dog teams for the deaf and Service Dog partners for the mobility of disabled people must never tarnish this image. All teams must always preserve the honour of being able to go wherever any other public person is allowed. This includes all modes of transportation, accommodation and public buildings. A wonderful right to go with a dog wherever and whenever a disabled person desires. The training center accepted my application and I was scheduled to receive my first Hearing Dog from CCI in California.

Little did I know what was waiting ahead for me. My compass of life would swing its needle from north to south the moment I was introduced to Crackers, my new partner, my Hearing Assist Dog.

DID OR DIDN’T

Did I need a dog? A decision; a struggle.  Didn’t I want one to pet and maybe to snuggle? He would hear for me the sounds that I missed, I knew it would help and be of a useful assist.

To somehow tell me about a sound I’d not heard, But a talking dog seemed to be a little absurd.

So much is strange and very bewildering,

My mind is mixed up and often goes wandering. It’s all a trouble and so much of a worry,

And everything is happening in such a great hurry. I need to decide one way or perhaps another.

Why am I confused and feel I will smother? Suffocating with thoughts of every small thing, Maybe the trainer I should telephone ring, Then I could arrange for a demo to give Crackers a chance,

––––––––

Did I get the job?

I feel I didn’t do well.

Because I loved the way he ran with his Terrier-prance. Another talk with Patty may just work things out,

So I can decide for myself without any doubt.

I’m now excited with more energy and walking with pep,

Because I’m almost ready to take that important first step.

HERE COMES THE Hearing Dog.

I should have been excited about the upcoming personal interview to obtain a Hearing Assist Dog but I still wasn’t convinced that I really wanted a dog right then. We had enough stress at the time with my stepfather who was very ill in Vancouver, B.C., a four hour drive from our home in Kamloops. As their only child I needed to visit my mother and stepfather, Jim, as often as possible. At the same time there were upheavals at work with many changes happening and I was not adjusting well to them. Consequently, I was vocally opposed to many of these new ideas and this reluctance to change was not going to help my future within the company.

Amidst  this time of pressure, in February  of 1995, Win  received a telephone call from Patty, the trainer from Canine Companions  for Independence (CCI) in California, to tell us that she was now living in Vancouver. She would be placing all future Hearing Assist Dogs to new Canadian recipients from there. She needed to set up a person-to-person interview with me quickly because she had a Hearing Dog available for immediate placement and could give him to me. CCI felt we could be a good match.

Later, she would tell me that everyone on the selection committee felt we would be a good team because we were both haywire and therefore should become great companions. This proved to be very true.

I knew it could take up to four years to properly match a dog with a recipient because both the dog and the person had to fit. The deaf person’s lifestyle must suit the dog’s energy levels and both personalities needed to be compatible. Sensitive people needed a sensitive dog and vice versa. Knowing this made my decision even more difficult because I still hadn’t convinced myself that I needed the extra burden of learning to live with a Hearing Assist Dog. Patty and I finally agreed that it would be best if I immediately went to Vancouver for my interview. This would allow her to properly introduce me to the selected dog.

In a few days, Win and I arrived at Patty’s beautiful new home in North Vancouver. With one push of the doorbell we were instantly greeted by barking dogs and a lovely young woman in a wheelchair. This had to be Patty and her dogs. Quickly she controlled the dogs while we all went into the living room to get comfortable. I chose an inviting sofa and just got settled when a big, coal-black Labrador dog approached me with purpose in his stride. His thick tail, which only a Lab could own, pumped from side to side. The dark weapon narrowly missed everything around the room, except the wall, which he managed to whack with most of his left-sided swings. He

soon finished his introductory sniffing of me and parked himself on the floor and rested his body against my leg. My hand automatically began petting his smooth, shiny head and I felt I had a new buddy.

His name is Clyde, Dennis, said Patty, "but don’t let him be a pest.

Shoo him away if you don’t want him around any more."

Oh no, Patty. He’s fine. I love big dogs, I replied, while continuing to stroke the top of his head.

Patty questioned us about our lifestyle and activities to make sure that the dog she and CCI had picked for me would fit my needs and whether we would suit his personality. Fortunately she had her hair pulled back and her face was bright, showing a mouth easy to read. She obviously knew the skills required to make it easier for a deaf person to read her lips and body language so I was comfortable with our discussion.

Turning to Win, Patty asked, I notice that you call Dennis, Denny and I was wondering is this your favourite name for him?, and then looking at me continued, or is this the name you prefer Dennis?

Dennis is my proper name but as a young kid everyone called me Denny. Later when I was working, the company printed my business cards using Dennis Robertson and I suddenly became mature, I suppose. My family and close friends still call me Denny. So Patty, you can call me whichever you like and I promise I won’t be late for tea.

We chuckled and then Patty told us that she felt Denny would be a better name for us to use during out training with the dog because family is a major part of our every day life and that is my name with them. It was all going so well with much laughter and it seemed we gave good answers to all her questions. Then she said, Denny, you realize that Clyde is not the dog for you. He is my Service Dog to help me with my mobility and wheelchair. Wow, that set me back.

Patty’s eyes slowly went to the far corner of the room where some kind of little black and tan terrier with huge, bat-like ears was lying prim and proper on his mat. My first thought was, ‘Oh my goodness that poor little fellow really is quite ugly.’ Well, at least odd with those ears perched on top of his head. ‘That can’t be a Hearing Assist Dog.’ I thought, although he definitely had the ears for the job. He was a sturdy animal, that stood about sixteen inches at the shoulders, but he wasn’t the dog for me. I didn’t want that dog. I was used to dogs like Clyde. This puppy would embarrass me if I was seen walking him around town.

My shock must have shown because Patty said, "Denny, you should meet Crackers. He is almost two years old and is a fully trained and certified Hearing Assist Dog. I trained him myself. He’s great with tons of

energy and always gives his job and life a hundred and ten percent of himself. I just love him."

With very little enthusiasm I replied, Oh, I thought I would be getting a large dog, like Clyde. Ah. . . I really need to think about having such a small dog. Trying to salvage my composure I added, But that name Crackers sure is catchy. Suddenly, I recalled the ASL sign for soda cracker and blurted out, "Yeah, and it has a sign in sign language too. That is so cool for a Hearing Dog to have a signed name."

Patty perked up and asked, What’s the sign for crackers then?

Well it’s quite simple. You just bend your left arm up across your chest to the right shoulder with a left handed fist and then with a right handed fist you tap it twice against the elbow of the left bent arm. I think it comes from an old English custom of breaking soda crackers against one’s elbow as a showy way to crumble them into a bowl of soup. I am not sure about its origin but it makes for a good story.

After a few fun practice rounds of Crackers’ signed name I was introduced to the sturdy and very astute Crackers. He was super polite and most obedient to all of Patty’s commands. He sat, stood, laid down so perfectly. She even had him jump on and off the very slippery coffee table like a show dog at her command. He definitely was energetic and fast. Yet it was obvious that we were wasting time because I was not progressing towards making a decision about getting a Hearing Dog. Consequently, I asked, Can we have some more time to think about this whole thing Patty? I’m just not prepared for all of this right now.

She hesitated before saying, Ahh. . . well. . . yes, I suppose I could let you and Win have few days before you let me know. . . I guess. You realize there is a long waiting list for all working dogs and especially Hearing Dogs don’t you?

Yeah, we understand that but I really do need some more time Patty.

She agreed that Win would call her before the end of the week with our decision.

As we drove away, I was disappointed to some degree, yet I was relieved that we didn’t have to make an immediate decision.

As promised, we contacted Patty within a few days and arranged to visit her once more to look at the dog. I had to give him a fair chance before deciding if I wanted him or not.

Seeing the dog again did not excite me very much, although he was