emma and i - Sheila Hocken Page 4

  other students who had arrived in the meantime. Two of them

  I got to know very well. There was Dotty (Dorothy, officially),

  who was about thirty-four. She had come for her second

  guide-dog. And there was Harry, a man of forty-nine who

  had been blinded during the war. He had come for his

  third guide-dog.

  During the afternoon, Brian began to tell us what to expect

  in the month ahead. He told us how he trained the dogs, and

  how we would be trained to use them. With two people

  present who had already had guide-dogs, I felt a very raw

  recruit, and slightly uneasy. But I need not have. Brian

  explained that even for people who had had a guide-dog

  before, it was necessary to come back to the centre, and

  re-train with their new dog. Techniques of handling were

  constantly being improved, and a dog had to have a month

  with its new owner to transfer its allegiance and affection

  away from the trainer.

  In the evening, Dotty and Harry told me about their

  previous dogs, and it was exciting to hear them. But when the

  time came to go to bed, and I went upstairs to my room, I

  felt very lonely. In the room next to mine, I heard Dorothy's

  radio and decided to knock on her door.

  'It's Sheila, may I come in?'

  'Of course, the chair's behind the door. Sit down.'

  I sat down and tried to make conversation, but Dotty didn't

  seem very communicative. In fact, she sounded rather upset.

  'Would you rather I went?'

  'Oh no, please don't.'

  So I tried to cheer her up. 'Aren't you looking forward to

  getting your new dog? I can't wait to get mine.' At this, to

  my amazement, she burst into tears. 'Oh dear,' I said,

  'whatever's the matter? What have I said?'

  'It's all right,' she sobbed, 'I shall be all right. But I don't

  want another dog.'

  I was utterly at a loss. 'Don't want another dog? I don't

  understand.'

  'Well,' she said, 'you'd understand if you'd left a dog

  behind.' And it emerged that Paddy, her old dog, had had to

  be retired early because of illness, and had gone to friends

  near Dotty's home. 'It's so awful,' she went on, 'to have left

  Paddy behind, and to come for another dog. I feel I've

  betrayed her.'

  I tried to console her. 'But if Paddy couldn't go on working,

  I'm sure she'll be glad to see another dog in her place . .

  'I don't know...'

  'But surely, for your own sake you must try to transfer your

  affection.'

  'Yes. I know you're right. But it's easier said than done. At

  the moment I just don't feel able to love another dog.'

  There was nothing more I could do to help. I said 'Goodnight'

  in as kindly a way as I could.

  Next morning, all the gloom was swept away. At about

  half-past seven I was woken by a great chorus, not far away,

  of barking dogs. It was the sweetest music I had heard for

  years. Which one, I wondered lying there half-awake, is

  going to be mine? Which bark is hers? I hurried through

  breakfast. I wanted to get down to the instruction as soon as

  possible. When we had all assembled in the lounge, we were

  each issued with a white harness for our dogs, and, so we would

  get the hang of using it, there was a life-size plastic model of a

  guide-dog. We called him Fred.

  'Your dogs,' Brian began, 'are used to working with

  experienced sighted trainers. They won't take kindly to you

  blundering round them like blind people, trying to find out

  where to put the harness on. This is where Fred comes in.

  You can practise on him first.'

  After we had all, in turn, found the correct end of Fred,

  Brian continued to instruct us on how to position ourselves

  by the dog: the dog always being on the left. 'These exercises ' '

  Brian went on, 'may seem trivial. But you will be getting a

  fully trained dog. The least you can do is to try to give the

  impression that you are a fully trained owner.'

  Positioned at Fred's side, I was told how to instruct him.

  'Let's pretend you are telling your dog to go forward. Always

  indicate with your right arm which direction you want. This

  will help the dog.' My first effort was unbelievably feeble.

  Brian started laughing. 'Well, if you were going to start off

  in the direction you were pointing you'd be leaping over your

  dog's head. Now have another go. No. Don't stand behind

  him, you'll step on his tail.' And so on. It was as well we had

  Fred to practise on. At least his plastic tail was not sensitive

  to my foot.

  Our next lesson was to learn how to follow the dog. Brian

  played the part of the dog, because Fred had not yet been

  fixed up with wheels. With dummy harness, and Brian in the

  lead, we set out in the grounds of the training centre. It was

  very difficult to follow, and to stop and go when he did.

  I was sure I had two left feet, and by the end of the first day's

  training I was convinced I would never make a guide-dog

  owner. But I was determined to improve and already the feel

  of the harness had come to be important to me.

  In the lounge after breakfast the following day there was

  tremendous expectancy and excitement because we all knew

  we were going to meet our dogs for the first time. Brian gave

  us a final briefing, and then asked us to go back to our rooms.

  'There'll be less distraction there,' he said, 'and you'll get to

  know your dog, and vice versa, with a bit of peace and quiet.'

  I went up to Number Ten-able to find my way now

  unaided. I sat on the edge of the bed waiting, with the door

  open, and with enough time to have a stray, disturbing

  thought: what if my dog doesn't like me? What if she stands

  growling at me? Then I heard Brian's footsteps approaching

  along the corridor, and with them I heard the clicking patter

  of a dog's paws.

  'Here we are, Sheila,' said Brian as he came into the room,

  'here's your dog. She's called Emma, and she's a chocolatecoloured

  Labrador.'

  At the same time I heard a tail swishing the air, and Brian

  leaving, closing the door behind him. 'Emma,' I called.

  Immediately she came bounding across the room, and suddenly

  I was nearly bowled off the bed. Then I was licked all

  over. 'Hello, Emma,' I said, 'hello.' I could hardly believe

  it. She kept licking me, and pushing her cold nose into my

  hands. I knew then we were going to get on together. She

  likes me, I thought. She likes me. I could have danced round

  the room.

  I tried to feel the shape of her head, but she would not stop

  bouncing up and down in front of me, twisting, turning and

  making snuffling noises in my hands. Every now and then I

  got a wet nose in my face. But at last she settled and sat by

  my feet, and I was able to feel what she was like. Her coat was

  very thick and rough, reminding me of a Teddy bear's. She

  was smallish for a Labrador, not fat, but thickset. She had a

  very thick tail, and ears that were as soft as velvet. And sh
e

  was so lively.

  Emma did not give me long to run my hands over her. She

  started to fetch me things. Under the dressing table I kept my

  shoes. She began rushing after them, and bringing them to

  me one by one. The message was quite clear. 'Here I am. I'm

  Emma. I'm your new dog, and this is your gift, a shoe.' I

  could not remember ever being so happy before. And from

  those first few moments of greeting, Emma's affection has

  never wavered. From then on she was never to leave my side,

  and I, in turn, took on the responsibility for her every need.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TRAINING

  MY FIRST WALK with Emma came that afternoon, and it

  was immediately evident why we had to have a month's

  training with the dogs. Although Emma took to me, and we

  got on well together, she would not do a thing I told her. She

  would obey no one but Brian. Attachment and obedience to

  me would clearly come only with training.

  I put Emma's harness on, and we started off down a quiet

  road near the centre. Brian was standing next to us. He gave

  the command to go forward, but before he even got the

  -ward' bit out we were off, several miles down the road it

  seemed, and I was galloping along, hanging on grimly to the

  harness.

  'I'll never keep this up,' I managed to gasp.

  'Oh, you'll soon get used to it,' said Brian. 'You'll get

  fitter as you go along. The trouble is you've been accustomed

  to walking so slowly.'

  A guide-dog's pace apparently averages about four miles

  an hour. This compares with an ordinary sighted person's

  two to three miles an hour. So what kind of speed I used to

  achieve before, I have no idea, but it was obviously not

  competitive even with that of the snail population. At last I

  began to settle down to the fast rhythm, and wasjust beginning

  to think I might enjoy it after all, when, without any warning

  whatsoever, Emma stopped. I was off the pavement before I

  could pull up. Emma had sat down on the kerb, and I heard

  Brian laughing.

  'Don't go without your dog, that's Lesson Number One,'

  Brian said. 'If you go sailing on when she stops at the kerb,

  you'll get run over. She stops, you stop.'

  'Well, I didn't know she was going to stop, did I? And you

  didn't tell me.'

  'No, you're right. But you've got to learn to follow your

  dog.'

  Brian was about twenty-eight at the time, very pleasant

  and with a great sense of humour. I imagined him goodlooking

  with fair hair and glasses. I liked him especially

  because he refused to make concessions to our blindness. He

  expected us to be independent. Rather than mop us up, and

  say, 'There, there,' when we fell off the kerb, he would turn

  it into a joke, which was the best medicine. At least it was for

  me. It certainly made me get up and think, 'Right. I'll show

  you who can be a good guide-dog owner.'

  So on this occasion I got back behind Emma, took up the

  harness again, and said, 'What next?'

  'You've got to cross this road. First you listen for any

  traffic. If it's quiet, you give Emma the command to go

  forward.'

  When I could hear no traffic, this is what I did. But nothing

  happened.

  Brian said, 'She knows that you're behind her and not me.

  You've got to encourage her, to make her want to take you

  over the road.'

  'Good girl, Emma,' I said, 'there's a clever dog.' And after

  a little more of this persuasion, and the word 'Forward',

  thrown in from time to time, she finally took me across the

  road.

  Crossing the road with a guide-dog is a matter of teamwork:

  whatever you do, you do it together. I have met sighted

  people with such weird ideas about this. Either they think the

  dogs are not very clever, but just wear the harness to show

  their owner is blind-a sort of plea for help-or they think the

  dogs are superhuman, and the blind people idiots who are

  being taken round for a walk rather as other people take their

  dogs. The importance of partnership, or even its existence,

  never seems to occur to most people. My job when crossing

  a road was to listen and Emma's was to look. Only when I

  could hear nothing should I give her the command to cross.

  But if I was wrong in my assessment of the traffic, and she

  could see something coming, she would wait until it was clear.

  Guide-dogs are taught to stop and sit down at every kerb

  and wait for the next command. The four basic commands are,

  'Right', 'Left', 'Back', and 'Forward'. And you have to

  position yourself with your dog so that you give her every

  opportunity to obey the right command. For instance, when

  the command to go forward is given, it is accompanied by an

  indication in that direction with the arm. It is also important

  to keep talking to the dog, and Brian reminded me of this on

  our first walk, just after we had crossed the road.

  'Don't stop talking, or Emma'll think you've fallen asleep.'

  'What do I say?' I asked rather stupidly.

  'It doesn't matter, as long as you make it interesting. Tell

  her what you had for breakfast if you like.'

  So there I was, galloping along a street in Leamington

  discussing bacon and eggs with a chocolate-coloured Labrador.

  Brian went on, 'You're working together, and if you stop

  talking, she'll stop working. You've got to keep her interest.

  She's a dog, and there are lots of nice, interesting smells all

  round, and things passing that you can't see. So unless you

  talk to her, she'll get distracted, and stop to sniff a lamp post.'

  I was quite hoarse by the time we had finished our first walk

  together.

  I owe a great deal to Brian, not only for his training, but

  also for matching Emma and me together. His assessment of

  all he knew about us resulted in an inspired pairing, as time

  was to prove.

  One day I remember asking him where Emma came from.

  What I really meant was, how did the centres come by the

  guide-dogs? Brian explained that they came to Leamington,

  or one of the other centres, after being puppy-walked. The

  Guide-Dog Association has a big breeding and puppy-walking

  centre at Tollgate House, near Warwick. They own a number

  of brood bitches and stud dogs that are let out to people as

  pets, because, naturally, a permanent kennel life is not

  desirable, and living with a family is a much happier arrangement.

  At the same time the Association controls which dog

  should mate with which. When the litters come along, it

  picks the dogs or bitches required for training. At about eight

  weeks old, a puppy undergoes various tests to see if it is

  basically bold and friendly, and capable of being trained as a

  guide-dog. Dogs bred in this way form about sixty per cent of

  the total, and there are now about two thousand guide-dog

  owners in the country. The remaining forty per cent come to

  the Association either by purchase or donation from breede
rs

  or private individuals. But the rejection rate is high. Dogs are

  kept on approval for about three weeks to see if they are

  suitable. If they're not, they're returned to their owners. In all

  cases the dogs chosen are usually female, because the male

  dog has a rather different outlook and nature, including a

  territorial instinct, and is not as tractable as the female, who

  in any case is spayed for the purposes of being a guide-dog.

  About seventy per cent of the breeds used are Labradors, like

  Emma-though I prefer to think she is unique, even among

  Labradors-and the remainder Alsatians, Collies, Golden

  Retrievers, and crosses from all of these.

  Once the selection is made, the puppies go to people called

  puppy-walkers, who live around the training centres, and give

  homes to potential guide-dogs for about a year. In this time

  they have to teach the dog the basics. The dogs learn how

  to be well-mannered and clean in the house, to keep off

  furniture, not to beg for food, and to obey commands such as

  'Sit', 'Stay', 'Down', 'Come', and so on. They are taught to

  walk on a lead, but not at heel, because of course they will

  eventually be required to walk in front of a blind man or

  woman. In general, the puppy-walkers are expected to take

  the dog everywhere with them, so that the dog is not shy of

  traffic, buses or trains, or the sort of sudden noises that sometimes

  occur in the street, such as pneumatic drills. They are

  also specifically instructed to take the dogs shopping. During

  this phase the puppy grows up and becomes used to urban

  life, and at the same time should remain bold and friendly.

  At this point, Brian told me, they come to the centres for

  guiding training, which lasts about five months. The puppywalkers

  do a wonderful job. I couldn't do it myself: have a

  dog for a year, then part with it; then have another, and see

  it go, and so on, and I really admire those who do so much to

  forge the first essential link between dog and blind person.

  Naturally, when Brian told me all this, I wanted to know

  who had puppy-walked Emma, and he said, 'Someone called

  Paddy Wansborough. She's a marvellous woman. She's given

  nine or ten dogs to the Association after puppy-walking them.

  In fact, Emma wasn't bred by the Association. She was bought

  by Paddy as a puppy, given her basic year, and then donated