LJ Idol Week 7 - My Best Friend
I didn't want her. She was too small, she was female, she was white...and she was the wrong breed.
I'd once sworn that I would never again live on the east coast. I was used to wide open prairie and cites carefully balanced against the need of the environment. People didn't rush where I came from and even the so-called big cities had that small town friendly feeling. Love and necessity forced me to go back on that promise and now I lived in Jacksonville. It was too small to be a proper city and too large to be considered a town. People were rude and it was sharply divided along economic and racial lines. We lived in an apartment, people on top of people, with not even a park nearby. Jacksonville's public transit wasn't very public either; it was a mile long hike to catch a bus which might or might or might not show up. We did have a small tract of grass next to a retention pond and a thin veneer of trees between us and the next development, but it just wasn't the same. Even in the dead of night, I could feel other people's lives pressing down on me.
The stress resulted in renewed seizure activity. I'd had to quit my job and stop driving. I pretty much lived within the confines of that apartment. My husband decided that having a dog around would help me regain my confidence and encourage me to get out of the apartment again, even if it was only to walk the animal in the grass. We couldn't, because of restrictions on our lease, have anything which weighed more than twenty pounds. I hated small dogs with a passion. Eventually our research led us to the American Eskimo.
I'd never heard of them but they looked like small foxes or wolves and reportedly had temperaments more like larger dogs. I researched reputable breeders and contacted a few in hope of being allowed a chance at the next litter. Trouble was, not many people raised American Eskimos in the south. They were traditionally cold weather dogs and even then, they weren't common.
One day, looking around the mall, we noticed a pet store. I almost never go into these places; I know where the animals come from and what deplorable conditions they live in. That day, however, they had a litter of American Eskimos. I wanted to see what they looked like. I reminded my husband that we would not, under any circumstances, be purchasing a puppy from this place and then we went in.
There was only one puppy left, a little girl. Before I could stop him, my husband had scooped the little ball of fur up and had carted her off to the area the shop had for folk to get more familiar with a puppy before taking it home. She wriggled around, wagged, and licked my face. Reluctantly, remembering where these animals come from, I told my husband to put her back and we went outside.
You could have heard that puppy hollering all the way at the opposite end of the mall. She kept it up until my husband couldn't stand it any more and went in to get her. It turned out that no one else had wanted her and she would have been "sent back" to the breeder if we hadn't bought her (when they send an animal back to the breeder in these circumstances, the pup is usually destroyed).
Her name was Freyja, a suitably Nordic name for a Northern breed. The goddess Freyja drove a chariot drawn by cats; ours chased them.
The puppy I almost left behind ended up being my guide to freedom and independence.
When she was six months old, Freyja demonstrated the ability to sense seizures coming. At the time, we thought that a service dog had to be a particular breed and used for particular disabilities. Back then, the Delta Society was one of the only advocate agencies in existence. Service dogs for those with seizures was a new concept back then; there were only a few in existence. After talking with one of their representatives, I learned that the waiting list for such an animal was five to seven years long. The woman told me that if I had a dog who could sense the seizure activity, I would be better off training the animal myself.
I hadn't known I could do this but having the option --- if it succeeded --- appealed to me. I could go places without worrying about being struck down and sent to a psych facility or accidentally arrested. I might even be able to drive again.
The training of a medical support animal is, of course, based upon basic obedience. She passed her basic obedience with flying colors. We added the protocols for the Canine Good Citizen test and some behaviors specific to public access tests. We took her to stores, banks, and doctor's offices to get her used to the places she would one day take me.
Today Freyja does an astonishing number of things which help me be an independent individual capable of participating in society. She starts the morning off by reminding me to take my medications. When we go out, she helps me locate dips in the road, ramps, and stairs which I can no longer properly navigate because my medications cause balance issues. She navigates unerringly through obstacles I may or may not be aware of depending upon how my medications affect me. When we lose power, she sleeps beside me and wakes me up every time I stop breathing.
Because of her, I've become more socially integrated. I can answer questions about her and talk to strangers without panicking. I've learned to tell people firmly "no" when they want to touch her but she's working. I've learned to trust another being with my welfare.
She's my best friend and I don't know what I would do without her.
This is a bye week for me. I knew I wouldn't have time to get the entry in, but it needed written. I've spent the entire week dealing with insurance woes and doctor appointments.
I'd once sworn that I would never again live on the east coast. I was used to wide open prairie and cites carefully balanced against the need of the environment. People didn't rush where I came from and even the so-called big cities had that small town friendly feeling. Love and necessity forced me to go back on that promise and now I lived in Jacksonville. It was too small to be a proper city and too large to be considered a town. People were rude and it was sharply divided along economic and racial lines. We lived in an apartment, people on top of people, with not even a park nearby. Jacksonville's public transit wasn't very public either; it was a mile long hike to catch a bus which might or might or might not show up. We did have a small tract of grass next to a retention pond and a thin veneer of trees between us and the next development, but it just wasn't the same. Even in the dead of night, I could feel other people's lives pressing down on me.
The stress resulted in renewed seizure activity. I'd had to quit my job and stop driving. I pretty much lived within the confines of that apartment. My husband decided that having a dog around would help me regain my confidence and encourage me to get out of the apartment again, even if it was only to walk the animal in the grass. We couldn't, because of restrictions on our lease, have anything which weighed more than twenty pounds. I hated small dogs with a passion. Eventually our research led us to the American Eskimo.
I'd never heard of them but they looked like small foxes or wolves and reportedly had temperaments more like larger dogs. I researched reputable breeders and contacted a few in hope of being allowed a chance at the next litter. Trouble was, not many people raised American Eskimos in the south. They were traditionally cold weather dogs and even then, they weren't common.
One day, looking around the mall, we noticed a pet store. I almost never go into these places; I know where the animals come from and what deplorable conditions they live in. That day, however, they had a litter of American Eskimos. I wanted to see what they looked like. I reminded my husband that we would not, under any circumstances, be purchasing a puppy from this place and then we went in.
There was only one puppy left, a little girl. Before I could stop him, my husband had scooped the little ball of fur up and had carted her off to the area the shop had for folk to get more familiar with a puppy before taking it home. She wriggled around, wagged, and licked my face. Reluctantly, remembering where these animals come from, I told my husband to put her back and we went outside.
You could have heard that puppy hollering all the way at the opposite end of the mall. She kept it up until my husband couldn't stand it any more and went in to get her. It turned out that no one else had wanted her and she would have been "sent back" to the breeder if we hadn't bought her (when they send an animal back to the breeder in these circumstances, the pup is usually destroyed).
Her name was Freyja, a suitably Nordic name for a Northern breed. The goddess Freyja drove a chariot drawn by cats; ours chased them.
The puppy I almost left behind ended up being my guide to freedom and independence.
When she was six months old, Freyja demonstrated the ability to sense seizures coming. At the time, we thought that a service dog had to be a particular breed and used for particular disabilities. Back then, the Delta Society was one of the only advocate agencies in existence. Service dogs for those with seizures was a new concept back then; there were only a few in existence. After talking with one of their representatives, I learned that the waiting list for such an animal was five to seven years long. The woman told me that if I had a dog who could sense the seizure activity, I would be better off training the animal myself.
I hadn't known I could do this but having the option --- if it succeeded --- appealed to me. I could go places without worrying about being struck down and sent to a psych facility or accidentally arrested. I might even be able to drive again.
The training of a medical support animal is, of course, based upon basic obedience. She passed her basic obedience with flying colors. We added the protocols for the Canine Good Citizen test and some behaviors specific to public access tests. We took her to stores, banks, and doctor's offices to get her used to the places she would one day take me.
Today Freyja does an astonishing number of things which help me be an independent individual capable of participating in society. She starts the morning off by reminding me to take my medications. When we go out, she helps me locate dips in the road, ramps, and stairs which I can no longer properly navigate because my medications cause balance issues. She navigates unerringly through obstacles I may or may not be aware of depending upon how my medications affect me. When we lose power, she sleeps beside me and wakes me up every time I stop breathing.
Because of her, I've become more socially integrated. I can answer questions about her and talk to strangers without panicking. I've learned to tell people firmly "no" when they want to touch her but she's working. I've learned to trust another being with my welfare.
She's my best friend and I don't know what I would do without her.
This is a bye week for me. I knew I wouldn't have time to get the entry in, but it needed written. I've spent the entire week dealing with insurance woes and doctor appointments.