Autism Service Dogs

After the canine life-skills class I'm helping to teach, Monica and I--with some occasional input from Robin--had some good doggie discussions. Some of them are probably of interest to others, so I'll share them here.

First, we've had a running debate about the best way to teach "leave it." Mostly, the question is around whether the command means "Don't touch that until I say you can," or perhaps "You are never to touch that; I'll give you something else instead."

When I'm teaching doggie zen, I often just close my fist around the treat until the dog gives up, and then offer it to them. Apparently, I'm in the minority on this one. Greg, Robin, and Monica all agree that the meaning of "leave it" should meet the latter definition, and not the former.

While my method works reasonably well for me on a day to day basis, it certainly translates into the dogs only leaving things alone while they're being fixed by my gimlet gaze. The minute I stop watching them, they feel free to snag the bit of whatever-it-is if I haven't already scooped it up and claimed it for myself. So, the next time I work on "leave it," I think I'll follow the group consensus, and see how that plays out.

Monica and I also discussed reactivity in dogs. We both have dogs that are a little more reactive than we'd like: Glindy is a bit too excitable around other dogs, and her fur-baby is a bit too territorial with strange men. We're making some plans to work together one-on-one (or two-on-two if you count the dogs), so see if we can't make a little headway on our similar problems.

On the same vein, I'm going to begin work with yet another area trainer tomorrow on Glindy's excessive canine radar tomorrow. We're planning to go spend the morning at a local park, and work on reinforcing auto-watches and good quiets whenever other dogs wander past. Working on the issue in a moderate-distraction environment like a park sounds pretty good in theory; I hope the practice of it measures up.

Lastly, I mentioned that I'd purchased "You Don't Say" from the Karen Pryor web site. It's a game for dog trainers and enthusiasts that teaches principles of operant conditioning and positive reinforcement by requiring the participants to teach each other tasks non-verbally. The others all seemed interested; we'll just have to see if we can squeeze an evening of educational fun into our busy schedules.

Glindy and I were just in Long Beach, CA for an information security conference. All was going well after our harrowing airport experience, until the poor thing got sick about halfway through our week-long conference.

Glindy's appetite vanished, but she still seemed reasonably active. This isn't terribly unusual for her, as she's often self-regulating and not particularly food-focused to begin with. Also, I've noticed that her stress level often rises a bit when we're traveling and working full-time, and that her appetite often drops accordingly--but never enough to really cause any real health concerns.

However, a day after she stopped eating, she stopped being interested in treats and snacks, too. On our next potty break, she had totally liquid diarrhea, which is rarely a good sign. Physically, she also seemed to be losing steam, so I was definitely becoming more concerned.

Now, normally when a dog has short-term diarrhea, the best thing to do is just limit food intake, keep them drinking water, and wait it out. A working dog doesn't always have that option, though; there's nothing quite like the fear of experiencing uncontrollable diarrhea while halfway up a high-rise hotel to make "better living through chemistry" sound like a really good idea.

So, after a day of trying to wait it out, I decided to give Glindy some loperamide hydrochloride (loperamide being the active ingredient in Immodium and its generic equivalents). The normal dosage for such things is 0.1mg/kg of body weight, but I've never been very good at doing metric conversions, so I ended up giving her too low of a dose, and so the problem continued for yet another day.

When she was still having trouble, I called my vet back home. He pointed out my math errors (doh!) and suggested I put her on the higher dose for one more day, and then see a local vet if the situation didn't improve.

Meanwhile, Glindy was a real trooper. I skipped a large part of the (very expensive) conference so that she could rest up in our room, and I made a point of taking her out more often than usual. What really impressed me, though, was that despite having projectile diarrhea when we went outside, she never once had an accident in the hotel.

I don't know about other human beings, but when I have diarrhea, I make a mad dash for the restroom whenever nature calls. I wouldn't be able to do what Glindy did all week: calmly tell someone I need to go outside, wait while they get themselves dressed, stand quietly while getting vested and leashed, sit patiently while waiting for the elevator, endure the long ride down to the lobby, and then wait until we're safely outside before blowing my heaving guts all over the grass. In this regard, Glindy's performance was superhuman, and quite frankly a little humbling.

However, after another day without results from the loperamide, I decided to take Glindy to a veterinarian. I didn't really know the area, so I called vets at random until one agreed to see her on an emergency basis, and off we went.

The vet was a little farther away than I expected, and Glindy didn't quite make it. About two blocks from the vets, she threw up all over the front seat of the rental car. Now, Glindy never gets car sick, so this was yet another indication of how very sick she was. Luckily, she was sitting on a waterproof pet throw that I often use while traveling to keep the shedding dog hair down to a minimum, so it wasn't nearly as appalling as it could have been.

After a short time at the vet, where the vet agreed that we needed a more rapid-acting intervention for a working service dog--as opposed to taking some cultures and playing wait-and-see--we headed back to the hotel armed with some new medications and a seven-day regimen.

The vet prescribed metronidazole (the generic form of Flagyl), which is both an antibiotic and an antiprotozoal, and may have some anti-inflammatory effects as well according to the vet--although I couldn't verify that last for myself. He also prescribed over-the-counter Pepcid AC (famotidine) and continued use of loperamide until things stabilized. He also suggested that if she would eat at all, that I switch her to a bland diet with white rice as the primary component, even though Glindy doesn't really tolerate carbohydrates well.

So, I dosed her with the various medications, and after she seemed to get a little relief from them, I gave her some white rice with a few cubes of cooked filet mignon left over from my dinner that evening. Normally, carbs of any kind give Glindy intestinal upset, but I figured that it was the lesser evil at that point, and her normal raw diet was probably too "hot" for her already-insulted GI tract.

By the next day, Glindy was definitely on the mend, and back to eating small amounts of her regular food. The day after, she was was in good enough shape that I felt comfortable that we could fly home without incident. This morning, she gets her last dose of metronidazole, and we can put the whole incident behind us.

I still have no idea why she got sick. Maybe she snagged something rotten off the ground while I wasn't looking, or perhaps there was something in the tap water at the hotel. Whatever the reason, I'm very grateful that there weren't any serious repercussions, that I received such good care from the vets at both Baring Boulevard Animal Hospital and the VCA Los Altos Animal Hospital, and that Glindy is all better now.

Cagey people make me nervous. Acting like you have a secret is usually not the way to inspire trust in one's potential customers. True enough, but let's talk cases here.

I called the LDS Leather Company today, wanting to find out about their "service dog etiquette" and "service dog information" cards. They don't have any examples up on their web site, and I wanted to find out how they differ from the 500 Service Dog Cards I already have from SitStay.

The woman who answered the phone wouldn't give me a straight answer about the content of the cards, except to say that one set was intended for the general public, and one set for business. Well, yeah, but do they say what I would want them to say? "Buy a pig in a poke and find out," seems to be this vendor's attitude.

I'm reasonably happy with the SitStay cards, but disagree with one of the "allowable questions" contained on the inside flap. It's not that the information is wrong, per se; it's just that I try to discourage people from asking detailed, task-based questions which would allow them to infer my disability from the nature of the tasks. Personally, I think asking "Is that a service dog?" or "Is that your dog, or are you a trainer?" are both reasonable questions, provided there isn't a lot of nosey follow-up.

Still, the matter at hand isn't the content of the SitStay cards, or that I'm interested in finding an alternative that I like better. The issue is that I don't think it's reasonable to ask people to buy something without at least an idea of what it looks like or the information it contains. Can you imagine Borders trying to sell books with no dust jackets, no back-flap material, and without allowing you to leaf through the book to see if you'll like it?

There's a reason most people don't buy books from a catalogue containing nothing but titles. It's the same reason that LDS Leather gets a resounding NRM (no-reward marker) for being cagey.

I expected better of them.

So, after checking my luggage, and after getting a complete lack of help from the ticket agent regarding the security line, I decided to risk it. Glindy and I made a quick run over to the puppy park, and then headed upstairs to the security checkpoint.

The line was long, but manageable. I still had plenty of time to make pre-boarding, so things were looking up.

About halfway through the security line, Glindy notices a stuffed dog in the arms of a young girl in front of us. She starts to rear up for a closer sniff--something she definitely knows better than to do--and got a sharp no and an ineffective leash correction from me.

The leash correction was ineffective because I had my hands-free leash attached to the D-ring of her detachable-backpack webbing at the time. I usually have to take her working collar off to get through the security checkpoint, so of course she was testing the limits.

Then, a few minutes later, the police K-9 unit decides to pay us all a little visit. Glindy started whining and straining at her leash, creating a wonderfully absurd visual. There I was, in the middle of a large crowd, with a roller bag in one hand, a computer case in my other hand, a detached service dog backpack in my other other hand, and a frenzied dog yanking my pelvis around like I was doing an Elvis impersonation.

Needless to say, I was not amused. I got Glindy and the baggage vaguely under control, but she continued whining loudly, clearly creating a disturbance. Had I been any less busy trying to keep it all from flying apart again, I would have been mortified.

To their credit, the TSA agents figured out that Glindy was reacting to the K-9 unit, and pulled me out of line so we could get through the checkpoint and away from the other dog. I suppose they would have also been within their rights to simply eject us from the airport, but they apparently decided to push us on ahead, for which I was profoundly grateful.

After passing through the metal detectors, I thanked the TSA agents for their assistance and apologized profusely for the disruption. They passed it off as no big thing, but I definitely think credit is due for their prompt and carefully-measured response.

After we got to the gate, a few people came up to me to offer sympathy. No one besides me seemed to think that Glindy's behavior had been completely over the top, and I was glad that I didn't have to excuse it to anyone.

In fact, one lady who'd witnessed the whole thing even asked if I minded if her young daughter petted Glindy. Personally, I wouldn't have wanted to pet a dog who'd just behaved so rambunctiously, much less let my child do it, but this lady seemed comfortable with it.

Under the circumstances, I should have said no, but I really wanted Glindy and I to redeem ourselves, so I let the little girl give Glindy a fish-skin treat. Of course, when the little girl decided to keep petting Glindy while she was eating, I had second and third thoughts about whether I'd completely lost my mind, but Glindy was now acting like the perfect service dog, and munched contentedly without any concern about the girl at all.

The girl's mother and I gently moved her away so Glindy could eat in peace. After that, I sat there and thanked providence that nothing worse had happened at the airport, and vowed that we'd begin a new program of desensitization when I got back home.

After that, the rest of the flight went smoothly. When I got to the gate, the agents were very solicitous. They asked if I needed bulkhead seating, and took a few minutes before pre-boarding to rearrange some through-passengers so make a bulkhead seat available.

And the most amazing thing? All during boarding, all the passengers walking by my seat had to say was how cute Glindy was, or how well-behaved she was compared to their own dogs at home.

Incredible, but true.

My outbound flight to Los Angeles the previous week was a genuinely unpleasant experience, with a few minor bright spots. It started with a rude Southwest Airlines ticket agent, who decided it was his job to redefine the airline's baggage policy to suit his own prejudices.

Him: How many bags are you checking?

Me: Just the one on the scale.

Him: [points at my carry-ons] You can't take those on the plane.

Me: Why not?

Him: You're only allowed one carry-on, plus maybe a purse.

Me: I'm allowed one 22-inch bag, one personal item, and my service dog's equipment, which is exempt. I've got one carry-on, one laptop, and my service dog's backpack. We're fine.

Him: Hmmmm. [turns back to terminal]

[several minutes pass]

Me: Excuse me, are we moving this process along?

Him: I'm reading the regulations on service dogs.

[several more minutes pass]

Him: Take your checked luggage over to x-ray.

Me: Thanks. By the way, can you find out how long the line is at security? I'd really like to take my service dog to the puppy park before the flight if we'll have enough time to get through the checkpoint.

Him: Go upstairs and see for yourself.

Me: Since the puppy park is over by baggage claim, which is the completely opposite direction from the gate, that wouldn't give me enough time to make the trip twice. Don't you have any way to check the line length, or perhaps you could contact the gate agent?

Him: [mumbles and turns away]

So, Mr. Rude had clearly decided that he had no legitimate way to interfere with me, but had simultaneously decided to be as unhelpful as possible. He also left me struggling with four bulky items and a service dog, without even asking if I needed help.

Luckily, the agent who'd been standing next to him noticed the problem, and very kindly offered to help me schlep the big piece of checked luggage over to x-ray. I thanked her profusely for her kindness, and hoped that this indicated my day would improve. Of course, my unbridled optimism was to be short-lived.

More to come...

Glindy and I are preparing for another trip this week. We're going to Los Angeles for six-day security conference. As always, I hate traveling, but am glad that Glindy is coming along to keep me company.

Since I won't be able to get my Har-Vest in time for the conference, I thought I'd try the SENSE-ible no-pull harness under Glindy's vest as a temporary alternative to the Buddy System Leash + Lungebuster + Pinch Collar arrangement we use now. I couldn't find anyone in town who sold the medium-large size, so I had to pay extra for overnight shipping with Saturday delivery. *sigh*

The SENSE-ible harness comes highly recommend by several trainers in the area, but I have three small concerns about it.

First of all, I'm not sure whether the chest strap on her vest will interfere with the chest strap on the harness. I'm planning to put the vest on over the harness, and will have to see if the straps catch on each other, or whether the leash--which gets attached to the front of the harness--will then catch on the vest. I guess I'll just have to try it and see.

My second concern is the metal sliders. I've learned through experience that the metal double-clasp of the Buddy System Leash attached to the single metal D-ring on the Ruffwear Palisades Pack II (with pack detached from the webbing) is insufficient to set of the metal detectors in the airport. However, the the SENSE-ible harness (and most probably the Har-Vest, too) have more metal, and might be a bit more troublesome in that regard.

Softouch Concepts also sells a different model, called the SENSE-ation harness. That model uses plastic sliders, but since it costs more, comes in fewer sizes, and still has the metal O-rings, it didn't seem worth it in this case.

And finally, my third objection is to non-transferable training tools. It's been my experience, and supported by anecdotal evidence from others, that collar-alternatives like no-pull harnesses and Haltis/Gentle Leaders aren't generalized by the dog to equate to flat-buckle obedience. When the training tool comes off and the flat collar goes on, we're right back to the forging and pulling that made the training tool necessary in the first place. Of course, this is true of the pinch collar, English lead, and other things we're using now anyway, so I'm not really convinced it's a valid practical concern--just a philosophical one.

It's probably worth saying at this point that my inability to completely prevent forging on a flat-buckle collar in high-distraction environments is probably a trainer problem (e.g. it's my own darned fault for not working on it more). However, I belong to the school of practical thought that says that it's the results that matter; if I need to keep Glindy wearing a pinch collar or no-pull harness forever, it's not really a big deal except insofar as I've failed to meet my own expectations.

Perfectionism sucks. Let's just hope the SENSE-ible harness doesn't.

I just ordered a medium-sized blue Har-Vest for Glindy. It's too early to comment on the product itself, but I wanted to say something about the exceptional customer service I got from the owner, Rachel.

I'd contacted the folks at Har-Vest by email and phone because I was having a great deal of difficulty figuring out what size to order for Glindy. As I've mentioned before, she's a bit of an in-between size, and seems to come out a bit differently every time I apply the measuring tape.

The sizing problem is compounded by the fact that Har-Vest is going through a product transition, and different parts of the web site have different sizing instructions depending on whether they're referring to the old or the new vest. For example, the brochure asks you to measure girth and chest size, while the ordering page asks for girth and torso length. I couldn't figure out what to do, so I called Har-Vest directly.

It was dinner time on the west coast when I called, and Har-Vest is a few hours ahead, so I fully expected to end up leaving a voicemail. Instead, I got an answer from a real (but unidentified) person. I'm always confused when people don't answer the phone with the name of the business, and usually assume I've got a wrong number if people just say "Hello?" when they pick up the phone.

Anyway, once I'd established that I had in fact reached Har-Vest, I explained my confusion about sizing to Rachel. She was very patient with me, and we worked everything out to my satisfaction.

It turns out that "in-between" dogs are fairly common, so the new Har-Vest comes with some standard pack sizes, but with a larger range of interchangeable straps. Each vest comes complete with a set of straps, but ordering a second set in a slightly different size is only nine dollars more. I asked Rachel to bill me for the second set of straps, and will mail back whichever set doesn't fit Glindy properly for a refund. So, for the cost of postage and a temporary outlay of a very reasonable $9, I can avoid all the back-and-forthing that ordering for hard-to-fit dogs usually entails.

Har-Vest ships via USPS Priority Mail, so my new vest will be here by the middle of next week. I'm excited to try it out, and can't wait to report back about whether the no-pull straps are more effective with Glindy than our current setup.

In the meantime, I wanted to let people know about the great customer experience I had. Rachel seemed to really care about the disabled community, and really went out of her way to ensure that I was taken care of properly. If the vest itself is even half as good as the customer service, I think Glindy and I will both be very happy.

Last Saturday was my first day as a volunteer trainer at The Canine Club. I'm on good terms with the owners, and had asked if they needed any help teaching classes. They said yes, which was a win-win for the both of us. The get my services for free, and I get to work towards the 300 hours or so of formal training time I need to become a Certified Pet Dog Trainer.

The class went very well, from a purely practical perspective. I was able to provide a lot of hands-on help to individuals that they might not have gotten without an extra person there, and was able to share a lot of insight with some of the folks with problem dogs.

After class, I went in search of Robin. I've learned over the years that, unless I ask them directly, people don't give me enough verbal feedback for me to accurately determine how things went from their perspective. There's nothing worse than strolling along, thinking things are fine, and then getting sandbagged with the sudden revelation that little frustrations have been building up in the other person. So, I asked.

Part of Asperger's Syndrome is that I don't always fully understand other people's frame of reference, even when I think I do. This was one of those times. Robin hinted that, while the training itself went well, she was unsure about my impact on Monica, the lead trainer.

Apparently, the other trainer hadn't said anything to Robin (and wasn't there to ask), but Robin seemed to feel that I might have shunted Monica off to the side or usurped her role in some way, and that Monica might feel upset about this. Since that had certainly not been my intention, and because Monica wasn't there to confirm or deny this supposition, I was forced to conclude that this was exactly the sort of projective empathy that neurotypical people do so well, and which folks with AS do so poorly.

Granted, Robin was assuming that she knew what Monica felt, and it is possible that she was mistaken, but I've learned that one has to assign a certain level of presumptive accuracy to this sort of feedback from NTs because they have a "social sixth sense" that I lack.

Still, there's nothing like taking the guesswork out of things. I let Robin know that I certainly would never mean to hurt Monica's feelings, and that I had only been trying to help. I suggested that she speak with Monica, and that if Monica really did feel slighted in any way, to make sure one or the other of them gave me that feedback directly.

I also suggested that if Robin or Monica wanted me to do (or not do) something during class, or to modify my behavior in a specific way next time around, they needed to be very explicit about it. I assured her that telling me exactly what was expected, and how to meet that expectation, would not offend me in any way.

Of course, I fully expect that advice to be discarded. It violates the unwritten social rules and expectations of NT interactions (e.g. "Why should I have to tell you what I expect? It's obvious, and something you should already know!"), and most folks aren't even aware at a conscious level of what behaviors and responses they're expecting from others in any given situation. They just know, on an emotional level, when those expectations aren't met.

Regardless of how things eventually work out with Robin and Monica, I am enjoying the chance to work with both of them, and love being able to help other people out with their "problem" dogs. Teaching is a great learning experience for me, as well as for the students in the class; after all, honing my training techniques will certainly help me work better with Glindy as we continue our service dog partnership.

Meanwhile, I'm still on deck to teach again this coming Saturday. I really hope it goes well.

I just got off the phone with Horizon Air's customer service. I was trying to book a flight to Los Angeles, and was having trouble arranging for accommodative seating.

The FAA regulations state that a service animal may not sit in an emergency exit row. Unfortunately, the planes Horizon operates in this particular market don't have bulkhead or first-class seats; instead, the forward-most seats are coach-class emergency exit rows, so Glindy and I may not sit there. This would seem to technically violate 14 CFR 382.38(a)(3), but I'm not sure how much hay one could make of that.

The Air Carrier Access Act also says that an airline must either block seats or provide priority seating for disabled passengers, but the ways they can go about it are often unfriendly. Horizon handles this situation by requiring disabled passengers to check in early, and ask the ticketing or gate agents to arrange for blocking or rearrangement of seats. This method may meet the requirements of the seating assignments section (14 CFR 382.38(b)), but leaves some edge cases where one is likely to have to involve a Complaints Resolution Official (14 CFR 382.65).

What this means in practice is that Horizon will do its best, but it is certainly possible to be bumped from a flight under certain circumstances. For example, if the flight is completely full and no one is willing to share foot-space with your dog, you might be out of luck, as a carrier isn't required to furnish more than one seat per ticket (14 CFR 382.38(i)) or bump other passengers to provide an accommodation (14 CFR 382.38(h)).

Whether or not Horizon is meeting the requirement to adequately disclose limitations on accommodation (14 CFR 382.45) remains an open question in my mind, but Horizon is unfortunately within the law in how they choose to assign seats in this case.

In the end, I cancelled my Horizon Air reservation, and booked on Southwest instead, since Southwest does provide bulkhead seats to disabled passengers. In addition, Southwest's reservation system now allows passengers to indicate, at the time of booking, that they will be travelling with either a service dog or emotional support animal. This is a huge step forward, in my opinion; it certainly saves the hassle of having to contact the airlines after making the reservation to have the ticket annotated.

Well, Horizon's loss was Southwest's gain. I would prefer having assigned seats on a plusher plane such as those Horizon Air operates, but I vastly prefer Southwest's accommodation practices.