Mr. S.D.

Sometimes I get... uncomfortable. 

My face gets red and my mouth goes dry all at once. 

A flash of cold washes over me and I start feeling sick; like I could really, possibly be sick right there (wherever 'there' may be). Now is when I start to sweat. 

When I am uncomfortable, my whole body sweats and any fabric laying against my skin becomes blotting paper for the perspiration; it is discolored quickly.

 I know at this point, that there is only a certain amount of time left before I start to stink. 

There is no moisture in my mouth and I know that anything I say will be hard to understand at this point. My tongue feels as if it may clog each one of my nervous gulps (which all take coordination and effort) but meanwhile I cannot stem the flow of moisture coming from my palms. I try to surreptitiously dry them, but my expectations are pretty low, to be honest.

When I absolutely cannot get out of speaking to someone, there is a wobble in my voice and I know that it isn't my imagination- everyone definitely hears it. I struggle to understand what is being said when I'm being asked a question that I am THEN expected to hear, process and reply to. Voice wobbling is the disguise that falls apart if I must say an entire sentence, and there is no hiding the full-blown vocal tremors in that case.  

Since I am feeling uncomfortable, my (sweaty) hands will start to shake as well.

I can put my hands in my pockets, make tight fists of them, rubbing each in turn to relax them.

I can try to squash them by sitting on them or by jamming them under my armpits. My fingers reach for Gibbs- for his full, dark coat, which is long enough at his ruff to conceal the worst of my shaking. Giving Gibbs a good, satisfying scratch is the perfect excuse to keep my hands hidden, and he enjoys when I itch underneath his collar(s) and vest for him. 

I cannot continue. Leaning down to reach Gibbs' chest created a roaring sensation between my ears, accompanied by darkness at the edges of my vision. Passing out would, most assuredly, make me feel even MORE uncomfortable, and that threat makes me lean on Gibbs until I am squatting beside him. I'm not red in the face anymore- momentary plus!- but I know that only because I can feel how pale I've become. The world still seems to keel and pitch just like a sloop of war in rough seas, and I shakily tangle one hand in the fur between Gibbs' shoulder blades to anchor myself. Less than 1 minute passes before I am back to feeling the standard uncomfortable. 

 Gibbs doesn't mind; he doesn't think that stuff is a big deal.

Gibbs is such a good boy.

Oh, dear PSD.

Gibbs and I went to our appointment on Tuesday.

He was unimpressed. 

Validated!

Foffmom spotted this and was kind enough to share it with me:

Ugh.  I am not proud of my checkered past of responses.

In some cases I am horrified by them.

They wouldn't look so offended if they knew that I had chosen the least unsavory option.

Oh dear

Being a working dog seems to have given Gibbs some gray hairs. Photo taken by Ink.

Public vs. PSD

Repetitions of 'shit people say to service dog handlers' is static when Gibbs and I are out, but there are the rare moments of what the fuck just happened? Two different stories from that category:

#1) An elderly man was convinced that Gibbs was a seeing-eye dog, and I had trouble changing his mind. It was probably my failure to communicate clearly, but since we were in line to check out we just kept mis-communicating. I guess it was his way of killing time. Several minutes into the chat:
Elderly Man (suspiciously): "So if that isn't your seeing-eye dog, where did you get it?"
Me: "He is my dog, although he isn't a seeing-eye dog."
Elderly Man (not joking at all): "Did you take a blind person's seeing-eye dog?"
Me: "What..?"
Elderly Man: "Y'know, like without permission."
I still have no clue what to make of that curious exchange.


#2) Gibbs and I were walking through the hospital, on our way to an appointment, and a woman with two offspring were walking in the opposite direction. The mother and I did the polite 'eye contact of hallway travelers' during passing, and the kids did a quick glance from me to Gibbs. There was no squealing, no pointing, not a single gasp, and I felt a flash of unexpected relief A second or two later, I heard the mother talking to her young. "Anytime you see a dog wearing a vest like that, it means don't bother them because they are working."
For some reason this had an emotional impact on me. I didn't run after them and thank her, but I feel like I should have. Thank you to those strangers. Carry on.

Napping peacefully under a table... 'time to go?'... Wake up, sit up, bonk head on the table... 'not time to go? Okay then'... Lay down for more napping, bonk head on table.

A WonderVet perk: the joys of castration can be brought to your very own home.

Gibbs: Graduated

Gibbs is getting a new ID badge to replace his current 'in training' badge, and then that is it. He will be so credentialed that it practically qualifies for diplomatic immunity. It is rather startling to admit how gloriously Gibbs has performed through virtually every aspect of this saga.

Even though it was not mandatory, Gibbs was held to the standard of the 'Public Access Test'. It has various scenarios that all fairly common and routine, and each one is scored based on how closely the testing dog matched the ideal behavior(s) listed for that scenario. Make sense? I don't care enough to really get into examples, but the bottom line is that Gibbs passed with flying colors when tested.

Oy ve

"Is that a disabled dog?"
"No, he is perfectly able-bodied."

Hunting

Gibbs has finished the ultimate challenge: hunting for vegetarian prey with me at the grocery store. He was a total rock star. Nothing phased him. Not the squealing two-legger young, not the cooing elders, not the smells or the sounds. Sheer focus with a swagger to match. What a good boy.

Dog is Good

Holy catfish I love my dog. Gibbs was a rockstar today, sashaying nonchalantly through the hospital, chilling calmly while waiting, and relaxing during the session with an almost bored air. What a total champion. Gibbs- I take back everything negative I have ever said to you. When I called you an 'infuriating overgrown dustbunny' for taking off so many times, I so didn't mean it. You, my dear dog, are proving to be far more stable than I am when we are out and about in the world. Thank you so much for being... not me.

On a different, more Mork-ish note: guess who is making solid stool like a professional?! Way to go Mork! We are all so proud of you.

Foffdaughter: The Vest

One of the found four-leggeds is a dog named Gibbs. He was just hanging around the farm gate, no collar, and that was that. No one responded to the 'found dog' announcements and no one was looking for him. He was estimated to be on the brink of 2 years old and in excellent health. No fleas, no mats, no injuries and only mildly underweight.

Gibbs is being trained as a service dog currently. Of course this is always subject to change if something just doesn't feel right for either one of us, but so far it has been smooth sailing and happy days for the pair. Within the past few weeks Gibbs has started to wear the vest during his exercises. Time was allotted for an adjustment period, change is scary after all, but Gibbs was golden fine. The general public is still adjusting, and I suspect this will be a permanent phase.

Some of the spoken gems thus far:
(reading aloud) "'Working dog do not pet.' Aww can I pet him?"

"Where can I get a vest like that for my dog? It is so cute."

(speaking to Gibbs in babytalk) "Oh aren't you just so handsome in your little outfit! Why are you all dressed up huh? Oh you cutie pie! What does your mommy need you to do for her?" (note: I chose not to respond to the questions directed at my dog.  It is none of my business!)

"Holy shit that is a huge dog!" (note: Gibbs is not huge.)

"Now, see, I know that when they are wearing a vest you are not supposed to touch them because they are working.  I do know that much!" (I am just staring at the speaker blankly but suspect that they are proud of their know-how or something and thought it should be shared.... ?)  "I won't bother you but I just HAD to tell you how very beautiful your dog is."  (I thank them for the compliment and move on mentally.)  "I mean!... Ohh just breathtaking!  I couldn't tell the size from across the parking lot, but I just had to tell you how pretty your dog is."  And there is some extension of their arm towards Gibbs, twitching fingers, a simple, clueless smile on their face, and I correct them- JUST like everyone else needs correcting- but never mention what a waste of oxygen the whole thing was.

Without a doubt, there will be more to add later.