Remembering Denver

by Bonnie Finsthwait, co-leader, Auburn Foothills Guiding Eyes

In 1998, I received a fluffy, 8-week-old German Shepherd puppy to raised named Denver. I had been raising Guide Dog puppies since 1985, and knew from the minute I held Denver in my arms that he would go onto a great career as a working guide. Denver was energetic, smart, and quick. He loved to work and found such joy in being with people. It was a pleasure to handle him and as I watched him step forward into life as a working guide in September, 2000, I was very proud.

His first blind partner loved him immediately and they did very well together. They lived in a small rural town in Nevada with no sidewalks, and little traffic. Unfortunately, this gentleman died suddenly in May of 2001 and Denver was returned to GDB.

After a month's retraining, Denver was placed with another gentleman, to graduate in July, 2001. Denver continued this career for the next eight years in the Sacramento Area with lots of traffic, living in an apartment building and heading off to an office each day. He adjusted well to this new environment as I knew he would.

In late 2009, I received a called that Denver was being retired, and was given the opportunity to adopt him as my pet! What a joy it was to see him again and know that we had come "full circle" together! And, after not seeing each other for eight years, he remembered me and was as overjoyed to see me as I was him!

Denver spent the next year and a half on our ranch in the Sierra Foothills "at pasture" enjoying the freedom of our land and "educating" the new Guide Dog puppies I have continued to raise. In July of this year, Denver died of natural causes in my arms. His big heart just stopped...

I have always felt so fortunate and privileged to raise these wonderful dogs, and Denver gave me the gift of his love in his puppyhood and then in his elder years. He worked hard, played hard and loved much...he was a sweet soul who gave his all to his people. Goodbye Denver.

Remembering Nutmeg and Luge

by Michael Dickerson

It is with great sadness that I have to inform you of the passing of Nutmeg. She left us on September 17th of this year. Nutmeg, and her buddy Luge, were with me for 13 years each. They were inseparable from each other as I was with them. They were the best friends a person could ever hope for and that I've ever had. They filled my life in ways I hadn't thought possible. Not a day goes by that I don't think of them.I will miss them terribly. Thank you for letting them come into my life.

Nutmeg

Luge

Remembering Spreckles

by Linda Freund

October 6, 2011

Dear Friend,

Sunlight streams through the window pane
Unto a spot on the floor….
Then I remember,
It’s where you used to lie,
But now you are no more.
Our feet walk down a hall of carpet,
And muted echoes sound…..
Then I remember,
It’s where you paws would joyously abound.
A voice is heard along the road,
And up beyond the hill,
Then I remember it can’t be yours….
Your golden voice is still.
But I’ll take that vacant spot of floor
and empty muted hall
And lay them with the absent voice
And unused dish along the wall.
I’ll wrap these treasured memorials
In a blanket of my love
And keep them for my best friend
Until we meet above.

Jazzy Shulleeta

June 15, 2000 – July 7, 2011
By Sheila Shulleeta

My retired guide, Jazzy, died from lung cancer on July 7, 2011. She was my first Guide dog, my loyal friend, my teacher, and my “love-dog”, as I liked to call her. The wise folks at Guide Dogs for the Blind were the matchmakers for our partnership. They knew Jazzy and I were meant to be together and, thankfully, ignored me when I said, “All I want is one of those yellow Labs.”

My Jazzy-Girl became the center of my universe at the moment we met. There was no more “I” or “me”; it instantly became “we” and “us”. We were in-tune, in-sync, and in-love. My Jazzy-Girl gave me love, independence and the confidence to get out and do whatever I wanted.

Our first summer together we flew from Portland to Albuquerque, boarded a train to Las Vegas, NM, and then bounced around in a jeep as it navigated up 8,000 ft. to a remote, stunningly beautiful, and ecologically balanced section of the mountains of northern New Mexico. Jazzy was barely 2 at the time and handled everything with grace and ease. She kept me on the trails and skillfully guided me from campsite, to mess hall, to meditation hall, and to the ladies room. When it was time to go home, the other retreatants thanked me for bringing Jazzy’s awesome healing energy to the setting.

The following year we cruised to Alaska together. After just a day of adjusting to the new relieving situation, Jazzy was soon guiding me all over the ship and ports of call. Every night when our cabin steward turned down my bed he did the same for Jazzy; folding her favorite blanket back and leaving a kibble in the center. Jazzy brought him joy every day with her wagging tail and happy spirit. There were tears in his eyes as he said goodbye to her at the end of the cruise.

Jazzy was also a devoted hospice volunteer. Her calm, loving nature brought smiles to dying patients’ faces. They loved to rub her silky ears and feel her cold nose in their hands. Jazzy’s presence stirred the patients’ memories of dogs they had loved throughout their lives and they were sometimes able to share those stories with me.

Another time, again in hospice work, we met a young boy who had just lost his father. He had Asperger’s and struggle with human relationships. He fell in love with Jazzy and Jazzy loved him right back. She just knew how to “be” with him. My sweet Jazzy eased his pain.

These are just a few examples of what Jazzy did every day of her life. Whether we were on some big adventure or simply riding the bus to get groceries, Jazzy was there for me. She helped me grow and change into a better person. She brought me happiness, love, and independence. She gave me her eyes--and so much more--while keeping me safe. While my heart aches from missing her I can also smile thinking about the time we spent together. Jazzy lived a rich, interesting, fun, and meaningful life as part of my family. She will live on forever in my heart.

The Path With a Guide Dog

by Larry Marcum --a tribute to his retired guide Galleon

Two months ago I retired my first Guide Dog Galleon after more than nine incredible years of him guiding me. Since retiring him I have had to go back to using the white cane, which I rarely used since receiving Galleon in January of 2002. Going back to the cane has been frustrating to say the least, but more than anything I have realized that I again feel like a blind man. That may sound strange, but I had not totally realized over the nine years with Galleon that he took so much stress out of my travels, how much he was truly guiding me, how there must have been so many obstacles that he effortlessly took me around that I did not know were there, that I now find with my cane. Now the tired shoulder muscles, headaches, and hunched back have returned. I now realize that while Galleon guided me I was able to walk standing straight up with confidence and being able to forget, at least during the time that we were walking, about my blindness and really allow my other senses to take in and enjoy our surroundings.

Galleon became such a part of me that I now realize how much we became one - a team. Although I always had my left hand holding a harness handle, it became so natural that I did not feel blind while out in public. Over the years we became so attuned to each other, it got to where I rarely needed to give him commands, he just seemed to know where I wanted to go.

Galleon and I flew over 20,000 miles together. On one trip we flew to Washington D.C., where Galleon guided me to stand at the Lincoln Memorial, which was a lifelong dream of mine. Galleon guided me up the steps of our nation’s Capitol, and to stand at the wrought iron fence surrounding the White House. As Galleon guided me to the Vietnam Memorial Wall, because of my small tunnel of vision, all that I first saw was a wall just a few inches tall. But as he guided further along, the wall was soon looming way over my head, with so many names on it that boggles the mind. Galleon guided me around the World War II Memorial where I was privileged to see our veterans reminisce together about that war. With my limited vision I got to see the never-ending hills of Arlington Cemetery that hold our freedom fighters of past wars.

We traveled together on planes, trains, buses, taxis, and boats. We walked on beaches, trails, cities and parks. He was at my wedding, several funerals, parties, church and meetings. We won awards together, played in the snow, walked in the rain, and sweated in the heat. He has come and sat at my side when I cried, and danced with me in joyous times. For more than 3,000 nights he has been at my bedside all night, every night, never once getting up and wandering until my feet hit the floor in the morning.

My greatest realization about guide dogs is that a guide dog does more than guide; a guide dog helps a person to live their dreams. Thank you, my Galleon for helping me to live so many of my dreams!

Galleon continues to live with my wife Ida and I, enjoying retirement here at our mountain home, and oh, how he will enjoy the company of my new guide in October! You see, because of so many caring, giving and dedicated people associated with Guide Dogs for the Blind, I am blessed to get to return there September 25th to begin the path with my next Guide Dog.

Remembering Judson

by Shelley L. Rhodes, M.A. CVRT with Ludden black Labrador Guide Dog

Judson was first and foremost my Guide Dog, my first Guide Dog, but he was also my friend, my protector, my confidant, my comforter and space heater on cold nights in college. Judson taught me me things while I was working with him, while we were partners -- things I still remember and use to this day.

I remember like it was yesterday, (though now eleven years have passed), when I went into the library at Guide Dogs for the Blind with the empty leash hoping to meet this mysterious dog that they wanted me to work with. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the name Judson. What kind of a dog name is that, I wondered. How am I going to handle a Golden Retriever and all that hair? Is this guide dog thing really for me?

Mark came in leading Judson, a large, beautiful, reddish gold dog, who promptly walked up to me, held out a paw, gave a huge sigh and then lay down at my feet. I was kind of surprised, and asked if this was normal. Mark said it was for this dog. And that was when I got my first lesson from Judson: whenever possible take a nap -- or as we called it in later years the “we stop; he drops off to sleep” procedure. Smile.

Judson taught me about trust, patience and persistence when he and I would work together. Ever since I was a child, I never liked going out at night -- I couldn’t see after dark. On our first night route together, a trip from the bus through San Rafael to the lounge, I had to put my full and complete trust in him as a guide. And he didn’t let me down. He walked confidently, guided me to the curbs and street crossings and soon we made it to the lounge. He only made one mistake. He knew where we needed to go, but I wasn’t quite sure and thought he was wrong. But he was right, as I would find to be usually the case. When I got to the lounge I gave him a huge hug.

That started our partnership that lasted for seven years. In that time, Judson gave me the courage to go away to college eight hours from home. He gave me the courage to volunteer for and get paid for a job I truly loved -- being a tour guide at campus, with Judson, of course, as secondary tour guide. Okay, so the customers liked him better... Smile. And he gave me the courage even to travel to big cities and places that I would never dream of going coming from the small town of Corry.

With Judson by my side, I traveled to New York City to see several Broadway plays including Beauty and the Beast (he didn’t like the fireworks), Chicago, Rent (where he defended me against a homeless guy who wanted to know who had the guide dog), and Les Miserables, (where Judson thought the cannon fire was real, and the bells they used in the opening song were going to attack him.) We walked through Central Park, went to Ground Zero, and walked in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (where, of course, he thought all the cheering and clapping was for him alone, not that guy called Kenny G. on our float or that guy called the Mayor, but for beautiful Judson). He pranced down that route with pride! He went to Washington D.C. with me, toured the White House, and didn’t get arrested for peeing on the lawn -- he did have to go, after all. We traveled to Seattle to a conference where I gave a presentation for the first time. He discovered that sea otters are, in his mind, strange water dogs; I think the sea otters were thinking he was a strange otter. We went to New Orleans, and went to Bourbon Street -- nope, the dog did not drink anything and we avoided the puddles.

I never dreamed I would live or work in a large city. My dad says that Judson traveled and flew more miles than most people do in their lifetime and I know I wouldn’t have done all that traveling without my guide. I knew if we got lost or stranded I wasn’t alone; there were two of us to figure things out.

Judson lived with me through a lot of changes in my life, from my first time away from home for a long period of time, when I went to Kutztown University, an eight hour drive from my home, to my adventures in graduate school in Kalamazoo, Michigan, using buses on a regular basis, and my internship in Ohio. From losing my grandfather, finding out what my visual impairment was and the other medical and health problems I had in college. And finally my first job, in Boston, Massachusetts, where thankfully, although I had never learned to use subways, Judson knew exactly what to do and was willing to teach me.

My mom and dad were confident I would be okay on all of these adventures because I had Judson beside me. He was a truly good judge of character. If he didn’t like someone, he would give that person dirty looks and would growl under his breath, just enough to let me know what he thought. He also wouldn’t let someone he didn’t think was good or safe pet him. So if you were allowed to pet him you were a good person in his book.

Judson also took fame in stride. He was one of the canine stars on a Nature program called Dogs: the Early Years, ended up on FOX, Philadelphia, as a canine Tour Guide Dog, and CNN for the same. He appeared in the Kutztown University passbook, advertising the College of Education. He also received a Certificate of Service from the College of Education for his efforts recruiting new students, for his volunteer work and for providing morale therapy in hard times, such as during September 11, and when one of our classmates died in a car accident my senior year. He also wore his own cap made especially for him by the College of Education on graduation day in 2004.

Judson also was my teaching assistant. With my fifth graders he was a willing ice breaker to get the students talking; students would come approach him if they had problems. With my sixth graders, he helped me teach them science concepts such as physics (A heavy dog will exert pressure down on human attempting to hold him up, while human struggles to exert equal amount of pressure to keep dog up in air). In English, we did an essay called “What would Judson do?” and learned about patience in hard times. With my visually impaired kids, he taught them that dogs can be friendly, safe and good friends. He taught one young lady who was away from home for the first time that it was okay to be scared, that there were always friends in strange places, and to properly throw a Frisbee. He taught another girl from Haiti that dogs are friendly and they don’t have sharp claws like cats do. He taught another student that perhaps a guide dog might be a partner for her someday, and that trust is allowing a new person to brush your teeth (with the handler’s supervision, of course).

He also taught me persistence. He was usually correct in the route we should take but would be patient while I figured it out. He would try to get me to play ball with him instead of doing my homework -- after all, all work and no play made Judson a dull dog. And he taught me unconditional love, working, I think, several more months after he no longer truly enjoyed the work, but because I dependend on him.

Judson retired on August 12, 2007, and has enjoyed a long and happy and well-deserved retirement as a pet with my parents. He tolerated my second dog Guinevere and welcomed my third guide Ludden into our home. He tolerated and understood me when I was on crutches after breaking my ankle, was willing to go for slow and careful walks with me to rebuild my strength and flexibility in my foot. He loved his fetch and retrieving games. And every morning as Ludden, my current dog, and I went off to work, I swear he thought, “Have fun, you sucker. You have to go to work, while I sleep in. Ah, the life!”

But the years of work finally took their toll. Judson’s left hip could not support him anymore, and his right wasn’t any better. He was getting tired, wasn’t playing anymore, showing interest in food (he was normally an alarm clock you could rely on when he was younger) and he couldn’t get up and do the things he wanted to. On Thursday, he was not able to get up to get water, although he tried very hard to. We knew it was time.

Yesterday, he slipped away peacefully to Rainbow Bridge, where I know he is swimming in the clean, clear river under the bridge, playing fetch with the children there and rolling in the grass with his pals: Shadow, Lindy and all the dogs who have gone before him. I know he is free from allergies, aches and pains and I know he will be waiting for me at the Bridge when I cross someday.

I miss you Judson. There is a hole in my heart where you used to be. But I know you have left me in good paws with Ludden. I love you dog, my partner, my guide and my friend. You are a reflection of God’s love. After all "dog" backward is "God". Be free.

Saying “Goodbye” to a Hero

by Michael Hingson

It is strange for me to be writing this article while I have feelings of both sadness and joy in my heart. Nevertheless, it is something which must be done.
I have the solemn obligation to inform you that my hero Guide Dog, Roselle, who was with me in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, passed away last evening, Sunday, June 26, 2011 at 8:52 PM. I am sad, of course, because I will miss Roselle so very much, more than any of my other Guide Dogs. I write with joy because Roselle is in a better place, no longer feeling pain, leaving me with so many fond memories of her and a life forever changed by our shared experience.

Roselle was born on March 12, 1998 at Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California. Right from the start, she was quite a mischievous little puppy. Raised by several puppy-raising families in Santa Barbara, she spent many joy-filled days with Kay and Ted Stern, who introduced her to airplane travel, New York, snow, and even the theater. I must say that I think the culture did rub off on her.

After her time with puppy raisers, Roselle returned to Guide Dogs for the Blind for training. Our first meeting was November 22, 1999. Roselle was my fifth Guide Dog. It was obvious from our very first walk together that we were a perfect match. What took me a few days to discover was that Roselle was also quite a character; I constantly referred to her as a “pixie.” Roselle had a penchant for stealing socks. She didn't chew them up; she just carried them around and then hid them somewhere only to bring them out later just to taunt me. She was always willing to give them up undamaged and ready-to-wear although a little bit damp. Her tail wagged through the whole experience. In fact, her tail hardly stopped wagging during the almost 12 years I knew her (I also discovered that she was a loud snorer. The Stearns told me later that even as a puppy, she could snore with the best of them).

When I brought Roselle home to New Jersey on December 2, 1999, she met my retired guide, Linnie. Linnie and Roselle seemed a bit uncomfortable with each other that night and into the middle of the next day. I decided that this awkwardness had gone on long enough and brought out a rope tug bone. I made each of them take an end and I grabbed the middle of the rope. They started off by teaming up and tugging against me. After about 20 seconds of this with mouths inching up toward my fingers from both sides I release the bone and let them go at it alone. From that moment on they were inseparable until Linnie passed away on July 4, 2002.

I would not be alive today if it weren't for Roselle. On September 11, 2001 Roselle and I were in our office on the 78th floor of Tower One of the World Trade Center when it was struck by American Airlines flight 11, hijacked and under terrorist control. Our escape from that tower moments before its collapse is story that has been told around the world and is still an inspiration to many. This amazing story is the subject of my new book called “Thunder Dog” co-authored with Susy Flory, which will be in bookstores and available on my website soon. All I want to say here is that Roselle did an incredible job and is a true hero. She remained poised and calm through the entire day, giving kisses and love wherever she could, while working valiantly when she needed to do so. Roselle’s service on 9/11 was a testimony not only to the Sterns and the others who raised her, but to her trainer, Todd Jurek, the entire Guide Dogs for the Blind training staff, and all the people who make up that wonderful organization. Most of all, what Roselle did that day and in fact every day she and I were together is nothing less than the most powerful evidence I can provide of the enduring value of trust and teamwork.

In the aftermath of 9/11, in January 2002, Roselle and I began an exciting journey, serving as the National Public Affairs Director for Guide Dogs for the Blind. Roselle and I spent countless hours speaking to the media, officiating at events, even riding on a float in the Rose Parade on New Year's Day. Over the next 6 1/2 years Roselle and I traveled hundreds of thousands of miles throughout the United States and the rest of the world speaking about trust and teamwork, guide dogs, and blindness. Our goal was to help people understand that the real “handicap” of blindness is not a lack of eyesight but a lack of proper education about blindness. Roselle took every trip with poise and confidence whether it was to Kansas or Korea. She was an incredible traveler.

She met many dignitaries and celebrities, including President George W. Bush, Queen Noor, Hilary Rodham Clinton, the Prime Ministers of Ireland, New Zealand and Canada, Senators Chuck Schumer and Barbara Boxer, Larry King, Regis and Kelly, and many others. She received numerous awards and was even honored in the US Congressional Record by Congresswoman Lynn Woolsey.

In 2004, Roselle was diagnosed with immune mediated thrombocytopenia, a condition which caused her body to attack her blood platelets. It was thought that her condition may have been brought on by exposure to the contaminated air at Ground Zero. Through medications, we were able to control the disease and Roselle was able to continue guiding. As usual, she worked like a trooper and never once exhibited pain or discomfort.

On the home front, from the time that Roselle lost her tug companion, Linnie, in 2002, we cared for several foster dogs from GDB until Fantasia came to live with us in 2006. In Fantasia, Roselle found an inseparable friend and made the most of it. She still swiped the occasional pair of socks, but Fantasia was her main interest. Roselle taught Fantasia how to bark every time the doorbell rang and how to beg for treats, which became a regular household ritual for both dogs especially when 8:00 PM rolled around.

In February 2007 during a normal checkup we learned that some of Roselle's kidney values were changing for the worse. It was decided that the medication regimen on which Roselle had been placed as well as the stress of guiding were putting her health at further risk. Roselle retired from guidework in March of 2007. It was a sad day for all of us, but Roselle took it in stride and soon made it very clear that retirement suited her well. After retirement, Roselle loved to take walks most of the time, she loved her meals, her treats, playing Battle of the Bone with Fantasia and later with my current Guide Dog Africa, and of course barking at the ringing of the doorbell. Roselle was the loudest barker of the bunch. I have fond memories of Roselle, Fantasia, and Africa all tugging on the same rope, all battling each other across our living room giving no care to whatever was in their way.

In 2010, Roselle began exhibiting some chronic back pain. While speaking at the annual convention of the American Animal Hospital Association, I introduced Roselle to Doctor Robin Downing, an expert in dog pain management. Robin noticed Roselle's pain and while I gave three consecutive workshops she spent time with Roselle. I think they got to know each other pretty well that day because right after the workshops Doctor Downing, right there on the floor in the front of the conference room, gave Roselle a back adjustment which clearly helped Roselle and made her back feel somewhat better. Upon our return home, we immediately took Roselle to her vet and started her on a treatment of acupuncture, back adjustments, and herbs which altogether mostly eliminated her chronic back pain.

Earlier this year we noticed that Roselle was beginning to have a harder time standing up on her own, although once she was standing she loved to continue her daily walks. She stopped playing tug bone with Fantasia and Africa, but she still enjoyed lying in the sun, eating, kissing everybody in sight, and barking at the doorbell. Her ability to stand on her own grew worse throughout the first half of this year.

Last week she began exhibiting some other signs of distress and pain. On Friday, June 24, 2011, she had to be taken to her vet, who suspected that somehow she had developed a stomach ulcer. Also, it was discovered that her red blood cell count had dropped significantly. Friday evening she was taken to the Pet Emergency and Specialty Center where she was well known by Doctor Harb and the other staff. Yesterday, Sunday, June 26, we visited her in the evening only to see her condition continuing to deteriorate. She was in a lot of pain and discomfort. There was no one cause for her discomfort, but Doctor Bowie of the PESC felt that some of her immune-related conditions had returned in addition to the possible stomach ulcer.

After much consultation and discussion we all came to agreement that the best thing we could do to help Roselle was to assist her in crossing the Rainbow Bridge and go to her friend Linnie. At 8:52 last evening she crossed that bridge and, I am sure, she is now pain-free, enjoying socks and other games, barking at doorbells to her heart’s content.

How can I possibly say goodbye to a dog who is done all Roselle has done and who lived life to the fullest? How can I ever do justice to her life, work, and memory? Roselle has been one of the greatest blessings and gifts I have ever had the joy of receiving. God surely broke the mold with Roselle. I have had seven Guide Dogs including Africa, my seventh, and also I have had the opportunity to see thousands of them at work around the world. Roselle is unique without a doubt. She worked through the most trying time in our nation’s history, and she was right there unflinching for all of it. Her spirit never diminished and, in fact, grew stronger through the years after 9-11, helping me become a better person today.

I thank God for the time my wife Karen and I were allowed to have with this wonderful creature. She touched everyone whom she met in a special way, giving unconditional love wherever she went. She kissed firefighters in the World Trade Center as we descended the stairs, a memory that moves me to this day. She inspired us all and will continue to do so.

Roselle’s passing coincides with the formation of “Roselle's Dream Foundation,” which has been in development for several months. The purpose of the foundation is to educate people about blindness, and to assist blind children and later blind adults to obtain new technologies to empower them to learn, work and engage in life more fully. Shortly the website www.rosellesdream.org will be up and running. I invite people to honor Roselle by making donations in her memory to the Roselle's Dream Foundation to help us in our work.

My goodbye prayer: Roselle, your memory will always be with us and your spirit continues to touch us. I know you're nearby, watching us. Your memory inspires us to be better people and dogs, to be the best we can be. I hope you're feeling better now. You have shown us what real love and service look like, setting the bar high for us to follow. Be at peace and know that we shall try to love each other as much as you loved each of us during your time with us on earth.

Love, Michael