Of Dogs and Angels
By Roger Caras
During my years in animal welfare work – I served as the president of the
American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – I have heard
wonderful stories about the power of the human-animal bond. One of my
favorites is about a girl and her very special dog.
When the girl was born, her parents were stationed
with the U.S. Army overseas. The tiny baby spiked a fever of 106 degrees
and when they couldn't help her at the military base, the baby and her family
were flown home to the United States where she could receive the proper medical
care.
The alarming fever kept recurring, but the baby
survived. When the episode was over, the child was left with thirteen
different seizure causes, including epilepsy. She had what was called
multiple seizure syndrome and had several seizures every day. Sometimes
she stopped breathing.
As a result, the little girl could never be
left alone. She grew to be a teenager and if her mother had to go out, her
father or brothers had to accompany her everywhere, including to the bathroom,
which was awkward for everyone involved. But the risk of leaving her alone
was too great and so, for lack of a better solution, things went on in this way
for years.
The girl and her family lived near a town where
there was a penitentiary for women. One of the programs there was a
dog-training program. The inmates were taught how to train dogs to foster
a sense of competence, as well as to develop a job skill for the time when they
left the prison. Although most of the women had serious criminal
backgrounds, many made excellent dog trainers and often trained service dogs for
the handicapped while serving their time.
The girl's mother read about this program and
contacted the penitentiary to see if there was anything they could do for her
daughter. They had no idea how to train a dog to help a person in the
girl's condition, but her family decided that a companion animal would be good
for the girl, as she had limited social opportunities and they felt she would
enjoy a dog's company.
The girl chose a random-bred dog named Queenie and
together with the women at the prison, trained her to be an obedient pet.
But Queenie had other plans. She became a
"seizure-alert" dog, letting the girl know when a seizure was coming
on, so that the girl could be ready for it.
I heard about Queenie's amazing abilities and went
to visit the girl's family and meet Queenie. At one point during my visit,
Queenie became agitated and took the girl's wrist in her mouth and started
pulling her towards the living room couch. Her mother said, "Go on
now. Listen to what Queenie's telling you."
The girl went to the couch, curled up in a fetal
position, facing the back of the couch and within moments started to
seize. The dog jumped on the couch and wedged herself between the back of
the couch and the front of the girl's body, placing her ear in front of the
girl's mouth. Her family was used to this performance, but I watched in
open-mouthed astonishment as the girl finished seizing and Queenie relaxed with
her on the couch, wagging her tail and looking for all the world like an
ordinary dog, playing with her mistress.
Then the girl and her dog went to the girl's
bedroom as her parents and I went to the kitchen for coffee. A little
while later, Queenie came barreling down the hallway, barking. She did a
U-turn in the kitchen and then went racing back to the girl's room.
"She's having a seizure," the mother
told me. The girl's father got up, in what seemed to me a casual manner
for someone whose daughter often stopped breathing, and walked back to the
bedroom after Queenie.
My concern must have been evident on my face
because the girl's mother smiled and said, "I know what you're thinking,
but you see, that's not the bark Queenie uses when my daughter stops
breathing."
I shook my head in amazement. Queenie, the
self-taught angel, proved to me once again how utterly foolish it is to suppose
that animals don't think or can't communicate.