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Owners and host families tell their stories
Pimkie was raised by a group of teenagers at a social and cultural centre, under the guidance of Mrs. Delorme, the director.
Pimkie is about to become a guide dog. Nothing unusual about that except that this young Hovawart was raised at the Social and Cultural Centre at Maison-Alfort. A dozen teenagers aged 13-15 years decided to train him, under the guidance of the guide dog school at Vincennes. The project began in 1999. The centre participates in the "Art - nimal Festival" that is organized by the Department of Youth and Sport of the region. Participants have to come up with a project involving an animal. Stella Delorme, the director of the centre, got to know some members of the guide dog school. The latter is constantly looking for host families. The dogs need a normal environment where they are exposed to everyday experiences, says Laurence Berthault, one of the trainers. Stella thought it would be a good idea to become a host family and get the teenagers at the centre involved in the project. "Pimkie is adorable but I never keep my eyes off her, be it during the day at the centre, or at night at home. She is always getting up to mischief!" The aim of the project is to make the teens aware of what life is like for an animal and what it requires to train a guide dog. Like all other host families they take her to her obedience classes on Wednesdays and meet with visually impaired people. Thanks to Pimkie the teenagers realize that there is more to life than their own personal problems. "On the one hand they have their individual needs, but on the other they meet blind people whose only dream is to have a guide dog," explains Aude Leveiller, an organizer at the centre. Over the months the youngsters see this unusual dog grow up. They take care of him, feed him, play with him and bond with him. Stella Delorme and Aude Leveiller report: "the impact has been tremendous. In a neighbourhood more used to seeing aggressive pitbulls, Pimkie's arrival did not go unnoticed. It is most disarming for the teens to see that a dog can actually be useful. Whereas they were rough at first, they finally became extremely affectionate towards him. They hung in there and patiently helped educate him 'to give eyes to a blind person'. It was with great regret that they parted with this Hovawart who will finish his training at the school." Written by Vincent Groizeleau. BACK TO "personal histories"
Ma première rencontre avec Le Hovawart a eu lieu en février 1994, lors d'une visite à l'école de Chiens Guides de Paris. Ils étaient trois chiots de trois mois, déjà bien éveillés, ressemblant plus à des peluches qu'à de futurs gros chiens. J'avoue que je fus séduit de suite mais il était encore trop tôt pour savoir si l'un de ces chiens me conviendrait. Il fallait donc attendre et ne pas se focaliser sur cette race... Pour avoir la suite: http://perso.club-internet.fr/mferrant/
BACK TO "personal histories"
Patty, my first guide dog.
The wait is long. It took me 2 years to get my first dog, but I understand that someone who has already had a dog is given preference. How tough it must be to go back to a cane after the freedom a guide dog brings with it! I made a written demand for a dog. Then I filled out a questionnaire and met with a psychologist. Only then did the search for a suitable dog begin. I tested the dogs by walking a course with a harnessed dog, a trainer at my side who gave me the commands to give to the dog. All I had to do was concentrate on what my feelings were for the dog. Trying different dogs makes one aware of both their stature and their gait, stiff or loose, bold or not. If one isn't sure the school allows one to come back for further try outs. (I, for one, wasn't sure at all.) Once a dog is chosen one can take him home for the weekend to see whether he really fits into one's lifestyle. As far as I was concerned Patty seemed right for me: she had a steady if energetic gait energetic, but as a companion dog she was perfect - playful, with a solid character and obedient in the confines of my home. As this seemed a good match the school suggested we join their training programme. For 2 weeks I learnt the necessary commands, all the basics and how to look after her. My life was in shambles during that period. Would Patty ever become my guide dog? What a character! She would simply refuse to do certain exercise, would want to be ahead of me. This meant that we had to do them over and over again. Sometimes I was very discouraged. Not only did I have to learn new bearings and change my perception of the surroundings but I had to begin to rely on a dog! Not an easy change. But I must say the training, though exhausting, was extremely thorough. As the trainer joined us on my usual route during the last week I felt very lonely when he left and I had to do it on my own. Even though it wasn't easy at first, I wouldn't change my dog for the world. She is an excellent guide dog. I trust her more than I do some humans. She has given me an unbelievable freedom and has changed my relationship with the world and its inhabitants. When I have had to use my cane since having Patty I have felt miserable and lonely. It took me so much longer to get where I wanted to go and the route was strewn with obstacles. All the questions one asks oneself and the doubts one has before taking a dog are definitely justified. But once the school had prepared me to move around alone with my dog, within 2-3 weeks, I was no longer apprehensive. Everything I learnt was extremely useful. Initially I had umpteen questions and always got reassuring answers to them. Basically it takes 6 months for the team to finally work well together, for the dog to adapt to his new owner and to master the art of guiding. Olivia BACK TO "personal histories" BACK TO "getting a dog"
I am a physiotherapist. I work in an institution with children aged 4-12 years who have multiple handicaps - motor, mental and behavioural. The management thought my getting a dog was a good thing, both for me and for the children, and the director notified everyone that Patty would have the run of the establishment. Most institutions would love to keep pets but don't because they need to be looked after at night and during the vacations as well. I solved that problem for them. As it happens Patty was warmly welcomed by the staff and the children. Some make an unbelievable effort to get close to touch her, others use her to push themselves up. The dog and the children interact well, learning each others likes and dislikes. Some children are afraid when she licks them. She, on the other hand, doesn't always like to be taken for a walker. The tetraplegique children need some help to pat her and she will willingly put her head down - not for too long, though, then she'll be off again! Thereupon the child will try to reach for her, extending his arms and opening his hands. He will raise his head to look at her and try to say her name. The children that are timid or afraid will hesitate to go up to her at first or even ignore her. They, too, eventually relax in her presence. Some children become bold and call her to lie close to them so that they can pat her. Sometimes she responds. Overall the response to Patty has been very positive. Although Patty is a lively, dynamic dog she will never jump on child and is never rough. She received no specific training so who would have guessed that she had these hidden qualities? I am, of course, ever watchful that matters don't get out of hand, that one of the children doesn't pull her ear or her tail or her coat, or walk on her paws when she is lying down and ignoring them. She is a patient dog but has growled on occasion when a child has pulled out a big tuft of hair - that must have been painful! After a full day's work Patty then guides me home and drops down, exhausted. But the next morning she is back at it again with joy! Olivia BACK TO "personal histories" RETOUR vers "Remise du chien"
It is Sunday noon. The beach seems deserted. All I hear is the sound of the waves. The tide is low so there is ample space for Prima to have a good run. I remove her harness and put a bell on her collar. About 5 months ago, when we first began coming to this beach, Prima would race about wildly, making big circles around me. Today all she wants to do is play and she tugs strongly on the leash. What a difference when she wears the harness - she is docile and restrained. Now she simply wants to take off. She begins to race away, faster and faster, running figures of eight past me. I feel her head nudging my back as she jumps, her muzzle against my arms. This is how she gets rid of all the pent up energy after guiding me for hours on end. It only lasts a few minutes. After that she goes sniffing around in the sand, digging holes and rolling in the wet sand, then shaking it off. And on it goes. Today the seaweed and the other flotsam and jetsam that the tide washed up don't seem to interest her. In the meanwhile I wade along the shoreline using my white cane for guidance, and after about 15 minutes reach the exit of the beach. The sounds of the waves and Prima's bell (she has, of course, followed me) help me orientate myself. As soon as I call her she is at my feet. I put her back in her "working gear", give her a big hug and praise her: "OK, Sweetie, that's it for today." Together we head for the coastal trail that was badly flooded by the spring tides of the previous weekend. Here, too, the sea seems far out and I cannot hear the waves at the bottom of the cliffs. Let's explore that cove. I have never before dared venture beyond the dirt trail…over the rocks… "Go, Prima, find the way down!" Prima heads for the rocks. She works very well, going around the rocks that block our way, waiting at those that I can use as a stepping stone, where I gingerly feel my way with my toes. We progress slowly but surely and Prima is both attentive and cautious. Finally we reach the sandy beach. What an exhilaration to feel the grains of sand between my toes! Prima leads me up the cove near the bluff above which runs the path we use daily. The far off waves echo against the cliffs. It is with my hands that I read the history of these weather-beaten rocks, that they were here yesterday and will still be there tomorrow despite the fact that they are being eroded little by little by the continuous motion of the sea. Perhaps the sharp crags want to remind us of a painful past? And the round, smooth stones are souvenirs of happier moments worth cherishing? With one hand I feel my way, with the other I hold on to Prima. Safely between them I can let my imagination run away with me. I create an imaginary setting where every sound, every smell, every element is a piece of a giant puzzle. This is how I "see" the world, one without light or colour, with no boundaries and no perspectives. It is a world filled with sounds and smells, with air than I can feel, in which I follow a noise to its source, in which an odour may intoxicate me. It is a world where every new day brings with it other wonders and delights that stimulate my senses. I turn around and tell Prima to head for the ocean straight in front of us, for the breakers, leaving their echoes behind us, seemingly floating over the sand. To Prima the obstacles she avoids are real, to me they are ghosts. I follow her religiously, trying to restrain the exhilaration I feel. We make giant strides over puddles and rocks. How wonderful it is to be walking on this virgin shore. "How sweet it is this freedom you have given me, Prima!" How light I feel! The foam laps my feet - I wonder how far Prima would go if I didn't stop her… She sits down, facing the sea. It feels great being so close to the waves. Another whiff of freedom! Yet another! The space around me seems to be expanding. Each gust of wind that grazes my cheeks reminds me of the elements - small and instantaneous wonders to grab at. "Thank you, Prima! I would never have made it here without you!" She remains immobile, looking at the sea. Captivated, intrigued, surprised, meditative - I don't know what to make of her when we sit watching the sea like this. But I leave her be, quiet as she is. This freedom makes me feel tipsy - I haven't felt like this since…since I went blind 15 years ago! Well, not quite. There was that exciting gallop when I went horseback riding in the Pyrenees in July '93. It gave me the same feeling of liberty. In fact, I sometimes catch myself calling Prima "my little horse" when we are on a brisk walk and she is trotting nimbly next to me, looking quite dapper in her harness! Ah, the sea, the open sea! How strong the waves are today. Screeching sea gulls seem to be flying loud arabesques above my head. How the gusts of wind constantly revive my exhilaration! The silent darkness within is gradually being lit up by all these sounds. I feel like a grain of sand, like a drop of the ocean, like a clap of a wing, like a whiff of the wind, as tasty as salt, as strong as a wave, as fragile as the sea weed that it manhandles. I feel as heavy as a rock, as light as foam, as rebellious as the wind, as submissive as the horizon… The sea is right there. So close. Even though my eyes no longer caress it with a look, it intoxicates every one of my senses! The overwhelming feeling of liberty that I feel today adds to the ocean's beauty. But…isn't the tide coming in? "Prima, let's stop dreaming. Let's climb. Find the path!" Will she find it? Are we too far away? My command - does she understand what I want her to? To crown it all I didn't really pay much attention when we left the cove to come here. How far have we come? That euphoria of feeling free…Now I have no idea when to tell her to "find the stairs", which probably don't even look like stairs! Can she see them from down here? Aren't they too far up for her to see them? What, if anything, can she see? After walking in the sand for a while, with the sound of the waves further and further away, I tell Prima: "Find the stairs now!" Maybe it's too soon. Does she understand that the word "stairs" means we need to climb up? Prima begins to climb slowly, waiting for me to follow, ever watchful and cautious. We climb and climb. Suddenly the sound of the waves seems very close again. Are we heading back up the cove? Right there where the waves smash against the cliffs at high tide? I wonder where we are. We seem to be going in circles so I encourage Prima to find the trail. But she sits down and ignores my commands. If we cannot go any further she is meant to lie down. Perhaps she has no room? I feel around with my foot - there is definitely not enough space to lie down. Where are we, what are we doing on this dead end with nothing below? We seem to be stranded on a huge pile of boulders, so we'll have to get down again, but it seems awfully steep. That's why Prima stopped… I sit down, too, and a wave of panic invades me. The breakers seem louder and louder, closer and closer. Is the tide coming in at the speed of lightning? Will it reach us up here - on this mound, the Mont St Michel? Sit! Relax! Control yourself! Think! Keep your mind clear! At least try… I can't see myself finding the coastal trail on my own. And I don't know what directions to give Prima. We're too far off course. I don't know where the trail is. To make matters worse, I can't find my bearings. The sound of the waves seems too close. I might head for more boulders, other boulders. And that tide that seems to be racing in…The sea sounds are of no help - too confusing between the sound of the waves breaking and their echo off the cliffs. And the gusting wind - I am lost! As for Prima - she tried, she climbed, but there isn't a trail up here. I think I'll take off her harness and the leash. At least that'll make swimming easier for her, in case… My cell phone is in my back pack but I cannot access its memory. And I can't remember any of the numbers either. If only I could call Gaetane and Theo, they could meet us and get us out of here for sure. No point in hoping. Maybe they aren't even home… Since Adrien has been coming home to work on weekends I have been meaning to make this hike with him so that he can describe the coast to me in detail and tell me where I can go down to the shore. But we haven't had time to do so. And today I decided to be adventurous… Would Val be at home? Should I call Elora? It's Sunday, she'll be sleeping. Besides, she lives too far away. The tide will be way up here before she can get to us. Useless thoughts but they comfort me anyway. How to get out of here? I suddenly feel hemmed in by this space that made me feel so free earlier. An enormous void is barring my way. Sounds are closing in on me. I feel imprisoned by a noisy darkness. I'm on overload, saturated by these sounds that are clouding my concentration and preventing me from finding a way out. The minutes go by, wasted on unproductive thoughts. Unproductive thoughts? No way! All those sounds, the sounds I love. Sounds I love but which right now seem overwhelming. Like love. Love…love? Somewhere out there are people who love me and whom I care about… Somewhere beyond these isolating sounds… And there is Prima. Prima! Stop thinking! Act! "Prima, stand! Let's go!" I tell her as I get up. "Let's go, Prima! We're going back down to the beach." She gets up and makes a sharp about turn, taking great care to lead me back to where we had been before. Once on the sand we begin to walk, leaving the sea behind us. Suddenly she veers left and we begin to climb again, higher and higher. And we are right back on the boulders we just left - at least that is the impression I have. She sits down and refuses to move any further. I feel my way with my feet…the same rock, the same emptiness ahead! The waves give off the same sound. Why did Prima bring us back here? How am I going to make myself understood? "OK, Sweetie, let's start again. This is not what we want. We want to go down to the beach and then we want to go home." Maybe she is right. Maybe all we need to do is to descend to find the trail. Why don't I trust her? Is it the sound of the waves? Only that? What about that steep step that disturbed me? Off she goes again. We go down to the sand where she continues up the cove, searching. With my free hand I feel the edges of the cliff and lean against them to listen to the echoless sounds of the waves. My spirits lighten. Perhaps the trail is just above us? Sniffing furiously, Prima tries to find a trace of our previous passage. I follow, tightly holding on to her harness. We're back on some boulders. Sometimes she helps me keep my balance when I don't pay attention. She advances slowly but surely. The boulders are flatter here which helps our progress. Every now and then I reach above us to feel for steps but find none, only rock. Prima seems to be sniffing more than before. I say nothing. Maybe she needs her flair to find her way. Maybe the steps are hidden by rocks. She's just 63cm high at the withers after all, so she can't see that far ahead, especially with boulders obstructing her view. So perhaps her nose is replacing her eyes? She is tense, searching. Her sniffing is different, not like when she explores under a park bench… "Go ahead! Good girl! Sniff as much as you want, if your eyes aren't helping you. I can't hear anything, I can't see anything. All I'm doing is following you." Sand, boulders, more sand, more boulders! But they are getting flatter and wider as we advance. And then I feel dirt under my feet. One step, two steps… It doesn't seem to be our usual trail but I encourage Prima to keep looking. My pats don't slow her down, she continues searching, unperturbed. She seems to know that this not exactly where we should be, that this is not our usual trail. "Go, Prima, find the trail! Just a few more steps…" This is it! You found it! What a relief to feel the familiar dirt, the hedge, the stone wall! "Well done, Prima! You did it!" We walk slowly now, tired and tense after what we've been through. From up here the waves seem far away, the tide far out. We're back on the path we use daily. Prima knew that I wanted to climb back to this trail and she stayed with it all the way from the beach, always concentrating on the task. Once again she has impressed me. How reassuring this trail feels! How nice it is to be out walking on this sunny autumn Sunday!!! I smile when I think back to July, when we met a man here. A gale was blowing (force 9 on the Beaufort scale). The man was so protective, so anxious when he saw a blind person out and about that he insisted on helping us reach the tar road. Even though he was more of a hindrance than a help I thanked him profusely. If only he could have seen us today… And the one that came running after us, screaming that we shouldn't advance any further. There we were, Prima and I, sitting on the edge of the path, facing the sea, dreaming. In reply, I turned and smiled at him, slowly lowering my head towards the ground. He left sheepishly and a little disconcerted, I think. Another time, there was that fellow, who actually blocked our way, saying: "You can't go any further. It's a dead end." I replied: "Good morning. I know, we come this way every day." Whereupon he retorted: "Every day? On this path? But aren't you blind?" I said nothing further to him and turned around. "About turn, Prima! For once you won't be putting your paws on that gate that is always blocking our way. We'll come back tomorrow." No "Can I help you?" Today there is no one about, no one to bother us. It is noon, a good hour for a quiet stroll. Am I not being a bit too proud? A little while ago I wasn't nearly as confident… At the top of the steps which are carved out of the cliff Prima usually marks a definite stop. Not today. She hesitates only slightly and throws a quick glance to her left - a last look at where we were earlier, the cove, the rocks, the waves… And she doesn't stop at her usual vantage point either, where the high wall begins, to look at the sea. We head straight for the road where she makes her usual right turn. Finally she seems to relax. Are we going straight home? When we get to the stairs that lead to a square overlooking the big beach she stops. She wants to go down. For once I agree. Usually we go to a bench but today I tell her to find the stairs to the beach. Often this passage is blocked by water, but today it is very low tide. Once on the beach she seems to have a definite goal as she leads me. If we were going straight home she would have taken the stairs on the left, which take us from the beach to the street that leads us home. Today, however, we head for the port parking lot. She finds the correct exit, a small opening in a wall that borders the beach. Usually she tarries a while here, sniffing around amongst the rocks. Not today… She is determined, like an automaton… We stop to decide what to do. Should we continue our walk? No, our earlier escapade has exhausted me so I tell her to go home. At the top of the street she turns left and covers this difficult route to the traffic light without a problem. I'm the one who is tired…I lose my balance on the edge of the sidewalk, or did I not follow her when she indicated that our path was getting narrower, that there was a lamppost? I am exhausted. I can no longer concentrate on her signals. It's time to get home. The market will have to wait. Gosh, a motorcycle actually stops at the green light to let us cross!! "Prima, let's cross!" We meet second motorcycle halfway home. All these mechanical sounds remind me of my freedom. "Well done, Prima! We're home!" 
My dear dog, will it ever dawn on my that you see, smell and think for two? Will it ever be second nature to me? Isn't that the ultimate sign of trust - to follow one's guide no matter what? But we've only been together for 6 months, and have only lived at the shore for 4…
It's tough being a guide dog! About our "adventure" - will I ever accept that I am blind? Will I ever let my blindness rein in my freedom, curb my curiosity, shatter my dreams, or take away the joy I feel just being alive? Will I finally let it take its legitimate place in my existence? It is tough being blind… "Thank you, Prima. I learnt a lot about you and through you today. Thank you!" Maïp, Pornic, the 22nd October, 2002.
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