Sophie vs Bambi

To Service Dogs and their Handlers Everywhere:

It’s safe to say that most if not all of my fellow service dog handlers get what happens out on the street when we are out there in the wild world.

We know for instance that some can jump right out there out of desire or necessity, as I once did. Or, as I am now sometimes just getting the courage to go out into the world is more than we can handle and it feels too overwhelming to face.

I’ve stayed home at times because I was able to “put off until tomorrow what I once could do that day.

Still, I love Sophie, my beautiful service dog and wonderful friend that I feel any disparaging remark aimed at me is a slight against her, too.

Some people simply have an axe to grind with the world in general and are just mean people. But others often believe they’ve a real reason to complain. While I understand this, remedying the problem can be exhausting and, if I were to see it this way wholly unfair and unnecessary.

What many people don’t realize is that our great working relationship just doesn’t happen by accident-it’s taken lots and lots of positive reinforcement and practice. All service dog handlers get this because our disabilities are as different as our dogs’ duties and vice versa. It’s a labor of love and our efforts are rewarded a hundred times over.

Still, for every hundred interactions with people who offer complimentary remarks about Sophie there’s always one person who claims Sophie has run afoul of: County laws, city laws, state laws you name it, everything but the law of common sense because Sophie isn’t somehow tethered to me on a leash.

Setting aside that all-too-common leash gripe, nobody has any legal grounds to impose upon us alny suggested means of “controlling” Sophie. A collar, a vest, a tag and more have proven pointless in the real world.

The fact is, Sophie is under control at all times anyway, often more so than those who complain. Any kind of restraint I place upon her would both be unduly cumbersome and counter to our training.

Still, I have tried to conform to society’s apparent right to determine our behavior.

Years ago I performed quasi-circus acts trying to observe “leash laws” with Sophie. I concluded in short order that she could not safely do her job for me if she were to get tangled in a leash if I fell on her.,It’s a big aspect of my disability which, despite being an amputee is unrelated to my actual disability. It defeats the purpose of our working relationship for she might as well just be a fashion accessory, a four-legged friend or anything but a service dog.

For years it’s been obvious that Sophie works her best off-leash, and it’s been as many years since she’s even been on a leash. Even a probation lady whose job, ironically, was a follow up to a supposed leash law infraction understood that.

In past years Sophie had a matching red collar and leash with the words “Service Dog” stitched onto them. They’ve long since worn out, which is unfortunate. We first purchased that leash and collar while I still had the benefit of one thing most critical to handling an energetic young Sophie - my ex-wife,

While it’s said that it takes a village to raise a child it helps to have the benefit of family to raise a dog. It’s doubly true, I believe when it comes to a highly perceptive and downright intelligent girl like Sophie.

Today when Sophie and I are out I put on her red collar with three unmistakably visible and carefully arranged patches reading “Service Dog” & “Medical Alert Dog.” They are actually leftover patches I’d collected over the years that I epoxied onto that collar specifically to placate strangers.

I now also wear a little picture ID clipped to my shirt, the point being that if someone is going to approach Sophie and I they will do so with the knowledge that Sophie and I are a team.

Just about anything not involving the two questions I might legally be asked about Sophie’s purpose as put forth by the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 is a no-no, and therein lies the exhausting part.

Having to educate others in need of some background on the subject is a tempting proposition I have trouble putting aside. In every case such impromptu discussions should never have to take place at all.

Since I often find myself unexpectedly thrust into this educator role I can usually size up the other party’s intentions. Thus any situation can become a conversation I either choose to have with someone on the subject of every service dog and handler’s rights and responsibilities or it’s harassment. And it’ll up to my judgment and no one else’s to decide which it will be. Some harassers see otherwise, and won’t be ignored even if they have to do something stupid and/or dangerous in the process.

I’m sick of hearing from strangers who are masters of twisting whatever negativity is happening in their lives and employing their highly refined skill of making their problems someone else’s. It’s as if they’ve got a periscope up, searching the landscape for targets of opportunity.

It’s a tired story: The stranger appears, declares in so many words your wrongdoing in the apparent hope that you’ll argue with them about it. Their position that “People who claim they have a service dog are liars.” Just ask the Arizona ranger who beat us up.

But I don’t argue with anyone; I won’t argue. In fact, I don’t even know how to be ready to argue because I don’t look at life expecting a fight around every corner.

I basically live my life with my guard down, as pleasantly as possible and in the moment. What’s worse is that any confrontation with a stranger over my handling of Sophie triggers painful memories. Even so, I still find myself surprised when Sophie and I are targeted by yet another accuser.

Each time their approach and tactics vary, so there’s never a pat response to these people. But my response is the same: I just want to disappear or to make myhide, like in Arizona.

I feel naked and torn up inside but I’m still compelled to speak for myself, in support of my equal right to be anyplace anyone else may be. But I no longer have the will to do it. I guess I didn’t realize how beaten down I’ve become until recently:

The campground and marina at the reservoir across the street is open now and there’s been an influx of strangers in the area. More mountain bikers, hikers and horseback riders.

Suddenly, signs reading “Danger, Thieves, Smash and Grab, Lock Your Car” are posted at parking lots.? And just like thatour peaceful world here turns into a place of doubt, mistrust and “stranger danger.” So I seek alternative walking routes for us on weekends, when it’s busiest.

Walking down the same “safe” roads where we’ve grown accustomed to being left alone for over a year is our usual sanctuary, though even that was violated this weekend. So I tried being proactive about this subject, which had come to influence almost everything I did; I took an advocacy class.

It touched on a broad range of subjects regarding disability rights and was extremely useful for the specific purpose of becoming an advocate for all disabled.

Sadly, though it was the very place where I realized I’d been dealing with many societal biases toward the disabled. It just so happened that service dog issues were the ones that resonated loudest. No wonder I so often felt like not leaving the house; anyone in my position might feel the same way

It reflected much of what I’d come to know since inheriting a highly visible and chronically painful visible disability. In 2013, one year after a bicycle accident with a car I lost my left arm.

Further I realized something that hadn’t ever happened while still a married man with all of his limbs; a certain squeamishness from among others in my world.

As an able-bodied man I blended in with “everyone else.” As a disabled person I felt unbelievably conspicuous. Nobody rushed to hold a door for me or to pick up something I’d inadvertently dropped, etc. I was just an ordinary guy. No longer. But there is a dark side to this apparent social altruism.

In taking that advocacy class I realized a universal truth about people’s view of others. That is, able bodied or not no matter what Sophie did and how I conducted myself there would always be some person who’d find fault and scream bloody murder.

Because of our relationship and Sophie’s and my hard-earned right to be anywhere that anyone else could be was a pretty crappy wake-up call in itself. Places I never thought twice about entering, but perhaps the most unavoidable of them all - grocery store - suddenly became a daunting challenge.

The consequence of these problem people, these screamers, is that the police or store managers or whoever will listen to them, the loudmouths, are heard. And, in placating the loudmouths suddenly I am the one who is questioned as is my judgment in handling Sophie.

I’m convinced these people would never stand to be addressed the same way they speak to me and I’ve long passed my tipping point with this. Surely Sophie and I didn’t survive the handful of awful experiences in Arizona and my bicycle crash just to struggle in the world as it currently is.

All that pain, the head injuries and the months of unimaginable agony just doing any basic activity, the loss of a limb and the years that it’s taken to function well without it.

Then, the subsequent fallout from the crash followed: Heretofore unknown relationship stressors, residual head injury issues, then the fairly quick, one-by-one loss of my teammates and then a divorce. Everyone who was part of that circle of people was also part of the only support system Sophie and I had. Now, it was gone with the wind.

Like anyone, I’ve made my share of mistakes since then. I’d become a highly codependent person as a child and have remained as such all my life. That said, the learned helplessness always lurking around me after the onset of my disability carried an ominous message, too. Watch out for the well-intentioned ones who “only want to help.” Those closest to me weren’t the only ones upon whom I could develop and indulge my dependent nature.

I’ve not been on my own and alone since college, thirty years ago. That’s why Sophie’s been so important in getting me through the traumas we’ve experienced. But the fact is, I’ve owed my safety to her ever since she became family.

So while guiding us from place to place is my job, I often feel I’ve let her down by wandering foolishly into trouble she probably saw a mile away, dragging her into it in the process.

For example I’ll never forgive myself for putting Sophie in a position where she’d be hurt: Pepper sprayed by a twisted cop, and beaten up by a drunk after I lay drugged and unconscious and pissed on.

I never knew, nor would she tell me how badly things hurt her, how cruelly she was hurt by people who took such glee in the process. The wondering about it all has sometimes awakened me in the middle of the night.

But I never lost faith in humanity, for you can’t ever lose something you’ve never had.

Searching for inner peace is difficult to achieve when there are children being torn from their parents, crying and screaming as Sophie and I did not far from our own trauma there eighteen months ago.

Life has been a blur since then, the days and weeks and months passing away with no real meaning. Granted twelve of those months involved a probation lady whose presence in my life for a year meant a reminder- a trigger - of that nightmare at any time, any day.

Except for the fact that I had Sophie-I wouldn’t have cared how or where we lived so long as we’ never be separated again-the months from February 2017 to February 2018 were merely time I had to put in, turning myself on autopilot and letting the minutes, hours, days and weeks tick off as they would, with no oversight by me.

But since then my concept of time has yet to return to its previously enjoyable and, for me normal pace. Being blindsided by heretofore unknown social pressures due to my disability and to my subsequent arrest because of an off-leash violation brought two very different but very palpable stressors.

I believe I carried the shock of that off-leash event for that entire year for, if the law saw fit to wrongly accuse and hang a wrongful punishment around my neck I had no way of knowing what else it was capable of perpetrating.

I learned early in life that any of my cherished possessions could be crushed right before my eyes at a moment’s notice while I would be helpless to do anything but watch. My father often tore my world down like a madman, right before my eyes. I know that scenario well, having lived it as a kid.

But twice Sophie was hurt when I inadvertently involved her in a deep, profound violation of my own trust in someone. One, a park ranger/cop who I should have been able to trust who also brought back memories of an abusive father.

And a second person who presented himself as civil and decent but was really an evil drunk. I’m either too frivolous with my trust or subconsciously seeking out abusive people  in order to relive past abuse.

Maybe I wanted to see if I, with my adult mind and body could finally understand why my child abuse happened at all. But my recent traumas merely served to show me that there is plenty of abuse from strangers to go around. This time, though it was from indifferent strangers.

I did learn that abuse is abuse no matter its form and that it left me feeling like garbage either way. Interaction with such abusers trigger awful memories from my childhood, over four decades ago.

So, all the stuff that’s happened - all that Sophie and I have survived- must’ve happened for a reason, right?

In every sense of the word Sophie is a classy lady, and I happen to be the lucky guy she loves and protects. Sophie deserves so much better than I often feel I can give her, though I’ll never stop trying.

But Sophie loves me anyway, and she probably wouldn’t want me any other way than how I happen to be at any given moment. I wish that I could be so naturally unconditional and reliably accepting. So I keep that in mind wherever we go and that’s why I say just being near her makes me a better person. With her at my side I’m more emotionally available and resilient around others and am frankly unsure how I could ever leave the house without her at my side. Sometimes I can’t.

But antagonists, blinded by their self-pity and/or self-serving motives neither see nor care about anyone else’s condition, and selfishness is merely a symptom such people naturally possess. But I do expect everyone to behave in a civil manner and that’s where my obvious naïveté predictably trips me up.

I’m literally and figuratively sick of feeling unable to walk out my own front door without instantly programming my mind to watch my back solely because I and Sophie look different together. It’s sometimes an instant transition from feeling relaxed at home to a state of hypervigilance, but a short walk to the park or around the neighborhood is exhausting.

Sophie is as pretty as she is smart and, in fact I’m a better person for being so near her. We’ve grown into a team for so long that I can overlook most troublemakers and potential trouble because I know she’s got my back. * FYI: Sophie just turned ten on June eighth and, as usual we celebrated the entire month as we visited our acquaintances at area stores.

Some opportunists won’t be overlooked and even seem to actively prowl for targets. Gung-ho, trigger happy cops who see whatever it is they see through their distorted lenses when they see us: A cripple? A derelict with his faithful dog in tow? Another decent and well-intentioned person with a limb loss and service dog?

Anyone, cop or otherwise will see in an instant that Sophie is no ordinary pet-dog. She carries herself as if she knows what to do and how to do it because she is exactly that-a dog with a purposeful existence who loves her work and she loves me.

I’ve noted that the people I know well enough personally often dislike Sophie and I because they don’t have in another person what Sophie and I have in our canine/human bond.

I’ve thankfully (mostly) come to accept that such people haven’t such an intimate bond with another for good reason. That is, some collection of their inner shortcomings prevent it. I know because I see a lot of my past self in them-and a present self that, if I lose track of my priorities lurks about waiting for an opportunity to reassert itself.

But I’ve had enough self-awareness to carve out a relationship that fills the gap I otherwise have with people. In doing so I’ve come to have more acceptance of myself.

Most people see Sophie and I for who and what we are-a highly functional, loving and well-oiled team that, together, is everything. Like all service dog/handler teams we’re never meant to be forced apart.

Today, would-be immigrant parents arriving from Mexico are having their kids literally torn from their arms apart by the likes of the same guy who brutalized Sophie and I.

Such reprehensible atrocities should not happen anywhere, let alone in “the land of the free.” Those immigrant children aren’t just “separated” any more than Sophie and I were. It takes cruel people to enforce such cruel measures, the kind who’ll whisper epithets in your ear after beating you up.

No, the agents who break up families today are gleefully creating personal traumas as if it were a perk of their job. I know; Sophie and I endured it, too.

The thought of it all makes me feel ill about the world that exists outside my door today. And it’s paralyzing for me to feel so alone here, bracing myself with pep talks before walking out the door, knowing that “today could be the day we’ll be blindsided yet again,”

It could be the day it all comes crashing down yet again in the blink of an eye after an innocent statement or a benign response to someone on our own behalf: “I have the same right as anyone to be here now, and my service dog and I work seamlessly together and I’m not required to have her on a leash or to wear any identifying markings.”
But sometimes I really don’t feel like we have that right because sometimes it’s true.

Having anything on a dog that screams SERVICE DOG is counterintuitive to the concept of the right to live as conspicuously as one wishes. That said, a world that believes it has every right to question our presence anywhere renders any service Dog/handler team impotent and/or purposeless.

For this reason, unless someone has a friendly comment for me or if I ask someone a question I prefer to be left unbothered. But being inconspicuous is a concept that many people just don’t get when it comes to others-it matters only to them.

Nobody with an STD or any other highly personal condition wouldn’t want to walk around with a sign identifying them such.

Forehead signs reading “HIV Positive,” “Former Acne Sufferer,” “Halitosis Alert,” etc. would never be accepted by people. But one day of identifying them as such would likely be more than enough to bring reasonable people around. Maybe then they’d get the significance of our world.

Nobody wants to be identified by their insecurities or perceived weaknesses.

Just the thought of it is awful, and for one loudmouth busybody to spend an hour walking in the shoes of any disabled service dog handler would suddenly find a greater respect for what it takes to do it smoothly like Sophie and I do.

The self-serving outcry I imagine is deafening. Some might even wish they’d have an icebreaker like Sophie, who I admittedly hide behind sometimes. The difference is that Sophie thinks nothing about people’s agendas. But knowing what I know, my jaded view of some places

It isn’t just having a dog that sits or stands or walks on command, but a lifestyle that commands great responsibility and deference to others. All along, Sophie is entrusted-trained- to do a job that we both hope nobody will ever have to see.

Just imagine someone approaching me to question Sophie’s legitimacy as a service dog or, by it’s more common name “Being a dick.” What could this dick possibly say if I were to suddenly seize and Sophie were to get to work. Part of her job is to keep the area around me clear. Not just anyone can approach me and even the drunks in Arizona had to wrestle Sophie from my side. The first people that Sophie will push away by leaning on them with her body will be the dick, who she’ll have ID’d a mile away. That’s why the Arizona drunks peed on me; they wanted me to know that they succeeded in separating Sophie and I and that they could even have killed me if they wanted. Given how alone and untethered to any support system we are we’d never be missed. That thinking applies double to law enforcement on the Mexico border.

Any observers wouldn’t need a “trained eye” to learn that the special bond a handler has with his/her service animal transcends any that a “pet” can provide: A pet is passive, depending completely on its human for guidance as to what to do. A service dog is highly interactive with its handler and, when need be with others. It can be very positively self-directed, capable of many things on its own with and without a command. Maybe I’m just lucky when it comes to Sophie; I don’t recall the last time I needed to ask her what exactly she needs. We’ve got our cues and routines and, no matter my discomfort I will always jump to take care of the beautiful dog who’s truly a lifeline and a lifesaver. The sight of her face always makes me smile so helping her, even when I’m in pain is like a little gift from her.

As a service dog who is never leashed Sophie must function at her peak at all times. And she does so every day without ever stumbling, and that confidence is what allows me to be at my peak, too. Anybody who stares at us long enough may well find fault or be able to create a fault where none exists. And it happens every day.

A motivated enough person could likely stare at anyone, which is precisely why I feel singled out, conspicuous, like a sore thumb, etc. People who put another person in such a situation ought to think back to the old grade school nightmare about suddenly being naked in the front of the class. It’d be a strong reminder of what it feels like to suddenly feel the force of lots of unwanted and uninvited personal attention.

As for me, I wonder what there still is to anticipate in life, to look forward to that doesn’t include Sophie. The phrase “Nothing about us, without us” doesn’t hold water here in Ft Collins, for there is no “us” here. Sophie’s my teammate, but man, she’s the best one I could ever ask for.

Even if there were a group of service animal handlers and their dogs here we’d still be hassled by some busybody about this, that or the other thing. It’s as if the disabled group itself has no clout or credibility, as opposed to a single disabled person who, of course, also has no place being here or there let alone credibility.

Even today when I spoke to a friendly neighbor he asked why I didn’t just put a vest on Sophie because “people won’t see the collar,” etc. Though he meant well, I think, his insensitivity and thoughtlessness echoes so many others who are strangers who’ve wrongly vilified us. It’s a trigger that largely guarantees that we won’t likely stop by for any chitchat again, for it’s the foundation upon which the public in general builds its intolerance and resistance to the disabled community.

It’s often better that, if we must be seen at all we should at least keep quiet lest our presence somehow remind others that anyone could have or develop a disability. I’ve done both, and today I feel stronger, not weaker for it. But what place could there possibly be for anyone with this sort of background? How about “anyplace?”

Just ask the guy with the HIV collar or the Acne or Adult Diaper tags. Our past government has provided laws that govern the safekeeping of every American’s right to pursue their own dreams and passions. No one is excluded, though we all know that’s only true academically. I still bend down to placate the public despite what the laws say I must do.

I now even wear a “Service Dog Registration” tag to placate the general public, though sometimes nothing is ever enough for some folks. And I no longer have the energy required to face them.

When neighbors drive by us on the road Sophie knows to come sit beside me until they pass. As such, the driver will know Sophie is a disciplined girl who won’t run into the street and I’ll reinforce Sophie’s great response as my service dog.

When people smile and wave as they go by it always makes me feel good inside, and that’s why we stay on known roads. Abusive and otherwise not-nice people don’t get to spend time with us.

Yesterday’s confrontation- a passerby in his pickup truck stopped on the main road, with several cars backing up behind him to ask me the familiar arrogant and instigating question. His words are ones I could go to my grave without ever hearing again, for it means conflict is imminent-the only question is How Much.

He sang the familiar refrain “Where is the leash for your dog?” He, like all of his ilk was telling me, not asking. through his open passenger window, presumably oblivious to the cars behind him.

My first thought? “Here we go again.” Like my father coming after me decades ago I’m almost paralyzed with fear. As a result of this sort of stress I know that at least the entire next day will be spent wrestling with self doubt and anger about what will be said in these next several minutes here.

Will I be threatened physically? Will someone just try to bully me by shouting? It’s happened before, so I’d be remiss to not consider the possibility. Not doing so could risk Sophie’s safety. I visualize an accomplice of the driver attempting to poison her.

Another thing I didn’t realize until this morning was that Sophie kept walking to the back of the vehicle. If I’d paid closer attention I’d have looked through the window to see who was in there.

As I said, Sophie keeps a good poker face and I’m not good at reading it right away. I noticed Sophie’s cue but didn’t think for a minute a person could be back there. I could just tell that whatever was there was no danger or Sophie would have also cued me on that. So instead I just asked the person if there was a dog back there.

If someone was back there, presumably someone to be a witness to my response to his goading-if I had a response. But as I said, I’ve long since grown weary of this never-ending fight with strangers who just appear out of the woodwork.

Most folks, I don’t believe, will try to hurt me with Sophie and/or neutral witnesses present. The guy causing the traffic tie-up in the street was actually scheming to delay me until a park ranger would show up and stop at the traffic problem.

Was this antagonist faulting me for his choice to just stop his truck ahead of a dangerous curve, presuming that the park ranger will suddenly see a marked service dog off leash and sitting next to his handler and think “Never mind this dangerous traffic problem-let’s get the guy with the dog!” This was at least a novel approach to bullying.

The driver claimed that Sophie attacked a deer while I stood by, watching her do it. Nothing of the sort happened of course but it didn’t matter-this person was convinced and I had no intention of arguing. It wasn’t until today that I realized the driver’s intention was to draw the park ranger’s attention to me and my wrongdoings just by being there.

And, yes, I had every right to be there, doing exactly what I had chosen to do - or not to do.

Who but a service dog handler has such elemental questions about the consequences of even the most mundane events? A toddler’s parent maybe? I mean, really: Who could imagine that someone would confront me just for walking a street in my own neighborhood? I’ve learned there is no limit to the audacious claims people will make against Sophie and I. But why?

This person sitting in the road was so resolute up there on his pedestal that I chose not to continue to converse with him and walked away. It freed up the waiting cars and campers and boats leaving the campground.

But this guy went down the road, turned around and followed me onto an off street parking lot, where I was alone with Sophie. Thankfully I was in familiar surroundings.o

He was convinced I was a camper from the reservoir who wandered away with his wayward dog, off leash to wreak havoc on the neighborhood he claimed to live in. But he’d have no way of confirming that, since he didn’t just ask me.

So I rightly concluded that making trouble was his goal, though I never thought to directly ask him his intentions, either. I know by now that they alll just want to cause trouble. Having said so I can’t be sure I’ll remember it next time and to just turn and walk away.

Anyway, I know nearly all my neighbors-a benefit of walking through the neighborhood for the last 18 months. But nobody seemed to know this guy or his vehicle. Most important, my neighbors know Sophie and I and have seen us there many times.

They’d speak up for us and it’s a comfort to know, especially when we’re being harassed by this person who acted resentful as if I was just there to ruin his day.

He pulled up beside me, intent on making his case known and, I think still hoping to attract a county ranger/cop to point a finger at me and say “Look-the dog’s off leash-arrest him!”

What he didn’t realize was that the arrival of the police would have allowed me to alert them that this man was in the process of harassing me, and following me, etc.

That’s not okay and that’s why I sought out the location of the vehicle today. Despite his claim, nobody in this neighborhood knows this person, and this is a small community; if nobody knows you, you’re from somewhere else. But who to call in such a situation?

I don’t trust the police. I called them once before over an ADA violation in progress and they flat out said they wouldn’t come. In fact, they recommended I return to the very same place the next morning to file a complaint.

What legal contingency did I have after that? The police, who I should be able to trust proved themselves untrustworthy yet again.

This in mind, it wouldn’t have surprised me yesterday if a cop did show up who would again pepper spray Sophie right in front of me and I’d be cuffed by my only arm to the front bumper and forced to watch it happen-again.

What could people be thinking? How can they justify their behavior? What provokes it? Does the sight of someone they presume is weaker inspire them to simply create trouble for others who happen to be there?

Part of me thinks that a park ranger actually would overlook a dangerous traffic situation in order to cite me, however wrongly, for Sophie being off leash.

I really can imagine a cop getting out of his car and drawing a weapon or dangling his handcuffs in creating the Colorado version of our Arizona ordeal. That’s where I was wrongly cited by a trigger happy BLM agent for having Sophie off-leash in an empty campground.

In the absence of witnesses, I was knocked to the ground and beat up, then forced to watch as he pepper sprayed Sophie as he knelt on my back. We were then separated for a week, each unaware of the other’s condition: Dead or alive. We were emotionally sodomized ,

I wonder if I’ll ever get the terrible fear of that experience off my mind. Like it or not, it still follows me everywhere. And I don’t like it.

Folks like I’ve described here are the reason I only completed the advocacy course up to a certain point.

Being a true advocate requires traits that I no longer possess, namely the willingness to confront a mire of daily conflict. I’m too thin-skinned and scared instead of leather bound and pissed off

I’ve worked hard at creating as much space away from others as possible. My hope was that it might change things, and maybe I could recover. But it does not. My adaptation to this world, often vis à vis Sophie as an enabling third party is often loathed, not just unwelcome.

The bottom line is simple-I’ve no one left to trust and I don’t have any other safe place to go: I don’t dare leave the state lest I lose food benefits and Medicare or risk another nightmarish scenario, again with no witnesses. I’m afraid, fearful and with good reason.

I’m a good person and Sophie is a wonderful friend and an asset to any gathering. So why are we getting dumped on? What on earth could an innocent and loving being like my Sophie have done to precipitate the awful experiences she’s had?

I’m convinced it’s simply because we live and travel alone, for the things we’ve seen could probably have happened many times over in years past. But we were a family then, and no crooked cop or other bad person would take a chance of hurting us if they could hold out for an easier target. Someone like me.

The more I learned in the advocacy class about my rights the more I realized I’d been getting stepped on and pushed aside all along. And after being jailed for speaking up to a law enforcement officer about my legal right to be somewhere with Sophie off-leash I’m justifiably unable to trust cops ever again, let alone strangers with an agenda… and they all have an agenda. Cops are just strangers in uniform.

I often feel such potential for confrontation exists that its effects range from “not a bad risk today” to “stay home and exist peacefully,” never mind the day’s importance.

For example I might forget to pick up an item or two at the store because I went down another aisle instead to avoid a person who my intuition tells me could be trouble. Some days I don’t make it to the store at all.

A nasty busybody woman at a King Soopers in Denver once loudly and rudely shouted out her criticisms of us as we entered the building and strolled past the checkout lines. I don’t have what it takes to fight with anyone anymore or to even risk even the mildest conflict.

The loudness such cowards possess plus the inability or unwillingness of a store full of shoppers to tell this person to “Shut the hell up, he’s a right to be here” is a given. The rude person effectively bullies the whole checkout area, and everyone is silent.

It’s as if I’m alone yet in a room full of people, ironically many of whom would trip all over themselves running ahead to hold a door open for me. But where the hell were they when I needed them. It implies two awful things: One, I am nothing if not helpless in their eyes and Two, I deserve to be dressed down in public.

Please note: As long as I live I’ll always try to see a stranger as a potential friend Sophie and I have not yet met. That doesn’t mean I’ll blindly trust just anyone, of course. I’ve not turned myself off to the notion of being around others and that’s a direct result of being with Sophie.

If Sophie likes someone that’s all the proof I need of a person’s good intentions. If she cues me to get outta there I trust that, too.

My intuition isn’t bad, but Sophie’s is impeccable. Hers is an animal sense that perceives danger but holds a steady poker face in the process. It’s part of her police dog pedigree, not to mention her visual deterrence. Like friendly people, Sophie smiles at friendly people.

The irony is that, despite this sense that Sophie has she’s neither a trained police dog nor a physical danger to anyone. She’s just Sophie and that’s but one part of her inner beauty. I’ve yet to meet a working Malinois that doesn’t share this trait.

Sophie loves people and they love her, and it’s this interaction she has with people that identifies them as safe for me, too. That’s how I get my own fix for interpersonal contact, not with some conflict-oriented stranger bent on causing trouble.

Though I’ve yet to experience it with abandon I know there must be more to life than feeling like I’ve always got to hide from someone or something lest I’m punished for it. I’ve been sick to my stomach all day over this and the gray, rainy skies don’t help. As I said, I know the conflict presented me by my harassing neighbor owould spill over into today, at least.

I no longer feel that the inordinate amount of time I spend “educating” people about my and Sophie’s rights works. It leaves me feeling exhausted and ashamed and self-critical that I spent so much time trying to convince a stranger of my right to just exist.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better. But I’m really feeling lost by the seemingly never-ending, unwanted drama that always lurks when I’m out, even in my own neighborhood with Sophie.

Therapy helps. However, I’ve exhausted my limited memory in recounting stories that’ll help me recover further, it’s time I focus on the practical things, particularly as my NDE approaches in about two weeks. Having her available may be enough to confront a pretty heavy subject.

But that’s where Sophie shines. She’s there for me by my side, ready to help me face the unknown. And to avoid conflict we’ve left town for a quieter setting.

Currently it’s a beautiful, high altitude state and federal park called Lake John, near Cowdrey, Colorado. The biggest demons that’ll try to crop up here are mostly the buzzing and biting variety. But I’ve learned other nasties will arise as the anniversary draws nearer. And I have the right to have Sophie with me at all times.

Though it could be said that Sophie works for me it’s probably more accurate to say that I am Sophie’s job. But however I perceive our relationship is irrelevant, as it should be,

Sophie always proves herself both smarter and more composed than any antagonist we’ve met. She hasn’t any hesitation to stand beside me in the face of the cowardly complainers we occasionally face.

Every service dog handler must count on their dog to allow them to go places we may not otherwise go. Not everyone shares this enthusiasm but who cares? It’s nobody else’s business what we do any more than it’s our business what others do. But it happens.

Sadly, Sophie’s tireless devotion to me doesn’t always translate into my own readiness to face the world’s view of us. And make no mistake, service dogs and their handlers are visible enough for the world to see.

Whether good, bad or indifferent opinions are made on us based upon a moment or two of our being seen. It’s no different than one person making an association of another based on a snapshot of that person. That’s a regular and healthy occurrence between all people because it’s how we determine a safe and productive course through the world.

But having the confidence of knowing our right to be anyplace doesn’t mean others know or will admit to knowing this.

It’s not what makes service dog handlers stronger; it’s what requires us to be stronger. Sometimes we are, sometimes not and that’s something anyone has the right to feel.

We do what we can with what we’ve got, same as anyone. We’re just a little more visible, that’s all. When I’m up for it I’m proud to share my Sophie and our marvelous teamwork with the world. But it’s okay when I’m not.