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Tassie files
Oct. 29th, 2010 08:59 pmTassie has had a busy few days.
On Wednesday, we went to Kmart to pick up a prescription. The Navy hospital doesn't carry all of my meds (hooray for being the weirdo), but the local Kmart is willing to order in whatever weirdness I'm taking. It was just a quick trip on lunch, and Tassie was a perfect little angel. She completely ignored the 3 year old who insisted on roaring at her. His parents thought it was cute. I thought WTF? Why the hell would you roar at a dog? I mean, I expect small fry to verbally harrass my service dog, because that's what small kids do. But I expect woofing or cries of "PUPPY!", not roaring. Maybe he thought she was a lion of something?
Today was the big test of general behavior. First we had therapy, then a trip to Petsmart, then a trip to the commissary. On payday. *shudder*
The therapist was astounded by the change in my mood in two weeks. Yes, the meds help, but Tassie makes me laugh daily. She gives me a focus I've been otherwise lacking. I am quite honestly a different person with a dog in my life. Maybe it's a sign of deeper insanity that the presence or absence of a dog can make such a differece, I don't know. I do know that it's much easier for me to maintain my mental stability with a dog around. The therapist was pretty clear that this is something I need.
One of the problems I've had when we've gone out is the leash we have for Tassie is hard to hold on to when I'm rolling around, so we picked up a small leash coupler. One end clips to my belt loop, the other to Tassie's collar. That way she's controlled, I can let her down easily to get something for me, and I still have my hands free. Not that I've really needed to worry about control - Tassie is perfectly happy to sit or lay in my lap when we're out together, even with distractions like other dogs and roaring kids.
Then there was the commissary trip, and our first challenge. It didn't come from an employee, though - a random shopper took it on herself to tell me pets aren't allowed in the commissary. Cause yanno, the chick in a wheelchair couldn't possibly have the dog along for a reason. I told her Tassie's a service dog (and at this point, she's fully functioning as a Psychiatric Service Dog, even if she's still learning tasks for physical service work), and she got this really sour look on her face and said she'd have to talk to management about that. I hope she did, and that they set her straight. By law, I don't have to inform management to go in a store, nor do I have to have a vest or bandanna on her marking her as a service animal. Management is allowed to ask me two questions - "Are you disabled" and "is this a service animal." If the disability is visible, like say being in a wheelchair, they aren't even allowed to ask if I'm disabled. Still, I should be getting her vest soon, so random busybodies will have even less of an excuse to be obnoxious about her. We did get followed around by cries of "PUPPY!" everywhere we went, but I can live with that. Tassie was her normal sweet self, even letting me pile some small items on her when Andrew and I went in separate directions for a bit. Considering what a madhouse the commissary is on any given payday, I was very impressed by how calm Tassie was the whole time.
In addition to going out and about, we're still working on basic commands (sit, down, dance, get it, tug, lap) and bonding. She is with me 24/7. Surprisingly this hasn't driven her bonkers... yet. She's fetched my gloves once so far; considering we've been working together for a week or so, I find that pretty darn impressive. She's a good dog.
On Wednesday, we went to Kmart to pick up a prescription. The Navy hospital doesn't carry all of my meds (hooray for being the weirdo), but the local Kmart is willing to order in whatever weirdness I'm taking. It was just a quick trip on lunch, and Tassie was a perfect little angel. She completely ignored the 3 year old who insisted on roaring at her. His parents thought it was cute. I thought WTF? Why the hell would you roar at a dog? I mean, I expect small fry to verbally harrass my service dog, because that's what small kids do. But I expect woofing or cries of "PUPPY!", not roaring. Maybe he thought she was a lion of something?
Today was the big test of general behavior. First we had therapy, then a trip to Petsmart, then a trip to the commissary. On payday. *shudder*
The therapist was astounded by the change in my mood in two weeks. Yes, the meds help, but Tassie makes me laugh daily. She gives me a focus I've been otherwise lacking. I am quite honestly a different person with a dog in my life. Maybe it's a sign of deeper insanity that the presence or absence of a dog can make such a differece, I don't know. I do know that it's much easier for me to maintain my mental stability with a dog around. The therapist was pretty clear that this is something I need.
One of the problems I've had when we've gone out is the leash we have for Tassie is hard to hold on to when I'm rolling around, so we picked up a small leash coupler. One end clips to my belt loop, the other to Tassie's collar. That way she's controlled, I can let her down easily to get something for me, and I still have my hands free. Not that I've really needed to worry about control - Tassie is perfectly happy to sit or lay in my lap when we're out together, even with distractions like other dogs and roaring kids.
Then there was the commissary trip, and our first challenge. It didn't come from an employee, though - a random shopper took it on herself to tell me pets aren't allowed in the commissary. Cause yanno, the chick in a wheelchair couldn't possibly have the dog along for a reason. I told her Tassie's a service dog (and at this point, she's fully functioning as a Psychiatric Service Dog, even if she's still learning tasks for physical service work), and she got this really sour look on her face and said she'd have to talk to management about that. I hope she did, and that they set her straight. By law, I don't have to inform management to go in a store, nor do I have to have a vest or bandanna on her marking her as a service animal. Management is allowed to ask me two questions - "Are you disabled" and "is this a service animal." If the disability is visible, like say being in a wheelchair, they aren't even allowed to ask if I'm disabled. Still, I should be getting her vest soon, so random busybodies will have even less of an excuse to be obnoxious about her. We did get followed around by cries of "PUPPY!" everywhere we went, but I can live with that. Tassie was her normal sweet self, even letting me pile some small items on her when Andrew and I went in separate directions for a bit. Considering what a madhouse the commissary is on any given payday, I was very impressed by how calm Tassie was the whole time.
In addition to going out and about, we're still working on basic commands (sit, down, dance, get it, tug, lap) and bonding. She is with me 24/7. Surprisingly this hasn't driven her bonkers... yet. She's fetched my gloves once so far; considering we've been working together for a week or so, I find that pretty darn impressive. She's a good dog.
