by Annie Scott
January 16, 2009

The first day at my new nonprofit job started normally enough. Snooze button, coffee, business casual outfit, NPR, parking spot. I was just settling into my new office, getting acquainted with my desk and computer, when suddenly I heard the excited barking of dozens of dogs outside my window.

Now that was different.

But I should have expected it. When you work at an organization that trains assistance dogs for people with disabilities, you probably should plan on hearing a chorus of barks on a routine basis. Instead of being alarmed by the sound of my new…er…coworkers, I was quite amused. It was an upgrade from much of the chatter I was forced to overhear at previous jobs in DC.

Throughout that first morning I could scarcely concentrate on all the materials I was supposed to be reading, since all I could hear in the hallways beyond my door was…
(in high-pitched, baby-talk voices)…

“Good boy! Come on, buddy, you can do it…you got it, good job, good job, wow! All right, way to GO! Woooohoooo! (pat pat pat).”

“Attagirl! What a good dog you are! (tail banging repeatedly with joy against metal filing cabinet.)”

It was incredibly distracting but so positive I found myself smiling every time I heard a new praising. I fought to stay focused on my computer and not interrupt the training process, but curiosity eventually got the best of me after hearing, “That’s a good girl! Get the paper…you can do it! You got it! Yayyyy!!”

I poked my head out the door to see a sweet-faced little black lab with her tail wagging. She had just retrieved a single sheet of paper from the fax machine and was gently returning it to her trainer. There wasn’t even any noticeable drool or teeth marks on the paper (or the machine). That was impressive. I had to wonder, what else could these talented pups do?

The answer, as I quickly observed, was a whole lot. They could turn light switches on and off with their nose and paws. They could open doors and drawers; pick up keys, pencils, quarters and cell phones ever so gingerly; pull a laundry basket; give a credit card to a cashier and wait for the receipt; even open the refrigerator and retrieve a beverage (always a popular one with the dads who come through our program). It was amazing to watch. It was even more fun once I realized from the constantly wagging tails that these dogs were overjoyed to be working like that.

Since that first day, from all I have seen, heard and read about what’s been accomplished at my organization, I — the DC-jaded cynic — have officially become a believer in miracles. At least miracles of the canine variety.

The skills and unconditional support these dogs offer their human partners are an enormous, life-changing help. They can mean the difference between constantly having to rely on the kindness of strangers for help with every mundane task every single day, versus issuing a simple command and receiving whatever you need — including getting your life back — with some dog kisses as a bonus.

I’ve been working here for not quite two years, but in that short time I have witnessed the most incredible transformations in so many people (including myself). The impact of these dogs is immediate and awe-inspiring.

I’ve heard kids speak for the first time in years — to tell their new dog about their day. I’ve heard a mother cry out as her severely disabled daughter slowly opened her permanently clenched fist in order to pet her new companion. There are so many happy tears with every new partnership that’s formed. (I had wondered why Kleenex was so plentiful throughout the building.)

People who have been battling a disabling illness or injury for many years, who have abandoned hope that anything will improve their situation, come away with a radically more positive outlook within days of being matched with their dog. At the park, a disabled child goes from being known as “the kid in the wheelchair” to being “the guy with the cool dog.” A very important difference. The dogs aren’t just helpers, they are a social bridge to the rest of the world.

Need some “for instances?”

• Cole, a tough young boy with cerebral palsy and incredible charisma, was dreading having to face another painful surgery on his legs. But he willed himself through it by promising his dog every day, “I will walk you, Ilia, I will walk you!” Ilia faithfully sticks by his side every day of physical therapy, with love and patience. Cole adoringly calls him his “dog/brother.”
• Kiersten, a disarmingly honest and kind-hearted teenage girl with autism, had only ever wished to “not have this dumb disability” and be more like her sisters (to whom everything comes easily). She always had dreamed of having a friend, someone with whom she could hang out and have sleepovers, like her sisters did. Now she has a best friend and a sleepover every single night, with her dog, and it has completely changed her life. She gained enough confidence to share her personal story with her school, and gave the whole student body an intimate glimpse at what it feels like to have a disability and be “different.” In so doing, she changed her school and her world. People approach her readily now, and want to know more about her and how her dog helps her.
• After completing her training and winning the hearts of our entire staff, Rinda, one of the gentlest, best-behaved dogs I have ever met, was placed with a young boy who has Tourette Syndrome. She’s pictured here with her boy, as she calms him after a meltdown and helps him organize his difficult thoughts and emotions. He used to be ashamed to talk about his condition, but now he proudly discusses it as an excuse to introduce new people to his beautiful Rinda.

Rinda helps calm a young boy who has Tourette Syndrome.

The stories are endless. They sound like a scripted Hallmark special, but I’ve seen it all in real life, with real people and real, non-Hollywood dogs. There’s just something about the unique bond that develops between human and canine. Dogs can quickly reach someone on a level that people have never been able to, despite endless medical treatments, appointments, love and care.

This is definitely a different sort of stop on my quest to Make a Difference. For one thing, the scale has downsized significantly — from dreams of drafting and implementing revolutionary public policies that would solve our biggest societal woes, to helping brighten the lives of a few extraordinary individuals, one dog at a time. Instead of reversing the ominous direction of global climate change, saving the polar bears or creating incentives for commercially viable alternative energy technologies, I now focus on enabling a dog to bring greater confidence, independence, hope and acceptance to someone in need. I’ll admit it took a little getting used to, some adjustments to my vision, but once I understood this broader definition of making a difference, I realized this side of the scale could be just as satisfying, even more so.

To be sure, it is the dogs and their amazing trainers who are the true difference-makers here. But even as a grant writer, I still get to feel like I play a small but important part in it. To be able to see firsthand the changes that can arise from my contributions to this relatively small organization with such a mighty mission — to see the smiles and watch the transformations in lives — has certainly made a world of difference in my own life.

Annie Scott lives in San Diego and works at Canine Companions for Independence, where she tries to make a difference every day.