Hero Dogs

Posted on May 3, 2013 by admin
Gander Dog

Please Vote in the Hero Dog Awards

Mark Twain said” “Heaven goes by favor; If it went on merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” Those of us lucky enough to have dogs think of them in much the same way new parents think of their children. We are insufferable: our dog is smart, adorable, and different or special in some way others will never hope to be.

A dog doesn’t have to have a fancy obedience school degree or be a member of SEAL Team Six to get rated as your personal hero. And nothing can match the saving grace of a dog when loneliness or anxiety drive us to isolation or tears. Nothing compares to the quiet comfort of a trusting muzzle in your lap, a dog kiss on the cheek or that psychoanalytic tilt of the head as they listen to your troubles. Understanding us is heroic enough, but they selflessly run in to rescue us when our emotional houses are burning down.

Then, there are dogs that are called on to go above and beyond the call of canine duty to do things we mere mortals cannot: Scouring dangerous terrain for the scent of IEDs, combing debris for survivors in an earthquake zone or still buried in a Himalayan avalanche area, or bringing down alive an armed robbery suspect. Much is expected of them and they perform with little more for reward than gentle rough-housing, or a toss of a tennis ball. So, every year the American Humane Association honors these extraordinary canine and their sacrifices with the Hero Dog Awards. They recognize dogs in several categories: Military, Law Enforcement/Arson, Therapy, Guide (hearing and sight), Emerging Hero and Service. The awards build an audience for the tremendous work of the AHA, applaud the agencies and owners who have trained and loved these canines into action and literally roll out the red carpet for the dogs at the Beverly Hills Hilton. The AHA says:

The American Humane Association Hero Dog Awards™ were created in 2010 to celebrate the remarkable bond between dogs and people. This annual national competition searches out and recognizes America’s Hero Dogs, who unconditionally avail themselves to us in so many important ways, whether it’s saving lives on the battlefield, lending sight or hearing to a human companion, providing therapeutic support to children suffering from cancer, or just greeting us with a wagging tail at the end of a hard day.

Gander is a nominee in the Service Dog category. I think, having being rescued from death row by the prison training program at Canon City Penitentiary, Gander knows adversity and is especially suited to his job.


 You only need to look at the pictures of him then and now to see how being of service has changed Gander. I look similar and I am more mobile and healthier by the day.IMG_8021  He has saved my life many times and provides help to me  24/7 as a PTSD dog and assists me when my autoimmune issues make mobility painfully difficult.

He could easily be in the Therapy category: I allow him to be social at VA hospitals, coffee shops, schools and meetings. He is an extrovert and naturally empathic. He seems to know how and when to to engage and connect equally with children, wounded veterans, widows and widowers, and lonesome travelers who just need a belly to scratch or a quick game of fetch.

Webster defines a hero many ways:

One who shows great courage: Gander hasn’t been in combat, but he has placed himself in harm’s way for the benefit of a small girl being attacked by a stray dog. Like his military friend in the competition, SSD Honza, he posted himself out front and ignored the danger to rescue his friend.

One admired for achievements and noble qualities:

Gander’s purpose in life is to serve. I love him, but I try not to sing his praises too loudly. He wins his own lasting praise by being a serious professional, a playful companion and caring friend. I have watched him head straight for people who need him the most. I have seen warriors and proud blue collar laborers weep when Gander opened a space in their hearts.

I most admire people in my life who naturally gravitate toward those in need. I personally define a hero as anyone who puts themselves in danger or gives up freedoms so that others may enjoy theirs: That would be Gander.

An illustrious warrior:

Friends call Gander by many names: Professor, Ambassador, King. I think of him as a warrior in the fight against Veteran Suicide. He has made me a living testament to the healing power of service dogs.

The VA abandoned funding for PTSD service dogs at the time they were most needed. The battle now is to show them they were wrong. Every vote for Gander gives us more visibility which gives us the power to change hearts and minds. Twenty-one Veterans committed suicide today. More has to be done to save our nation’s heroes. Dogs, not drugs is the battle cry.

Visit Gander’s profile here: HERO DOGS and while you are on the site, look for Bodacious, SSD Honza, Leisel and Dublin. They are Gander’s battle buddies competing in different categories. You can vote for them in addition to Gander. Any money awarded to these dogs goes to a service agency they have chosen to support. Of course, Freedom Service Dogs is Gander’s charity!

Thank you. Follow Gander on Facebook GANDER SERVICE DOG and on Twitter at VETERAN TRAVELER and on Instagram at @GANDERFORHERODOG

 

 

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So, you think you want a service dog?

Posted on April 7, 2013 by admin

gander“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

So, you think you want a service dog? Think again….

I was reading a story on Facebook about a woman with Lupus. She illustrated for friends how hard life can be when you have to accommodate a debilitating, unseen illness. Her examples especially hit home as I remembered a dear friend from high school, Bob Chandler, who took his own life rather than the primitive treatment of the day, shielding himself from the sun and outdoors he loved so much and the judgements of those who couldn’t understand his suffering, much of which was invisible to us.

The author of the post used dinner spoons as a metaphor. She gave the same number of spoons to each member of a group of friends. They were amused at first when she verbally walked them through a day and took away a spoon to represent the terrible toll taken by every simple task they normally took for granted. She let them make decisions in her stead and then assessed the difficulty of each decision from her own experience until they were all soon out of utensils and forced to decide whether or not to borrow from the next day’s rations.

The analogy, as simple as it was, rang true for me. I have often likened my day to the dreadfully poor battery on my iPhone: I have to apportion out my energy over a variety of tasks:  a movie requires me to choose a time and place with few people, easy egress and now, a place for Gander to rest comfortably where people won’t stumble over him. A restaurant has to have a booth, an understanding proprietor, and service at non-peak hours so I don’t encounter too many people who might not like the idea of a dog in their eatery. And there are many new and old preparations in advance: emergency medications ( I used to carry pills in every pocket and keep them in every drawer to avoid the possibility of a panic attack), a water bowl for Gander, snacks, service vest, bathroom breaks and so on. A day in public has been and still is exhausting for me. The first few weeks with Gander were infinitely worse: The added stress took a savage toll on my body and my serenity. And all of this while people assume I am training my service dog because I don’t appear to need one.

Yesterday, I stopped to eat at a restaurant not far from the hotel where I stay. I sat outside in the car for a few moments and brought the anxiety of venturing into a new place down from a boil to a simmer. I have my usual haunts and stick to them. That night I wanted a change of pace. But Gander is a handsome and lovable mutt who draws attention, and it may come as a shock to some that attention is something I have loathed for years. And he sparks conversations about feelings and elicits memories that are not often shared with strangers in public venues. I brace for the usual questions: “What breed is he? How old is he? How long have you had him? Why do you need him? What does he do? Can I pet him?…” And then I wait, The conversation will end, become deeply personal or we will be rejected and asked to leave because Gander is one of only two service dogs I know of in Lake County, so few people have an understanding of service dogs and certainly not his role in my life–especially since I “look normal”.

The manager, an attractive lady, appeared quickly and immediately wanted to know if Gander was a “blind dog.” I resisted the urge to tell her that while he might have some hearing issues I thought his sight was fine. Then she wanted to see his service dog certification. Keeping with the battery analogy: My system was now flooded with current. I was working hard to keep from marching, like an overwound Christmas toy, into an emotional or wall or to angrily let her know that asking such questions is illegal in Illinois. Gander sensed that all was not well and leaned against me. He provided a way for me to ground and discharge excess energy. I calmly explained state rules about assistance animals and went about my dining business. During that particular meal I was asked several questions by people at distant tables and a young Indian boy racing by shrieked after realizing he’d seen an animal under the table. It was not a relaxing meal.

After dinner, the manager stopped me to invite me the two of us back sometime. And then she owned up to her discomfort: she disclosed severe physical, familial and care related difficulties she was facing in her own life. She has a lot on her plate: late stage cancer, a blind grandmother, a recent divorce and more. She expressed a longing for a pet to be there for her in what must she described as very difficult evenings alone. I give her a couple of suggestions and a card and told her to call me with any questions. I hope she does.

At our frequent visits to the area VA hospital, Gander brings literally dozens of smiles to the faces of people in the halls, and waiting rooms and especially those lost in thought and preoccupied with health concerns. Several vets have asked me how to get a dog because they are alone, lonely or just in need of something to do with the excess of time illness demands for recovery. Others have balance issues, relentless anxiety or problems picking things up…

It sounds good doesn’t it?: A dog, freely given by many agencies newly created by generous souls aiming to honor veterans and cure what ails us physically or emotionally. Ideally, we’d all like a mate, occasional company, or guests that will take us out and away from ourselves for a short time.  Or a dog, even a cat–indifferent as they might be ;-) – and an answer to sleepless nights and stressful days. It would certainly beat the addictive medicine VA docs freely give you to help you face another day or the nightmares after dark.

When a veteran says he wants a dog, I generally ask them to ask themselves if it is a service dog, a canine buddy or a friend or lover that they really need.I explain that a dog becomes an extension of themselves and will immediately be one more thing to attend to in the course of a difficult day. And I ask them to remember that not everyone in their ives, kind and generous friends they might be, are going to feel the same way about their dog. Other people have trauma associated with their past that has nothing to do and everything to do with you if you bring a symbol of their trauma into their life. And other cultures are not as devoted to their canine companions as we are. Some religions restrict contact with dogs and you are likely to get a less than warm welcome from a muslim cabbie, the law not withstanding, because adhere to teachings you find superstitious or disrespectful.

Not only will you need to prepare better for your day and yield to new limitations, but now you will have a sentient being that requires you to attend to a multitude of needs: It is a lot like having an infant with you. You are now responsible for a life other than your own. It can help heal or help hinder you depending on your needs and your ability to accommodate these changes. a lot of owners blame the difficulties on bad training, or a poorly performing dog. It is neither. You need to discover when, where and how this new piece of living equipment can best assist you as you honor his or her limitations and respect his or her need for love and care.

Scientists have known for years, what the VA pretends it has never heard about: that the body’s chemistry is dramatically and positively changed by just by stroking the fur of a animal. It effects the release of important hormones like serotonin, prolactin and oxytocin and the results are lower blood pressure, decreased levels of the primary stress hormone cortisol which is the adrenal chemical responsible for regulating appetite and cravings for carbohydrates. And if you are spiritually inclined you might believe that the compassion and unconditional love of a pet is a direct link to the divine.

I think that Gander and I were fated to meet. I think he was a Tibetan Lama in a past life who decided to hang around this world wagging, kissing and loving me into a better understanding of compassion and unconditional love. A dog in your life is a blessing you can cherish forever if you have reasonable expectations and a commitment to loving and caring for a new member of your family.

One of the tasks Gander was taught to perform was to flank me on the side open to height to give me some distance and comfort. What happened was he became so tuned to my emotional state that he began to avoid heights himself. My wife says I have given my dog PTSD. I did make him more cautious of open spaces. Is he failing me? Should I be angry or disappointed? No. I now walk down the center of bridges so we both feel more comfortable. I don’t take elevators with glass floors. The scope of his aid to me goes far beyond  these simple things. we will work on them together as a team. My guess? As I heal and become less anxious, so will he. He will be a living barometer of my progress. We have important things to do. And I am not about to stress my best friend needlessly as we romp though these rough trails together.

Spend some time visiting with others that have dogs. Volunteer at an organization like Freedom Service Dogs, read as much as you can, speak to the proprietors at places you frequent, talk to your treatment team, review your finances–this will be expensive especially if there are medical needs later!– go over an adoptive parent’s emotional and physical checklist….

After all that, if you decide to bring a furry monk along on your journey to health and wellness, it will be a decision you will never regret. It will be a love you barely explain.

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All in…

Posted on February 12, 2013 by admin

 

ArlingtonI am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon. –Amy LowellToday over 7,000 people attended the funeral of Chris Kyle the SEAL murdered while helping a troubled comrade cope with the wounds of war. Thousands more watched on television and others monitored social media and news channels as Chris was eulogized as a great father, an American hero and a compassionate friend.At about the same time, a news report surfaced about the SEAL who allegedly shot Bin Laden. Full of inconsistencies and troubling accusations I posted it on my Facebook wall and asked for input from friends I know to be in the Special Forces support community. I put the questions up prior to reading the accounts of Kyle’s memorial service. As a soldier and a career family member I should have known today was no day to interfere in what was surely a day of grieving for every “dependent” who has lost a husband, father, fiancé, brother, son or lover…

Chris Kyle’s widow said today: ”I stand before you a broken woman. Chris Kyle was ‘all in’ no matter what he did in life.”

Family members are all in too:

It was my mother who endured 6 of 20 years of separation as my father was deployed or in training and often without the ability to communicate with him

It was my mother who pressed uniforms, made dinners, and was there to greet him after deployments with everything he needed to feel safe and at home.

It was my wife who had an emergency C-section alone in rural Texas while I was in training and unable to get leave to see her.

It was my mother who saved my father from disciplinary action afer he had too much to drink one night with other combat vets. It was my mother who impressed on his company commander how much our family would suffer if he lost even a little of his pay.

It was my wife and my mother who made new friends a dozen times and searched for work in unfamiliar surroundings to augment our meager salaries.

It was my wife and mother who found things to sell when our military salaries were not enough to get us through a month.

It was my mother who collected souvenirs and photos from every duty station only to see them taken out to sea in Hawaii by the biggest tidal wave in modern history.

It was my mother, nine months away from retirement and her dream of a stable life, who opened the telegram from the war department and learned of my father’s critical injuries in Vietnam.

It was my wife and mother who raised children alone while we were called away.

It was my mother who learned to shop at fire sales and who stood in welfare lines for cheese and butter while the VA was taking more than a year to award him benefits.

It was my mother who cared for a man she barely recognized after the war. She tended to his needs every day of his injured life.

It was my mother, all 4’11″ of her, who dragged my father from room to room when he could no longer walk. It was my mother who told nobody of his illness to preserve his dignity and to keep the only constant she had ever known close to her.

It was my mother and I who stood alone in the funeral home mourning a man who left his friends on battlefields or deployments long past and had no one left to salute him or to comfort her.

It was my mother who left us all for the comfort of Alzheimer’s Disease where she had no loss, no pain she could remember.

It is me who goes, year after year, to the Vietnam Memorial still trying to make some sense of it all and still trying to reconcile my grief.

A friend today commented on my post and remarked that she was “only a [military] widow” and implied she didn’t have the authority to comment. She, like everyone in our huge extended military family has the right and the authority to claim appreciation for their service to our nation and to speak out on issues that affect those who fought and those who were there to care for them when they came home.

It is the military family member who is all in…

RIP Chris Kyle and may your family find peace….

 

 
Posted in Military Families, SEALS | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Fifth Love

Posted on November 12, 2012 by admin

“Nobody can fully understand the meaning of love unless
he’s owned a dog. A dog can show you more honest
affection with a flick of his tail than a man can
gather through a lifetime of handshakes.

Gene Hill – The Dog Man

I just returned from the meal offered to veterans every year by the kind folks at Applebees. I go less for the food than to see the 100 or so other vets there from every era from WWII to Afghanistan. In fact, I feel a little guilty about the free food and always donate the cost of the meal to a charitable cause. Though, I am grateful to Applebees for making present and former service personnel feel valued and for bringing back a nostalgic spirit of comradery. There is a special love and respect that exists between those who served regardless of their country of origin or the job they performed. We are a sentimental lot looking for validation that our time in uniform meant something. It becomes more and more of my persona the older I get. But, already I digress–a little…

A man in his sixties wearing a black ball cap with embroidered Vietnam service medals quietly approached my table and leaned over to stroke Gander. His eyes were swollen as he told me, without looking up, that he wished he could bring his dog with him on trips and into restaurants. “I have a Boxer. And since my wife died, that dog is everything to me.”

It’s far from the first time Gander has evoked powerful feelings and memories for people around him. There was a widow in a department store who said she wished that she could have a dog in her living facility. “It’s so lonely there.”

And there was the 6’2″ muscular and intimidating retired SEAL who, two weeks ago, barreled through the lobby of the complex where I live. He had been drinking and his face told me he was mentally far away and not happy about what he had found there. Gander uncharacteristically went against his training and headed straight for the man and leaned all 65 pounds against his shins. The tension drained from his face, his voice became scratchy as he gently stroked Gander and spoke with a powerful gentleness about his canine companion of 14 years that he had just freed from the pains of age and infirmity. He went on to talk about his fears about an upcoming trip overseas and the panic attacks he was having and how he now knew what invisible wounds and suffering were and wondered out loud why more victims didn’t kill themselves. And wished his “battle buddy” was still here to help him through this.

If Gander can do this with total stranger, imagine what he does for me. I am asked a dozen times a day what job Gander performs for me. I never know how to adequately answer. “He is my best friend”, “He saved my life” are a couple of my replies. More playfully I might muse: “He is a Bodhisattva here to guide me to compassion for myself and others”… But, truly? If I were Buddhist it would be easy to believe this dog was the newest incarnation for some wise Tibetan Lama.

I read The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis when I was in high school and it helped me make sense of the myriad feelings that relationships can conjure and kept me from confusing different types of connections. And after I had accumulated a few more experiences in my life, I came to believe that there other were types of love that Lewis and the Greeks didn’t record.

Ancient Greeks had four names for love:

  • Storge:”It is described as the most natural, emotive, and widely diffused of loves: natural in that it is present without coercion; emotive because it is the result of fondness due to familiarity.”
  • Eros: Sexual love. The madness and fire that consume us and fell our ego boundaries.
  • Agape: Unconditional love for others. A spiritual mandate to be kind and charitable.
  • Philia: Friendship and the strong bond existing between people who share common interests or activities.

Most of us are confused about love and what is means to love someone or something. People who love their animals understand a special kind of affinity that is borne of fidelity no unlike that of soldiers who have relied on a comrade to carry them physically or emotionally through difficulty without the thought of reward. This love transcends Philia and is deeper felt and longer remembered than Storge. It is a love that knows it can never repay the other for what he has received. It is a love that knows fidelity is not required, as Lili Palmer once wrote, but that it is a mutual gift. And it is a love so powerful and positive that the receiver grieves the loss of the other, long before he has departed. Marjorie Garber said, “If you have a dog, you will most likely outlive it; to get a dog is to open yourself to profound joy and, prospectively, to equally profound sadness.”

It has been a few weeks now since Gander entered my life. Prior to that I was being tested by the VA for heart disease because my resting pulse was routinely above 110. It now averages 80. I sleep better. And I don’t reach for the phone in the car to quiet fears or shunt an overactive imagination because his muzzle is always resting on my shifting arm. And I don’t move him, just as you don’t wake a sleeping infant for the sense of peace he provides–something I have not known for a while.

I don’t have a name for this love yet. I am still understanding it as I learn more about my new friend and earnestly work to improve the private communications we share, the ones that allow us to better care for each other. I will be writing more about those in posts to come.

When I was at my worst with panic attacks and night terrors I could not remember what it meant to be normal. When I left Freedom Service Dogs last week–I was there for Gander’s graduation–I remarked that I could not remember what life was like before Gander. And I don’t ever want to .

Here is to battle buddies past and present and their selfless sacrifices for all they hold dear.

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The Triple Rescue

Posted on September 22, 2012 by admin

“You can’t live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you.” –John Wooden

In athletics “3″ is an auspicious number: Whether its the Triple Play, Triple Axel, Triple Somersault, or other achievement all of them on the far edge of excellence. This week, I witnessed the volunteer sector equivalent of a Triple Crown, the Triple Rescue.

Rescue One:

I drove from Chicago to Denver to meet my service dog Gander. Eighteen hours on the road did not dampen my enthusiasm. As soon as I was settled in the Extended Stay America Hotel near the foothills of my youth in Colorado, I headed straight to the Freedom Service Dogs’ Kennels hoping someone might be there on a Sunday to introduce me to Gander.I was jazzed, like a teenager about to get my driver’s license or the first kid up early on Xmas. I couldn’t wait….

But, Gander was being pampered at a home stay with his trainer–he is a bit of a canine rock star with the staff–so, I wasn’t able to chat with him before our training, scheduled to begin on Monday. Instead, I was invited into the exercise yard to meet a rambunctious program drop out who was being exercised by one of the Freedom handlers. The dogs who fail to make the grade are cared for until they are adopted into a good home. Being sent down from the majors didn’t seem to bother him. He was more interested in chasing his rope toy.

So, instead, I had a chance to visit with the handler. Being around dogs has a way of dissolving barriers and opening people up to more authentic conversation, and Sunday was no different: She told me about her years in a Colorado women’s prison during which she became involved with a Freedom Service Dogs partner program that teaches inmates how to train dogs. A similar program in Texas has a 0% recidivism rate among the graduates. She went on to express her gratitude for the “second chance” given to her by Freedom and talked briefly about how rewarding the work there was for her. The entire staff talks with great emotion about the positive changes they have seen the dogs make in client’s lives.

Rescue two:

I was running on no sleep when I headed to training. It is no small undertaking to bring a service dog into your life. I was about to be responsible for a very expensive and well trained addition to my life. I am sure I did not feel any less excited or anxious than the adoptive parents I so often greeted in Guangzhou, China when they were preparing visas and custody papers for their new infants. He was to be more than companion: He would become a family member who would also faithfully perform much needed duties if he was properly managed and cared for during the years to come.

Gander looks like one of the furry sidekicks for an old TV western anti-hero or the canine version of a forgetful old literature professor in a corduroy jacket with patches at the elbows. He was on-task all day: He watches you with almost unnerving intensity to be alert to cues about what he should be doing. When off-duty, he was affectionate and gentle. He loves to lean against you and kisses are a big part of his free time repertoire.Later, I would learn that his only real distraction is chasing and retrieving a tennis ball. You couldn’t get anyone more hooked to heroin than Gander is to fetch. But, I digress….

Gander was brought to the prison at Canon City, Colorado from a shelter–all the dogs at Freedom in its 25 year history have been rescued. Luke, his name in stir, only did a short stint before being paroled to Freedom Service Dogs. Cool Dog Luke was then re-branded as Gander the wonder dog and the rest, as they say, will be history.

Gander was finally pardoned and set free to come home with me on Thursday. We have had a couple of outings, though they are discouraged during the first 30-day bonding period. But Gander, who has been in a Subaru commercial already, handles fame pretty well.Everyone adores him and he attracts a lot of attention. I am planning on buying a t-shirt that says, “Yes, my dog is awesome, but what about me?”

Rescue three:

Ryan and Stevie

My classmates are a pretty diverse group: A mental health therapist who will use her dog Sprocket (aren’t these cool names?) as a canine mediator during supervised court visitations when children of divorce and separation are afraid and confused; Two Iraq war veterans with PTSD. One of the vets, three IED explosions and a mortar attack later, suffers from traumatic brain injury (TBI) in addition to three vertebrae that were replaced after being thrown 50 feet from his Humvee. Their dogs, Doppler and Stevie, respectively, are perfect matched for them; A man from Wyoming with brace and balance problems brought on by Cerebral Palsy (CP) and seizure issues will use his dog Cash to improve mobility and the quality of his life; and the mother of an autistic child who will use Agave an enthusiastic and loving Lab to keep her son focused on tasks outside of himself.

In five short days I have watched near miraculous transformations in some of the personalities and the bonding has begun in earnest. The dogs have trained their humans to be more open, communicative and focused. These dogs, each costing some $30,000 each to train, are “gifted” to the clients who must agree to watch over them as much as they are watched over by the dogs. And I think that is an easy sell: From quiet and reserved, the PTSD veterans have already become more open, engaging and even playful. Cash’s human already gets tears in his eyes as he talks about the new friend he has waited almost two years to greet.

This has been a wonderfully exhausting week. I now know 20-30 commands that Gander already had mastered and will soon move on to the dozen or so ways to cue him to perform duties specific to my needs. We are doing well. Gander and I slept through the last two nights like a couple of long time barracks buddies.

Me and Professor Gander

This was rescue number three, times five. The only real question left is like the bumper sticker tag line I saw this week: “Who rescued who?”

Roger Caras said, “Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ” Well, it is certainly the best deal I could have ever made.

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Dog Bless Freedom Service Dogs and the incredible volunteers and financial supporters who made this happen. I will never be able to repay them for these perfect days, but I will try. And if you are ever so inclined: Freedom Service Dogs

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PTSD: Post Traumatic Sarcasm Display

Posted on September 10, 2012 by admin

I went through another evaluation this week at the VA. The exams themselves are pretty stressful and could aid or assassinate your disability rating.My diagnosis is older than the cavalry and I figure that telling the truth gives me less to to remember and then stress over….The VA uses a Global Assessment of Functioning Scale (GAF) in part to determine your disability level. The real scale goes like this:

91 – 100
Person has no problems OR has superior functioning in several areas OR is admired and sought after by others due to positive qualities

81 – 90
Person has few or no symptoms. Good functioning in several areas. No more than “everyday” problems or concerns.
71 – 80
Person has symptoms/problems, but they are temporary, expectable reactions to stressors. There is no more than slight impairment in any area of psychological functioning.
61 – 70
Mild symptoms in one area OR difficulty in one of the following: social, occupational, or school functioning. BUT, the person is generally functioning pretty well and has some meaningful interpersonal relationships.
51 – 60
Moderate symptoms OR moderate difficulty in one of the following: social, occupational, or school functioning.
41 – 50
Serious symptoms OR serious impairment in one of the following: social, occupational, or school functioning.
31 – 40
Some impairment in reality testing OR impairment in speech and communication OR serious impairment in several of the following: occupational or school functioning, interpersonal relationships, judgment, thinking, or mood.
21 – 30
Presence of hallucinations or delusions which influence behavior OR serious impairment in ability to communicate with others OR serious impairment in judgment OR inability to function in almost all areas.
11 – 20
There is some danger of harm to self or others OR occasional failure to maintain personal hygiene OR the person is virtually unable to communicate with others due to being incoherent or mute.
1 – 10
Persistent danger of harming self or others OR persistent inability to maintain personal hygiene OR person has made a serious attempt at suicide.

I checked with several vets and found that GAF corresponds loosely to disability rating as follows:

1-20 = 100% or $2,527 a month and free medical care at the VA

30-50 = 50-70% or $356 to $1,161 a month and free medical care at the VA

60 might rate you at 30% if other factors are an issue. That would give you 30% disability and $356 a month and limited care at the VA

So, you can see that the VA leprechauns guard the golden gates of Brigadoon pretty well…

So, time for a little fun…

I stumbled across several spoofs of the GAF as it relates to the VA and I decided to modify one for you. It is not to make light of the disorder, but to spoof a broken system. Like my mom used to say: You have to laugh to keep from crying…

VA GAF

91 – 100 Not much happening and you can tolerate most stress very easily. Your spouse is away for a couple of days and you sneak your dog into the bedroom. One of your kids is wearing his pants below his underwear, but still talks about going to Brown University.

81 – 90 Some minor setbacks. You are late with your AT&T bill but, screw ‘em, they have turned into a monopoly again anyway. You have spent $300 more in overages on hold with the VA about your claim. You think Siri is beginning to understand your needs. The dog has wet on the bedroom carpet, but it is dark enough she’ll never notice.

71 -80 AT&T is texting you. You dictate replies to them through Siri. The teachers strike has the kids at home 24/7 and you tell them that if you hear Gotye one more time they will just be somebody that you used to know.

61 – 70 AT&T has discontinued service. Your artillery ears can barely hear the high pitched ringtone on your Cricket phone. The dog has hemorrhoids and drags his butt all the time. The kids duct-taped the neighbor boy to a stolen shopping cart, pushed him into the forest preserve pond and uploaded their Jackass spoof to Youtube. The police are trying to call your old number. You miss Siri: You wanted to ask her why a boxing ring is square.

51 – 60 Your kids have decided to enlist in the military in lieu of jail time. You and the dog howl in harmony. You’d play drinking games if there was any booze left. Cooking distracts you from NCIS and just isn’t worth the effort. The VA has told Homeland Security about your threats.

41 – 50 Your wife has decided to move back in with her dysfunctional family. The VA Homeless program will not accept you as long as you have 3 more months before your bank actually evicts you. You think you can teach the dog to dance and audition for America’s Got Talent. The sun is getting noisier every morning.

31 – 40 The only thing that gets you off the couch is chest pains. You are sure the dog is talking to the cat about you. You asked the cute activist next door to occupy your underpants. The police have your new number.

21 – 30 You siphoned gas from the neighbor’s leaf blower and are going to fix this problem once and for all. The ungrateful dog criticizes you on Twitter and your Klout score hits an all time low.

11 – 20 They move you to a facility where the WWII vets keep trying to get you to surrender. The VA finally approved your claim, but appointed your ex-wife as custodian of your affairs. She promises to give you money for Bingo. You start a blog, because the voices in your head NEED TO BE HEARD. They don’t change your diapers nearly as often as before.

0 – 10 The nurses refuse to take you to the bathroom until you stop yelling, “FIRE IN THE HOLE” and your kids have no more room in their closets for your Afghans sweaters. Your VA claims adjudicator is promoted to regional director for his efficiency. You and reality dissolve your civil union.

Posted in Humor, PTSD, VA, VA Benefits, Veterans | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Dog Them….

Posted on September 8, 2012 by admin

“As soon as one promises not to do something, it becomes the one thing above all others that one most wishes to do.”
― Georgette Heyer

The conventions for America’s two biggest political parties are over. Despite the fact that Honey Boo Boo and NFL Football brought in bigger audiences, tens of millions tuned in to cheer, jeer or better understand who to vote for in November. Both conventions made frequent reference to American veterans and spoke with passion about their care and concern for military families and especially for those injured in service to America. Despite all the bi-partisan passion and genuine intentions the VA is getting worse, not better, at handling the needs of veterans. Much needed transitional aids are mired down in bureaucracy or about to eliminated altogether by the VA. Intentions do not equal action.

This week, the VA announced in the Federal Register, via 60+ pages, that it will no longer cover the cost of service dogs assigned to people with post-traumatic stress disorder. The VA claims there is not enough evidence to support the medical need for these dogs.

“Although we do not disagree with some commenters’ subjective accounts that mental health service dogs have improved the quality of their lives, VA has not yet been able to determine that these dogs provide a medical benefit to veterans with mental illness,” the VA said. Anyone who has worked in the field knows this is a baseless assertion. The real reason for eliminating the dogs is likely financial.

The Federal Register estimated that only 100 dogs would be certified this year when every service dog group I contacted said that growing demand already outstrips available resources. Just at Ft. Carson’s Wounded Warrior Program, says Diane Vertec of Freedom Service Dogs, “The population is growing exponentially. We feel like a dog can help a vet meet physical challenges but, more importantly, can really, really help them overcome a lot of the mental instability that they’re feeling.” FSD trains about 40-45 dogs per year and there are about 450 soldiers in the Wounded Warrior Battalion at Fort Carson.

In the Stars and Stripes, Lindsey Stanek, the CEO of Paws and Stripes, a New Mexico-based nonprofit dedicated to providing service dogs for military veterans, said she finds the Federal Register’s conclusions “preposterous,” adding that the demand among veterans for service dogs far outweighs VA estimates. “We have a wait list that exceeds 600, and we’re just one organization.” The rules will stay in effect until the VA has a chance to study the efficacy of service dogs in PTSD. By then, after adding on the 12-18 months of waiting time for a trained dog, a vet might be 4-6 years into his disability.

I called the VA last week to get in under the wire and get Gander covered by the program. After unsuccessfully querying to seven departments at a local VA Hospital I phoned the national medical information help line at the VA. The VA suggested I call the hospital. I then contacted my PTSD doctor and scheduled and appointment. She has long supported my need for a dog and has seen it change other veteran’s lives. She placed an order for evaluation with the prosthetics department who then scheduled me to be evaluated by the physical therapy department. After my evaluation, in October, physical therapy will send my requirements for a dog to the prosthetics department who will then send it on to the VA in Washington, DC. The VA will decide whether or not I should have a dog. If approved, the prosthetics department will then “order” the dog I will already have by that time. This might all be moot anyway if the regulation goes into effect at the end of this month.

The VA does not pay for the dog, which Freedom Service Dogs spends $20-25,000 dollars to train. But, they will cover major medical issues for Gander. The hospital explains it like this: The dog is equipment and they don’t pay for routine maintenance, buy will repair “it” if it breaks. And if a vet’s heart is broken by the loss of his equipment?

So,there is no money. Veterans can train their own battle buddies, right? Not so. The VA also proposes to block non certified dogs admission to its facilities. Those dogs who have helped vets carry oxygen bottles, or detect seizures are equipment non-gratis in the hospital . No attempt was made by the legal beagles who drafted the document to provide for those veterans who depend on their companions and rarely leave home without them.

Illinois defines a Service Animal this way:
“The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) defines a service animal as any guide, signal dog, or other animal individually trained to provide assistance to a person with a disability. An animal fitting this description is considered a service animal under the ADA regardless of whether the animal is licensed or certified by state or local government.” There are stiff fines for refusing service to a disabled person with a service animal regardless of its certification. The VA sees it differently.

To make matters worse: The Tampa VA has been working with several Assistance Dogs of America certified trainers and providing some cash to agencies if they will participate in a multi-year study program. The VA has foisted several unrealistic expectations on trainers like requiring them to sign documents stating their dogs will not misbehave during their placements. Some trainers are considering opting out of the study because the VA has also tried to micromanage their programs.

Jonathan Swift said that promises and pie-crust are made to be broken. I say that if politicians push veterans out on the front lines of their re-election battles, the least they can do is turn intentions into fulfilled promises.
Help them here:
I have put up petition at Change.org Please sign

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You can read more about m journey to get a service dog here: http://veterantraveler.com/service-dog

Posted in PTSD, Service Dogs, VA, VA Benefits, Veterans | 2 Comments

Climbing back up to grace…

Posted on September 2, 2012 by admin

The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.
–Aristotle

I woke today morning and performed a task as routine as morning ablutions: I opened my phone browser to Yahoo! Sports in search of the leaderboard for today’s Deutsche Bank golf tournament. I will explain: I did this every time Tiger played when I lived in China. It was a way, like music and bootleg movies, for me to stay tethered to something wholly American. Tiger was part of America’s sports greatness and he was a symbol of how I felt about my country.

The young LT. as budding golfer

I am one of the world’s worst golfers. No, really. I started the game in hopes of finding a way to “quiet the machine” and relax with the help of a sport that rightfully is known as a good walk spoiled. I had not thought of it as much of a sport until I learned it was easier to navigate a leech infested swamp at night with an M-16 above my head than to putt a tiny white ball into a PVC drain pipe. But, I digress…

Tiger Woods, son of a Special Forces Major, single-handed turned golf into an muscular, precision pursuit of excellence. Sure, John Daly could guzzle a beer, put his garish pants on backwards and hit 7 balls between cigarettes father than any other golfer on the tour, but Tiger was the one to watch. And people did it in such numbers that people who had never watched were devoted to golf where before they might have preferred to watch weeds grow in a vacant lot.

When Tiger’s life landed in the rough I couldn’t wait for the public to begin judging him again for his athletic prowess instead of his celebrity moral failings. He literally limped along for a couple of years as I continued to hope that rumors of his death were digitally exaggerated.

On my recent trip to Detroit I visited Piquette Square for Veterans. It is an apartment complex built on the site of an old auto factory. It gives permanent shelter to veterans who

Honor Guard at the Piquette Center mugging for the camera

At the center, I was introduced to Coniel Norman,a veteran and peer counselor employed by the VA to assist homeless vets there. I instinctively knew there was back story here. Coneil had just told me he attended the University of Arizona in the early seventies and I guessed by his height and powerfully large hands that he had been a basketball player. I just didn’t know how great an athlete he had been: Coneil, whose nickname was “popcorn” due to his rapid-fire accuracy, is still Arizona’s record holder for points scoring average in a season. He was drafted in the NBA’s second round and played three seasons: Two with the 76ers and then one with the San Diego Clippers, after a two year stint in the Continental Basketball Association (CBA). After being released by the Clippers in 1979, Norman enlisted in the military and served four years. He left in 1983 and then played professional basketball in Europe for seven seasons. The man who was once lauded by an opposing coach ( he described Coniel Norman as the “finest pure shooter” he had ever seen), saw his basketball career end when he was injured in a serious car accident on the Autobahn.

Time passed and Coneil eventually lost his way via drugs and alcohol. Homeless, he reached out to his family who supported him through rehabilitation. He now lives and works at the Veterans Center.

When you are one of the best at what you do, there is little place to go but down. And the people who cheered your successes are not always there when you descend. Worse yet, they turn their disappointment into anger and add considerable weight to to the already heavy burden that is recovery from injury, personal loss, or misdeeds.

That Tiger has won more events this year than the average professional can hope for in a lifetime of golf, while under such close scrutiny and subject to such blistering critique (just read some of the comments below any Yahoo! article on Woods), is a triumph on its own merits. Even if he fails to live up to fan and sports writer expectations by surpassing Jack Nicklaus for the number of majors won, his achievements are legendary and his records will likely stand long after his detractors have left this life. Hoping one day to see him play.

Coneil’s impact on the world now extends beyond the record board at Arizona. There will be veterans who will remember him as someone who returned hope and sobriety to their lives. I could not be prouder that I was able to shake the hand of an ideal man.

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Today’s call to action is a little selfish for the first time in 9 years of blogging: I could use a little help in getting to Denver to pick up Gander: http://Indiegogo.com/veterantraveler/

Posted in Detroit, Homelessness, VA, Veterans | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Take a Gander…

Posted on August 25, 2012 by admin

“Dogs are minor angels…”

–Jonathan Carroll

It seems including a service dog in my logo wasn’t just wishful thinking: I was on my way home from watching Frank & Robot yesterday when I received a call from Freedom Service Dogs in Denver telling me I was soon to be blessed with a new traveling companion. It was a touch of synchronicity, because the film was, in part, about companionship and our dependence on others, no matter how tough or self reliant we imagine ourselves to be…

I have had a series of best friends of different breeds. My dogs and I have always viewed the world together with a slight turn of the head before heading off together to enjoy a quiet walk in the woods or a sunset over the lake. Dogs are charitable sidekicks: always seeming to know what not to say at just the right time.

This will be new for me. Unconditional love is part of a dog’s DNA, so I feel a little guilty about asking more of a friend who, even without training, will do more for me than I will ever do for him.

FSD tells me that Gander is the name of my PTSD savvy buddy-to-be. He is a chocolate, mixed breed who was rescued from a shelter before being enlisted in the service and trained by FSD’s extraordinary team of handlers.

FSD was founded in 1987 by P.J. and Michael Roche after a disabling car accident that personally informed them about the tremendous need for canine helpers. The program has strategic alliances with the VA, Denver University’s Institute for Human/Animal Connection and the Graduate School of Social Work and Assistance Dogs International a training standards organization.

I was in China and in the midst of my physical and PTSD symptoms worsening I found myself rescuing local strays and in doing so I noticed improvement in my affect and mobility. I had seen videos of pets being brought to nursing homes and prisons to combat depression, but I had no idea that it was a fast evolving treatment strategy in the U.S. for veterans. Soon after, I watched a video about FSD and began to explore the possibility of a service dog for myself. I was sure that a match for me would be life changing.

FSD answered my email the same day and I downloaded the application. FSD is appropriately cautious and very thorough. Each of the 35-40 dogs they train each year costs from $20-25,000 for its 9-12 months of specialized training and is then gifted, at no cost, to the veteran. Before receiving a dog, the recipient must meet eligibility requirements, wait 12-18 months for a match and then attend three weeks of training with handlers and the dog.

The professional staff considers themselves to be”dog people” first and foremost. That means each veteran sign contracts that call for high-level care of the service dog. FSD makes a lifetime training and care commitment to both the dog and his human.

The application process was a several week journey for me. I secured the required medical evaluation and certification from my VA doctor, finished my personal statement, and took it with me to FSD in Denver for the required face-to-face interview and matching procedure. For matching, the handlers brought in poodles, labs, and a gentle giant of a dog they appropriately called Zeus. They watched carefully to see how dogs and I got along. I not-so-secretly hoped for a black lab. But, one look at Gander’s intelligent, confident, scruffy face yesterday and I couldn’t remember why I wanted a different breed of dog.

I will be heading for Denver in September to meet and attend school with Gander. In the interim, he is being taught to to do specific tasks the team identified for me:

  • Retrieving items to my hand
  • Turning lights on when I enter my house
  • “Check it out” or “clear the room”: Having him check for anyone else that might be there.
  • Find the phone to retrieve it in an emergency situation.
  • Find a person when needed
  • Brace to get up: He will help me get back up if I fall. (When I first spoke to FSD I had real trouble with autoimmune arthritis issues. They are better now. )
  • Block/Post: He will stand in front or behind me to create “safe” space in public
  • Lean and interact: He will lean on me to keep me grounded and attending to what is around me. I hear he loves to lean in and kiss…
  • He will interact with me in ways that will help pull me out of night terrors or nightmares
  • He will heel very close to my right leg (it is usually the left) when I am walking so that he can help me walk across pedestrian bridges and stay more in the middle away from real or imagined danger

    • My life has already changed. I’m walking a little brisker and I’m attending to people with dogs the way an expectant father cops at infants in the supermarket. School in Colorado can’t get here fast enough. As Corey Ford said: “Properly trained, a man can be dog’s best friend.”
    My indiegogo campaign for Gander:
    http://indiegogo. com/veterantraveler

I will be telling you more about my minor angel in weeks to come. In the meantime, please follow FSD on Twitter: http://twitter.com/freedomsvcdogs and visit their service dog website to see how you might help.

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Posted in Chicago, PTSD, VA, Veterans | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

About that “hero” thing…

Posted on August 19, 2012 by admin

Today is National Navajo Code Talker Day. Twenty-nine Navajos volunteered for the Marines during a time when casualty figures in the Pacific Theater were horrific. They created an unbreakable code based on their language during and helped the U.S. retake the eastern Pacific. The Japanese had successfully cracked earlier codes, but never managed to conquer Navajo thanks to the cleverness of the code talkers. Some examples: The Navajo word for buzzard, jeeshóóʼ, was used for bomber, while the code word used for submarine, béésh łóóʼ, meant iron fish and Hitler was the “crazy white man.”

The code talkers joined the Marines for many reasons: patriotism, money, false promises: Samuel Holiday joined because, he said he believed the recruiters when they said they were going to take care of his mother: “They told me they’d pay to buy me a house like the white man’s, with running water – which I never got,” Holiday, like all the others was sworn to secrecy until 1968 when the government declassified the code.

President Reagan declared August 19th National Code Talker Day in 1982 and in 2001 George Bush presented four of the five living code talkers with the Congressional Gold Medal for their service to the country. The Navajo nation still honors them annually. Last year a Navajo elder said, “It’s important that the accomplishments of this group of men are recognized because our language was used to change the tide of the war. In Navajo society, we hold our warriors in high esteem and with this group, this is their day.” Only one code talker, Chester Nez, remains. He lives in Albuquerque with his son.

I have watched with dismay recently as Twitter and other social media sites have grown increasingly negative. The word “hero” has even drawn heavy digital fire: A man purporting to be an Iraqi Freedom Vet declared that heroes didn’t work for money. And another pundit declared that Representative Joe Walsh had been right to assail Tammy Duckworth his opponent in the upcoming election. Walsh had called on listeners to believe that Duckworth couldn’t be a real hero because he believes that “real heroes” don’t talk about their accomplishments. Duckworth was a helicopter pilot who lost both legs and partial use of one arm in a war time crash. Duckworth endured grueling rehabilitation and went on to become the director of veterans affairs for Illinois. Recently, a Walsh supporter tweeted that Duckworth could never be called a hero, at least not as long as she belonged to the wrong political party. Anyone, it seems, can be muster boldness on TV, Twitter or Facebook. Drunk on attention, large or small, they attack without regard for the consequences. Boldness is not bravery.

A hero is not created on the battlefield or in the midst of crisis. A hero receives recognition for public courage, but their a selfless character and inherent nobility preceded their actions. A person who accepts a daunting assignment and does it well in spite of fear or adversity is a hero.20120820-003448.jpg And that definition fits those who will never have an audience to applaud their bravery.

I view teachers, healers, volunteers, warriors, community activists, poets, parents, supportive spouses. journalists, aid workers, caregivers and human rights activists as heroes. Few celebrities or sports figures are heroes for me save those that used their immense power to make a difference. As Brooke Foss Wescott said, “Great occasions do not make heroes or cowards; they simply unveil them to the eyes of men. Silently and imperceptibly, as we wake or sleep, we grow strong or weak; and at last some crisis shows what we have become. ”

My role model heroes are: The woman down the street who spent her life raising a disabled child with love and grace; the women in my OCS class who endured harassment and abuse to be the first to pin on bars; the draftee medics and social workers I met at Brooke Army Hospital who cared for burn victims evacuated there from Vietnam who were not going to survive their injuries; the dozens of addicts, alcoholics and convicts I have known who have restarted their lives while making amends to those around them in the process; the boyfriends who shielded their lovers from the Aurora gunman; and men, like my former father-in-law, who gave up his artistic pursuits after WWII to ensure that his children would go to college in hopes it would prevent them from ever going to war.

The Tuskegee Airman, Japanese-American Soldiers, and the Navajo Code Breakers were paid for their service, but they were hardly compensated for their sacrifices. Very few of us could have performed as well in the face of brutal racism and lack of materiel and command support for missions.

Tammy Duckworth is twice a hero for her immense losses and for being a role model for anyone hoping to overcome terrible challenges. I hope she talks often and with great pride about her journey. I am hoping November brings to an end these politically motivated assaults that put to question a person’s patriotism or character of service.

We owe it to our brothers and sisters in arms, combatants and service support personnel alike, to honor their extraordinary work by welcoming them back to civilian life by finding them jobs and caring for them on their return. And by defending them, heroes all, against the bold and unappreciative among us for whatever reason. The Navajos left their reservations headed for the pacific on behalf of a country that held them in low regard. Some of them fought side by side with white marines, the first non-indians they had ever known. And they joined knowing that a third of the soldiers that would fight at places like Iwo Jima would not survive. They should have been celebrated long ago. And we should applaud all those who leave their homes and we should do it now–before they are no longer here to honor.

Today’s call to action:

Drop by the Navajo Code Talkers Museum site and give of your time, talent or a few dollars to preserve and important history.

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Posted in Marines, Uncategorized | 2 Comments