My Life with Lucy Like a Charm
A new beginning
Lucy entered my life in the winter of 2012. Having recently relocated to Sydney, to embark on a Ph.D scholarship at UNSW Art & Design, I was looking to volunteer as a fosterer for a dog adoption group. Scouring the internet and Facebook pages for dog adoption groups, I stumbled upon the world of Greyhound rescue, foster and adoption. I learned that these beautiful dogs are bred mainly for the purpose of racing, and out of the many thousands bred a year, only a very small fraction actually end up adopted into homes as pets. It was then that I decided to do my small part for these noble animals.
I was given an instruction manual detailing the tasks I had to perform in my fostering role. Most items in the manual were familiar to me – basic toilet training, behaviour and obedience – and Lucy settled into city life with surprising ease. The only thing that disturbed me was having to put a muzzle on her each time we stepped outside our home, as a requirement of the law in Australia. I had never met a more gentle and quiet dog than Lucy, and the muzzle just did not make any sense to me. I was taught from an early age that the human owner of any pet is responsible for the animal’s good behaviour and wellbeing, and breed-specific laws were based on inaccurate, biased interpretations of pseudoscience, mixed with popular mythologies. I found that having the muzzle on while outside among people, especially with other pet dogs, made Lucy feel uncomfortable and more anxious. I was most relieved when Lucy very quickly passed the official test to go muzzle free. Pet Greyhounds are rare in our neighbourhood, and Lucy soon became somewhat of a celebrity. Strangers would stop to chat, and through Lucy, I began to get to know my neighbours, many of whom later became close friends.
The moment of truth
Many people have asked me about the moment it dawned on me that Lucy would be mine. I wish I could claim awareness of an instant connection with Lucy, but the truth is that I was quite oblivious at the beginning, so earnestly fixated on the job of fostering at hand. In fact, I believe that Lucy was the one who made the decision to adopt me, long before I was cognizant of the fact that we were meant for each other!
As a fosterer, I was instructed not to allow Lucy onto my bed because her future human family may not wish dogs on furniture, and I diligently applied myself to observing this rule. Hence, Lucy slept in her own bed next to mine. One night, something woke us both at the exact same moment. We sat up, eyes shining in the dark, and looked at each other for a poignant split second that seems like an eternity in my memory. Lucy then jumped into my bed, curled up next to me and fell back asleep. Henceforth, she gently but resolutely refused to sleep in her own bed, and I signed the adoption papers shortly afterwards.
Making life better.
Little by little, I began to observe that Lucy was enhancing my life in significant ways. I am autistic, and I have hypersensitivity. As a result, the combined effect of sensory triggers leading to overload and a predisposition towards detail-focused pondering often results in severe anxiety, followed by depression. Within the first week of her arrival, Lucy began to wake me up every day at around 5.30am, establishing the morning routine that has marked our almost four years together. I no longer lay in bed immobilised, mentally and physically battling my way through fear and anxiety in order to begin the day. Lucy made this transition pleasurable and exciting, her gentle insistence became the driving force propelling me into palpable time and space, looking forward to each new day of exciting possibilities. I also started noticing that Lucy would alert me of unusual sounds and smells, long before I myself registered them consciously. Even though I have hypersensitivity, her canine senses are of course much more acute than my human ones. I found that her notifications were finely attuned to my sensory needs: she seemed to know exactly when I was beginning to become overwhelmed and would actively indicate to me to redirect my attention or remove from the situation.
I spoke with my doctor about this, and she agreed that I should have Lucy trained as my assistance dog, to help me with mitigating anxiety challenges. After some extensive searching and contacting different organisations, I finally found mindDog Australia, a wonderfully inclusive charity organisation that helps individuals train psychiatric assistance dogs. Lucy and I trained for almost a year, and passed the Public Access Test in September 2014. This test allows the assistance dog and human handler team access to any areas, services and transportation available to the public under the Disabilities Discrimination Act (for more information, see mindDog).
A Greyhound assistance dog?
While researching about assistance dogs before taking the official plunge, I became more and more aware that not every dog is similarly suited for specific tasks, just as not every human is a good candidate for having an assistance dog. People are familiar with Labradors as Guide Dogs and assistance dogs; some organisations would not train any other, and many media reports erroneously claim that only Labradors are used for these purposes. However, in actual fact, any breed of dog may be trained as an assistance dog: what is essential is that the dog and human are a suitable team and the right fit for one another in terms of understanding temperament and need.
I am not an expert in this field, but my humble view is that the relationship between human and dog is far more crucial than the specific breed of dog. There are people who make inappropriate demands of their dogs, regardless of breed and whether they are pets or assistance dogs (or any other working dog). There are also those who take great pains to maintain a caring, respectful and equilibrated synergy. The same can be said for human parenting and connections too.
When I first began on our journey, I had not heard of many other Greyhound assistance dogs in Australia. Now, I personally know three people with Greyhounds as assistance dogs, and am aware of a few others whom I have not met. One other greyhound with mindDog Australia is Gypsy, who belongs to my friend Rachel. Her Facebook page, Gypsy’s Journey, is a delightful and intimate documentation of their journey together. Rachel is meticulously scrupulous in her care of Gypsy, and I have learned much from sharing of ideas and perspectives.
Lucy is a perfect fit for me, and I strive to be worthy of her in return. My autistic hypersenses make me vulnerable to even the most innocuous external stimuli: sounds, smells, light, crowds, movements etc can be challenging and have very tangible devastating effects. Lucy’s communications are clear and assertive, but always delivered in a gentle and genteel manner. For example, when she wakes me up in the morning, it isn’t with an enthusiastic pounce, jab of the paw, or lick in the face, but rather a soft, polite rustling of the sheets as she shifts her body, and an intent gaze as her face silently hovers over mine at a comfortable distance. When she sees that I am awake, she will tenderly place her head on me. Some people who prefer more demonstrative dogs may say that Lucy is aloof or unaffectionate, but her intense yet deferential manner is more precious to me than any effusive display of endearment. Lucy is also very quiet - she does not bark unless during our play-time, and even then, only in a brief few seconds of ‘conversational’ exchange. She is not a watchdog, of course, but I could not live with one in any case, because the barking would trigger sensory pain. Lucy is very alert nevertheless and will let me know if someone is at the door, or if she smells something unusual, like burning toast in the neighbour’s apartment. Together with cleanliness, I am also very particular about smell. Lucy herself is very clean, she does not like to walk on wet surfaces, muddy grass, tall grass or go outside in the rain. Being a Greyhound, she does not have the distinct ‘doggy’ odour common in most other dogs, and her short coat makes her very easy to keep neat and fresh. She quite happily allows me to gently wipe her paws, body and privates each time we return home from an outing. In fact, she will remind me to do so if I forget, especially if there happens to be some mud caught in her paws. I do not think I am imagining it when I say that she enjoys being clean!
When Lucy and I are outside in ‘work mode,’ she serves as my sensory sentinel. Although I have hypersenses, I often ignore the subtle warnings as a learned reflex deferring to social conformity, thus pushing myself beyond safe limits, and then plunging into sensory overload and meltdown. Lucy helps to prevent sensory anxiety and overload. For example, she will communicate to me through subtle physical gestures, when she senses that I am becoming overwhelmed by noise, bright light, smells and crowds. This gives me the opportunity to pause, and perform intervention strategies like leaving the room, taking a break, refocusing etc.
Symbiosis
Lucy may be my assistance dog, but she is first and foremost my most valued companion. She is not a piece of equipment, nor slave to my beck and call. It is not only a serious responsibility but also crucial to my own holistic wellbeing that I learn as much as possible about Lucy – specifics about her species, breed, and her individual personal nuances – in order to respect and meet her needs just as she does mine. I am extremely careful not to demand of her more than she is comfortable or able to do. For example, being aware of her unique existence means that I do not make her ‘work’ for long hours, expose her to too much stimuli, take her to every single place that I go to, or bring her into potentially unsafe environments. I am also particular about ensuring that she is as comfortable as possible when working – I carry with me a specially padded and soft mat for her to lie on because she does not like hard surfaces, a water bowl and water, treats, wet wipes, and even emergency rations just in case. I do not let her bear weight as far as possible, nor would I use her for tasks like counterbalance, as I feel that Greyhounds are not built for that purpose. In fact, I have discarded many collars and harnesses just because they felt too cumbersome or heavy, or that Lucy did not like using them.
I view our relationship as a symbiosis of Beingness. My own research and artistic praxis expounds the concept of autism as a Parallel Embodiment: one with unique functional and experiential paradigms, which ought not to be colonised and subjugated to fit a different modality, but rather that a clement reciprocity be created for empowered co-existence. Lucy’s beauty, in my eyes, lies in her separate embodiment – her intrinsic nature as a dog is important to me. In fact, Lucy has instigated some crucial trajectories in my research, and my upcoming exhibition in November, Sonata in Z, is inspired by Lucy’s sensory expressions and our interrelated quest for clement spaces. Sharing of space and time thus becomes all the more fascinating as we weave a rich, multimodal, multidimensional tapestry together. Lucy’s former racing name is “Like a Charm.” I cannot imagine how a creature so magnificent could be made to perform such a demeaning and dangerous form of ‘entertainment’. However, her name rings true in ways the people in her former life may never have intended nor envisioned. I am honoured to be able to share my life with her, and she is truly like a charm in multitudinous ways.
[If you would like to know more about Lucy and myself, please visit my website dawnjoyleong.com or Facebook page Scheherazade’s Sea]