Here we are on July Fourth, and as a show of patriotism, a big American beer brand decided to rename its beer America for the summer.

This Canadian brand did something very different to celebrate that country’s own independence celebration, Canada Day, July 1.

Your assignment: Compare and contrast.

Alanna Royale was smokin’.

For our part, Beth and I celebrated the holiday by dynamiting ourselves out of our Printers Row cocoon and heading to an old standard, an all-time favorite: Fitzgerald’s. Every Fourth of July, the funky, homey, welcoming unpretentious club in Berwyn (an unpretentious suburb of Chicago) holds a four-day American Music Festival. Musical acts play on multiple stages in tents, in the club, in the Sidebar—it’s like an American music smorgasbord.

We took the Blue line. The club is a short a half-mile walk from the L stop. We got there around 3:00 p.m. We saw several acts and hung out with our friends (and friends of Harper) Chris and Larry, and heard a lot of great music. I peppered the two of them about their upcoming annual hike down and back up the Grand Canyon, for probably the umpteenth time. (They’re a patient lot.) I try to talk myself into it (but always end up thinking better of the idea when I get back to my couch).

The highlight was a band called Alanna Royal. Beth had heard proprietor Bill Fitzgerald talking up this act on the local NPR station earlier this week. When she found out they have a brass section, our Saturday was immediately determined.

They didn’t disappoint. Alanna Quinn-Broadus, the lead singer is, well, a force of nature. A hunka’ burnin’ love and blues and soul. The horns were great, the band was tight, and if you get a chance to see this Nashville group, do it. They get around pretty good.

The music at Fitzgerald’s American Music Festival ranges every year from a bit of traditional jazz to some folk, blues, and soul. You know, the kind of stuff it’s really fun to be proud of America for.

Oh, and the beer was good, but there wasn’t any America, I don’t think.

I'm supposed to mostly ignore Whit when they come home. Not going to be easy.

It’s Beth’s husband Mike here again, guest blogging for her while she’s at the Seeing Eye School in New Jersey. Beth and Whit are settling in — they did their first “solo” a couple days ago. Beth’s also learned that Whit plays fetch with devotion — if Whit brings it back and Beth can’t find it right away, all Beth needs to do is hold her open hand in front of her and Whit puts the toy of the moment in Beth’s open palm. And she does it again and again and…. She’s my new favorite.

My two old favorites are also thriving. I see Hanni nearly every week, because friends Steven and Nancy were not only kind enough to adopt Hanni, they adopt me for a couple days each week when I’m down in Urbana for work. I awake to the sound of Hanni’s tail thumping my bedroom door each morning. She’d been getting a little creaky — arthritis was taking a toll until the vet prescribed some anti-inflammatories. (Which, by the way, are administered with a dollop of liver sausage.) Voila! A near-12-year-old puppy is born! She’s one of a kind.

Harper’s suburban retirement is in full bloom, and he continues to make progress. From Chris, of Chris and Larry, his adoptive humans:

Harper has gotten pretty comfortable walking up and down our street without a leash — put one on and he goes back to anxious.  He loves meeting new people and the dogs in the neighborhood.  He and Beau (the collie next door) run around the yard like mad and have a great time playing together.  We’re checking out a vet in Wheaton that the Burnham Animal Clinic recommended.   This clinic’s website says they work with animals with behavior issues – I’m going to find out if they can help with PTSD. (Note: Burnham was Harper’s Chicago vet.)

It’s a joy to think about Harper and that Collie having carefree fun. And you read that right: PTSD. In earlier posts, I was reluctant to attribute Harper’s condition — after he and Beth’s frightening traffic encounter — as post traumatic stress disorder. It seems a trifle disrespectful to those humans suffering from it. And yet, from everything I’d read, Harper’s behavior did closely resemble it.

Well, the military thinks the same thing according to this story in the  New York Times. (The link is worth visiting for the photo alone.)

From the story:

…the four-legged, wet-nosed troops used to sniff out mines, track down enemy fighters and clear buildings are struggling with the mental strains of combat nearly as much as their human counterparts.

Sounds kind of familiar. So does this:

Like humans with the analogous disorder, different dogs show different symptoms. Some become hyper-vigilant. Others avoid buildings or work areas that they had previously been comfortable in. Some undergo sharp changes in temperament, becoming unusually aggressive with their handlers, or clingy and timid. Most crucially, many stop doing the tasks they were trained to perform.

The idea that the vet Chris heard about might be able to treat PTSD sounds a little comical at first blush — an image of a German Shepherd on a therapist’s couch comes to mind — but the military has developed therapies for dogs that suffer for their experience. It’s effective enough that some dogs are re-deployed.

This is the kind of story that years ago, I probably would’ve said something like, “C’mon man, we’re talking about dogs here.” Now it doesn’t seem that simple. Beth and I and Steven and Nancy and now Chris and Larry have made fun of ourselves — and other “dog people” — for going on about the pooches. And we all know “cat people.” It’s the same. And really, it can bore the hell out of non-animal people, so let’s all agree to watch that.

These Labradors Beth brings home from New Jersey have made a dog person out of me, but its more than just that. Watching these creatures has convinced me we may have more in common than we don’t. And, watching their struggles — particular Harper’s plight — has made me more of a “person person.” Seeing what happened to him gives me all the more empathy for the folks in the military, in war zones, those who’ve survived the unthinkable in combat, accidents, or other calamities.  Here’s to the hope that  they all get as much care as Harper’s getting.

That’s Harper in his Seeing Eye graduation picture.

Last week we got word that Harper, the lovable yellow Labrador who saved Beth from being hit by a car years ago, passed away. He was 14.

 I chronicled Harper’s heroism in real time in a blog post—I hope you’ll take the time to read (or re-read) it. He really was a hero.

 Speaking of heroes, our friends who have taken Beth’s retired Seeing Eye dogs all should get Purple Hearts. They get terrific canine companions, yes—but the dogs are at the back end of their lives. To Randy (Dora), Nancy and Steven (Hanni), Chris and Larry (Harper), and Elisse (Whitney)—thank you for your generosity and for making parting with Beth’s dogs happy retirement parties, rather than sad goodbyes.

With that I’ll turn the blog over to one of Harper’s humans—Larry, who has his own poignant story that, as fate had it, would intertwine with Harper’s. After Harper and Beth’s near miss with a car, Harper experienced a sort of canine PTSD. Harper simply would not guide Beth more than a block from home. As it turns out, Larry—a Vietnam war veteran—understood Harper, and vice versa. With that, I’ll let Larry tell their story:

Harper came into my/our life at just the right time. I had mistakenly decided that I would retire, having convinced myself that I didn’t have the desire or energy to do the resume/interview thing again.

The problem with that thinking was that I have used work as a narcotic in my life. If I worked 12, 16 or 18 hours a day I could sleep through nights that would otherwise be the playground of the bugs and demons of my military and childhood experiences. When Harper came to live with us, I had run through all of the home repair projects that I had been using to keep me busy, and had become a raving insomniac. Harper arrived disoriented, and I had the impression that he also had demons that he was confronting.

When Hanni (on the left), met Harper (on the right), and Whitney with her back to the camera.

Chris worked with him during the day showing him that it was ok to relax and walk and sniff. At night Harper and I would sit in the dark, each, I’m sure, thinking “What is he thinking about, what is keeping you awake tonight?” At first he would stay in his bed with me watching as he would slowly drift off into a sometimes fitful sleep. I started to realize that I was drifting off first, sleeping in my chair, only to wake up to see a big yellow dog staring at me as if to say, “OK, now what?”

As the months rolled by, Harper became more comfortable in his new surroundings. I was sleeping more, and he was now sleeping in our bedroom—mostly in his bed. Sometimes he would sleep on the floor next to me. He would wake me up by laying his big head on the edge of the bed on those nights that my dreams were not so nice.

Harper was never one to be hugged, yet he loved to have his back and butt scratched. He loved to play the game of “find it,” where Chris would have him sit in the kitchen and then hide treats throughout the house and have him find them, encouraging him to “find it Harper, find it.” He loved the game or maybe it was the treat; regardless, I loved it.

Harper always met us with a wagging tail; I believe he loved people. If Chris and I got too heated in our breakfast conversation, he would come and stand between us, as if to say, “Is this really necessary?”

As we got older he became more and more uncomfortable with thunderstorms. We all spent some sleepless nights listening to thunder and rain. Nothing in my life has had as much meaning as those rainy nights when I was sure that in some small part I was repaying Harper for the nights that he helped me get through.

Yep Harper was a special guy, and will be missed.

Our class of 20 blind people is divided into four different groups, each group taught by another certified trainer. My teacher is terrific. After receiving a degree in elementary education at Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas, she taught kindergarten. During summers she was hired at summer camps for children who had disabilities. She enjoyed that work so much she returned to Stephen F. Austin State University to get graduate certification in orientation and mobility and, for a while, taught that to people who are blind. She loves dogs, and moving to New Jersey for The Seeing Eye’s three-year apprentice program seemed like a natural next step. Now she’s an instructor here. From the Seeing Eye Web site:

Staff instructors are full-time employees who hold college degrees from various fields of study and have successfully completed three years of specialized on-the-job training. They relate well to dogs and people and are physically fit, since their jobs are physically demanding and involve working outdoors in all weather. Some of our instructors came from teaching, business consulting and rehabilitation fields. Some were in the military and worked with dogs before, and many started out as kennel assistants here at The Seeing Eye.

Another trainer here started out in animal sciences at Rutgers University here in New Jersey. “I wanted to move to Hollywood and train animals,” she told me. “You know, for television and the movies.” That all changed after she got involved with the puppy raising program on campus at Rutgers. She raised two Seeing Eye puppies while she was a student there, eventually becoming president of the club. “I knew your dog Harper when he was a puppy!” she said. “I’m still really good friends with the people who raised him at Rutgers.”

Sometimes Harper thought he was a lap dog.

Each person who volunteers to raise a puppy for the Seeing Eye writes up a little report to let us in on what our dogs lives were like before they were matched with us, so I did know Harper had spent time at Rutgers. I never dreamed I’d meet the president of the club, though! Here’s an excerpt of Harper’s puppy profile:

Harper was attending classes at my university (including attending the graduation!), going on buses and trains, attending other club meetings, university equestrian team shows with 20+ horses, a trip to the airport — going on a plane but not taking off, emergency vehicles, malls, stores, fairs, the beach (his favorite), on a boat, in pools, overnight charity events, elementary school presentations, a retirement/recovery home, soccer, football, and hockey games.

So yes. Harper was a Rutgers grad! An article on the Rutgers University Seeing Eye Puppy Raising Club web site described these generous students who volunteered their time to raise puppies for us.

To truly stop and spend a few moments observing the volunteers of the Rutgers University Seeing Eye Puppy Raising Club, you’re struck too by their obvious affection for and commitment to their charges – cute, adorable puppies with names like Elroy, Yankee, Harper, and Oz.

Did you read that? The article mentioned Harper! Over this past weekend the former Rutgers University Seeing Eye Puppy Raising Club President said she’ll let her friends know she met me. “I’ll try to get their contact info to you.”

Our friends Chris And Larry took Harper in after he retired, and they let me know they’d love to let Harper’s puppy raisers know what their fellow Rutgers grad is up to these days.

I’ll be amazed if that happens. Instructors are wayyy busier than we students are here. When would she find time to locate that contact info? Maybe after class is over. In the meantime, back to Harper’s puppy profile. My favorite part:

He is the coolest dog I’ve ever had. His personality is a great combination of independence and affection.

Amen to that. THANK YOU to all the instructors here who work so, so hard to train dogs to keep us safe and, thereby, build our confidence. And thanks also to the wonderful, generous volunteer puppy raisers out there, including Whitney’s new family in Pennsylvania. You all are our heroes.

Looking forward to hearing the puppy profile for my new dog — my instructor will read it out loud to me late next week, before my 22-month-old female Black Lab guides me down the jetway onto our flight to her new home with Mike and me in Chicago.

It seems like only yesterday: Beth’s Seeing Eye dog Harper saved them both from being run over at an intersection a couple blocks from home. Harper yanked Beth out of harm’s way—so hard that she fell to the pavement and that the sturdy metal harness snapped. It was a harrowing experience, but afterward Beth and Harper went about their business normally.

First there was Dora (she’s the one with the antlers). Photo by Lois Haubold.

Until.

One day Harper stopped cold on the sidewalk in the middle of Chicago’s Loop. Beth cajoled him into getting her home. But things only got worse. Harper would cower and shake, and more than once I had to drive the car to pick them up because he wouldn’t move. After The Seeing Eye had sent four different trainers out to try to remedy the situation, a representative told Beth, “He took a bullet for you, and he’s earned an early retirement.”

Indeed he had. And he’s been living happily ever after with our friends Chris and Larry.

Then there was Hanni.

And we’ve been living happily with Whitney, an intrepid traveler who’s behaved impeccably on planes, trains, and automobiles, sat quietly during plays and concerts, and kept herself and Beth safe in the midst of the chaos of Chicago’s downtown traffic.

These days she walks slower when leading Beth. She sleeps more than she used to. Sometimes she balks at commands and Beth has to out-stubborn her. And, instead of unfailingly and relentlessly retrieving her yellow lacrosse ball for me to throw it again (and again), she retrieves it, lays down on the rug, and shows it to me.

Whitney’s been at it for over seven years, and it’s time. She’s earned her retirement. Beth’s other dogs have worked longer. Dora worked until she was 12. Hanni worked until she was 11. But both of them spent all or part of there tenure in quieter, saner, Champaign-Urbana. Urban life is harder on dogs.

Then the heroic Harper, here hangin’ in his new civilian harness.

Whitney will turn 10 this December, and it’s likely she’ll celebrate it at Beth’s great niece’s house in Minneapolis—Shelley Rae has generously offered to adopt her when she retires.  Beth’s other two retired dogs both lived until 17, so we’re hoping Whitney gets a lot of time just hanging out in the Twin Cities. She’s earned it.

For Beth and me, it’s a very hard conclusion to come to. I fall hopelessly in love with every damned dog Beth brings home from The Seeing Eye, and I miss them when they retire and move away. For Beth, though, it’s a real hardship. She travels to The Seeing Eye in New Jersey sans her longtime companion, and spends three weeks in a dorm after being matched with her new partner.

Besides all the schedule juggling to accommodate the training, it’s just hard work. Beth’s up at 5:00 a.m. every day, and every day is full of training on the streets of Morristown, New Jersey, with side trips to New York City, plus lectures about what’s new since students were there last.

That’s just the start. Once at home, the new dog has to learn the minutiae of Beth’s life. Like finding Beth’s locker at the pool where she swims laps. Getting her to ticket counters and moving up in the line. In and out of cabs, buses, and trains. Turnstiles at the L.

Whitney’s graduation picture. (Courtesy The Seeing Eye.) I wonder who’s next?

For months after coming home, the dog has to be with Beth constantly—that means we go nowhere without the dog. I know some of you envy the ability to bring your dog everywhere. Trust me. You don’t want to trade places with Beth.

Here’s the thing: The person and the dog really do bond as a team. They have to get to know one another. They have to come to implicitly trust one another. Sure, it’s obvious how reliant Beth is on the dog—but the dog trusts the human to get directions correct, to make good decisions.

That trust takes time. Really, the two are in training for months after leaving The Seeing Eye.

And then they settle in. That’s when we find out what each dog is really good at, and what they’re not so good at, over time. Whitney is really good at:

• Finding elevator buttons not just at our building, but everywhere there are elevators.
• Not having to pee or poop for inordinately long periods of time. I’m envious.
• Having an uncanny ability to slow down at just the right time to clue Beth in that there is an irregularity in the pavement that could be trouble. Beth knows to walk accordingly.
• Going down the stairs at the subway. You’d be surprised how hard that is for the dog; ordinarily they’d bound down multiple steps but they have to creep one at a time on their four legs.
• Weaving through crowds without bumping Beth into anyone.
• Being calm in the face of everything that’s been thrown at her.
• Entertaining me with the lacrosse ball.

On the other hand:

• She’s never met a pole she didn’t want to sniff.
• She rarely sees another dog she doesn’t want to meet.

On balance, she has been—like Beth’s other companions—nothing short of wondrous.

But it’s not magic. Breeding, training, hard work (under half the candidate dogs make the cut)—all that before being matched with a person and headed to a new home.

OK, one more. Beth’s great niece Kennedy (aka “Toots”) and Whitney took to one another right away.

Having seen this process up close, I must confess to utter disappointment when people who don’t really need a dog to do basic activities bring their untrained dogs into public spaces. But that’s for another day.

Beth has put in her application at The Seeing Eye. Between now and the end of this year, we expect she’ll be shipping out again, and I’ll be bacheloring it for a few weeks, waiting for Beth to come home with my new favorite.