Like it or not, most of us are disabled in one way or another. There are just things that each one of us simply can’t do.
There are, of course, the obviously disabled, people afflicted with polio like Laclede’s Karen Collier whose loss of mobility has forced them into wheelchairs or leg braces. Unable to hide their disability, they choose to function in full view of a world that often regards them with a counterproductive mixture of pity and annoyance. We say we’re sorry while being secretly put off by the special status the Americans With Disability Act has conferred upon them, by their right to have reserved parking stalls and to take their service dogs into public spaces from which canines are usually banned. We conceal our resentment of their special accommodations in much the same way as we hide our own less obvious limitations, our compassion fatigue, the wounds from our emotional abuse at the hands of someone entrusted with our care, someone who disregarded our protected status as vulnerable children.
Whether it shows or not, most of us are disabled in one way or another...but we choose ability.
Realizing that regardless of our limits the world still expects us all to perform at the same minimum level of proficiency, we do just what the more obviously disabled do: we focus upon what we can do rather than what we can’t, and we do it as best we can.
Karen, who was diagnosed with polio at age seven and has remained wheelchair-bound most of her life, holds her service dogs to the same exacting standard; she expects them to work at realizing their learning potential but understands that in the wrong situation instinct can override anything they’re taught. As she strokes the neck of her large two-year-old black Labrador Retriever, the former Mayor of Laclede, Senate Bill 40 Board member, and Jefferson Township Tax Collector explains, “I handle Linn here the same way I have handled polio: I concentrate on what she can do rather than what she can’t and don’t compare the two. I realize that at the end of the day she’s still just a dog, and I try to love her unconditionally the way she loves me.”
Loving without limit also requires appreciation of the other’s unique identity, and Linn, Karen’s third dog professionally trained to assist her with routine activities, has a temperament unlike the previous two. Although Karen just got Linn from KSDS (Kansas Specialty Dog Service) on August 1, she can already see that the latest arrival will be more easy-going than the last. “Astro loved to play rough,” Karen recalls, “but I don’t think Linn really does. Astro was my tomboy; she liked to body slam the way many of the male Labs do.” When Karen talks about the light blond Lab that just died unexpectedly on August 12 at the age of 12, her voice trails away ever so slightly. “Astro was so tuned in to me. She was stubborn, an independent thinker who would usually let her willfulness and need for independence take a back seat to my need for her assistance.” Now Karen is working to let the grief she still feels over the loss of Astro take a back seat to the challenges of fine-tuning the behavior of her new service dog. She reflects, “Linn is like a second child; you never lose the special bond you have with the first child, but you have to make room in your heart for a second.” Astro had reached the end of her career as a working service dog and had retired to be nothing more than Karen’s loyal pet and Linn’s companion. The two dogs quickly bonded in the two weeks they had together before a virus shut down all of Astro’s vital organs almost overnight. In spite of receiving the best treatment available in the Midwest at Kansas State University’s College of Veterinary Medicine, Karen’s faithful friend and assistant of nine years couldn’t be saved. Refusing to relinquish her own connection to Astro, Linn insists upon sleeping in Astro’s bed where at least her scent still lingers. Linn and Karen aren’t the only ones refusing to completely let go of the big blond Lab so many local residents were used to seeing. Ian Muldowney, a fourth-year student at KSU’s College of Veterinary Medicine, has memorialized Astro in a special section of the Veterinary Medical Library where his name along with Astro’s and Karen’s are recorded for posterity. And the accompanying Pet Tribute donation in Astro’s memory “will make a difference in the lives of countless other animals,” assures KSU’s Sharon Greene in a letter that just arrived in Karen’s mailbox.
See today's LCL for the full story
