When I took Drew up to Susan Fox‘s home on the northern coast of California last week, I had a feeling her family would be a good match for my little Sheltie for the couple of months I’ll be gone from home on book tour. Susan and her husband are quiet, thoughtful people who love animals and who both work at home. Drewbie is no youngster: At 14, he tends to get stressed pretty easily. He relaxed quickly in their home, comfortable around their collie, Niki, and happy to share space with their cats. The next morning, the old guy bounced happily along on a two-mile walk, enjoying the fresh sea air and the new sights and smells.
But after a day or so, Susan let me know something about my own dog that I didn’t realize: Drew wasn’t enjoying the new sounds of the coast, because he is deaf.
And yes, this came as a surprise to me.
I knew Drew wasn’t hearing as well as he once did, and for his age, that’s not at all unusual. But with me and in his own home, he is so attentive to me and familiar with our routine that I had no idea that he couldn’t hear at all. He follows me around everywhere I go, even off-leash on the back acreage. At mealtime, he never needs to be called, and he goes to bed when I do. If now and then he seemed a little lost, well, he is 14, I thought.
At Susan’s, though, without his regular routine and unsure of which of the two people to watch closely for cues, his disability was more obvious. Suspicious, Susan clapped her hands behind his head … and got no response.
When she told me, I felt guilty, at first — how could I not know my own dog was deaf? — and then, amazed. The bond that has developed between me and Drew over the years is such that words between us are not necessary. Drew is so bright, resourceful and adaptive that he fooled even as attentive a pet-owner as me into not realizing that he couldn’t hear me.
Drew will be with Susan’s family for the next two months while I’m on a national book tour. She’s now teaching him a couple of hand signals to help him understand to come in from the yard when “called.” He’ll pick them up quickly, I’m sure. He clearly is, as Susan put it, a sharp little tack.
As for what happens when we are both home again, I plan to help him. I plan to share the burden he has been carrying alone, bridging the gap between us when words are no longer useful. I’ll be building on those hand-signals, to make his work a little easier. And I’ll realize when he drifts that he needs me to find him and make sure he can see what he can no longer hear.
image: Drew, by Susan Fox
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