He’s Beautiful and He Knows It by Susan Mellsopp
He ran into the house and examined everything in sight. A gorgeous bundle of long hair the colour of golden syrup. The smile on his face was infectious. Jay was my new guide dog, a golden retriever of exceptional beauty.
I had received a phone call the previous week at work; would I be interested in having a golden. “Yes please” I responded. The guide dog instructor went to the matching meeting to try and obtain Jay for me. Ringing about 2 hours later, I was informed he was my new guide dog. My excitement was palpable, but I restrained from announcing it to other staff at the school, and went home with a huge grin on my face.
My previous guide dog, Chocolat, had retired the previous Christmas due to failing eye sight. A blind guide dog is not a good look. She was duly farewelled at the leaving service of the Anglican girls’ school I worked at, and was privileged to lead all the staff, leaving senior students, and retiring chaplain out of the lovely school chapel. Arriving home I took her harness off and duly pronounced her retired.
Soon struggling with walking Chocolat to keep both of us fit, particularly on uneven surfaces, danger lurked. After a nasty fall near the river on Boxing Day, I complained to a friend who worked for a consumer group of the Blind Foundation that even using my cane I was rapidly losing confidence. Staying home became easier than attempting more than a weekly grocery shop. While I have no proof, I suspect this friend spoke with guide dog services, particularly about the increased falls I was now experiencing.
Leaving Chocolat at home while I worked several days a week was incredibly difficult. At great expense I had a roof installed over my patio to shelter her, but in the winter the rain still drove in wetting her and her bedding. My elderly neighbour was recruited to chat to Chocolat several times a day and keep an eye on her. I arranged for a friend’s husband, a retired builder, to construct a large warm kennel. Lined, on wheels, and with a roof that lifted for cleaning, it was canine luxury. Someone asked if I intended installing Wi-Fi so she could choose music or videos to watch!
Although top of the waiting list due to having a dog retire prematurely, I was told I could still wait a year or more to get a new dog. When Jay came up in the next matching meeting he must have seemed like a heavenly match for the instructor. I doubt she realised what a handful he could be.
Full of excitement, I waited several days for Jay to be delivered. His full name was Jayville, but had never been called that. He was carefully watched for fear he would lift his leg on my furniture or stereo. He took up residence in a home he knew had the scent of another dog everywhere. Chocolat had gone to stay with the person who was concerned about my falls. In those days a retired dog kept by the handler was not allowed to be present when training with a new dog. After two weeks she was allowed to come home. Jay, unceremoniously put outside on the lawn was rather miffed when we closed the curtains. Chocolat rushed inside very happy to see me, but soon began the sniffing routine aware there was the scent of another dog in ‘her home’. Slowly pulling back the curtains so they could look at each other through the glass, there did not appear to be any visible angst. Opening the ranchslider wide enough so they could sniff each other, we decided there was a canine friendship in the making. As soon as Jay came inside Chocolat glued herself to me announcing “this is my Mum, not yours, keep your distance.” Ever respectful, Jay obeyed, and remained second dog in the pack until Chocolat was no longer with us.
Jay was one of a litter of seven, unfortunately one died at birth. His excellent behaviour, confirmation and kind temperament meant he was singled out to become a stud dog. Left entire, at his last scan and hip x-ray he had a failing score of one point. Quickly neutered, after a hurried collection of semen samples for future use, Jay suddenly became available to work. Unfortunately having his operation at almost two meant he always retained a desire to mate, causing me intense embarrassment on occasion. Only two of the other dogs in the litter trained as guide dogs and both were matched with men. They all had their foibles; one walked his handler into an overhanging tree branch and knocked him unconscious. I was soon to find out Jay’s inevitable quirks.
Training almost every weekday, I soon learnt what a proud dog Jay was, yet soft and loving. I was warned he would try and sit on my lap, but had to be discouraged from doing this. Having a work-related appointment in Auckland one Friday, visiting several school archives, I soon learnt the value of a young enthusiastic guide. Taken into St Cuthberts school around what I remember as an indoor fountain, we were shown out a different way. Jay was very confused and kept trying to take me back the direction we had come, an early indication of his excellent training and work ethic. When asked the following week if I wanted to keep Jay my response may have been a little too enthusiastic. I was to regret this over the next couple of months.
Jay’s training adventures increased as we attempted a free run. Released from harness and lead, he immediately ran down through the park and leapt into the fast-flowing river. By the time we got there he was in the middle eyeing up a delicious lunch of duck which had swarmed around him. All our calling made absolutely no difference as he seemed to be paddling back to Auckland. Very stressed, the instructor came to the decision we would have to leave him and hope he reappeared and someone eventually caught him. Suddenly Jay turned, and with that cheeky grin of his I was already fond of, paddled back to the bank and shook over both of us. That afternoon we had to explain to the vet as we registered him why he was rather damp.
I soon discovered the instructor did not like Jay always swishing his tail around with great pride. He seemed to be saying “look at me, I am a beautiful guide dog.” When I called her a few weeks later as I was having an issue with his walking speed, she was so upset with the pride he took in his wonderful tail that she grabbed the lead off me and swung him around throwing him against my sore knee. I was horrified at her behaviour and was glad to hear later that year she had left her job.
Jay continued to challenge me constantly. Beginning to wonder if I had been hasty in my acceptance of him, I knew we were not working as a cohesive unit. At times I really struggled as he took complete charge and ensured his size and strength ruled. Several friends expressed their concern, but as a person who never gives up easily I was determined we would gel as a working team. Eventually I realised I had to learn to love Jay, and made a decision to accept his excitable behaviour. I needed to love him as much as I did my soul mate Chocolat. He was a dog with a mind of his own. Within a few weeks we both relaxed, my changed mindset meant I learnt to trust him, and Jay melted my heart. Long walks seemed to build our relationship and we both grew in confidence.
Working at three separate schools as an archivist and writer, my main employer had lovingly embraced my guides and welcomed Jay into their lives. Like Chocolat, he was issued with a school photo identification card labelled assistant archivist to wear on his collar. This allowed him to borrow up to twenty books from the school library. He bounded up the outside open stairs to my office, and enjoyed quiet time as I worked. Initially he roamed freely, but one day decided to go on an adventure. Tip toeing down the stairs he set off to explore the school grounds. Thankfully one of the teacher’s noticed him and thinking I had hurt myself rushed over to make sure I was alright. A student was dispatched to catch Jay, much to the amusement of the rest of the class. He was tied up to a table until he could be trusted not to wander off again.
Asked by the Principal one day where I took him to the toilet, she seemed quite happy with my answer of in the gardens behind the old homestead. One of the teachers decided to puppy walk an assistance dog, but was rather lax with the rules. Taking Jay out one afternoon for his toilet break, he was confronted by a rather naughty puppy running around everywhere. Refusing to do his business, I took him back to my office and phoned Assistance Dogs to explain what had happened. They were not amused as their puppies are meant to be on a lead at all times when out and about. Jay regularly refused to toilet when I was working at girl’s schools, holding on for about 11 hours while I worked at one in the city. Strangely enough when I was the archivist at an Anglican boys boarding school he was happy to go anywhere!
Archival work in schools usually meant working one day a week at each school. A state girls school employed me but the reaction to my vision impairment and guide dog was difficult. Having started there when I still had Chocolat, introducing Jay to them was met with some rather tenuous side glances and slightly curled up noses. Everyone took a huge dislike to him. As I had to share a windowless and damp office with three other people it was not a happy working environment. His long golden hair seemed to be the problem. Meetings were held, accommodations made, but even this was not sufficient. Eventually asked to sit in the far corner of the staffroom by myself, I knew we had been sent to Coventry. This carried on for several months while I grew increasingly depressed due to the isolation. Eventually I rebelled. Ensuring my income would cover immediate expenses, I walked into the main building late one afternoon, and explained I had something to do in my office. Packing up my few belongings, I deleted my speech software off the computer, and handed in a resignation letter. Interestingly I was not the only support staff member at this school who had got so fed up they walked out. Within a few months the majority of these staff had left due to the behaviour of one particular person. Jay was happier not living in an environment of rejection.
I soon found more employment working for a disability organization as a researcher. I was able to work from home. Jay was made incredibly welcome when we went into the office and was seen as a valued staff member. He and I went on long walks everyday when I had done my required hours. Attending lunchtime concerts at the university became a favourite outing where caring staff purchased a special blanket for him to lie on. For some unknown reason, a health shadow that was to reveal itself later in his life surfaced as he occasionally vomited while there.
One evening I was summoned to attend my daughter’s birthday dinner in a local Chinese food café. Taking the bus, I had to wait rather a long time for the other guests to arrive. Eventually seated, we took turns going up to fill our plates with the delicious food. But Jay would not sit down. He was restless, moved under the table and then out again, staring mournfully at me. Suddenly he crouched and urinated for what seemed like minutes. Highly embarrassed, someone went to get a staff member who brought out a mop, then proceeded to walk back with it dripping right through the restaurant. Eventually his ‘puddle’ was cleaned up, and I decided to return home early. I discovered he had drunk two bowls of water before we went out, no wonder his accident was like a large lake. Ringing the guide dog instructor the next day to report his misdemeanor, I had to chuckle when he said “you won’t be going back to that café for a while will you.” I have never returned.
Travelling with Jay was not easy. His puppy walker had kept in regular touch and I left Jay with her when I went overseas. Even a short flight in New Zealand made him shake. Arriving at the airport in a shuttle he was very nervous despite my attempts to calm him. Bravely, he always walked out onto the tarmac and up the steep steps to the plane. Unable to relax, lie down, or go to sleep, I took a small bag of his food and fed him constantly while we were in the air. The banging as the wheels went up and down was something he truly hated. Relaxing as soon as we walked through the airport, Jay swished that huge tail of his around pretending he was the bravest dog in the universe. Therefore I seldom flew locally with Jay, preferring to leave him home and mostly travel overseas.
One place Jay became very popular was at Government House in Wellington. I booked a visit to go on the tour explaining I had a guide dog with a very large tail. I was highly amused when I arrived to discover a ‘tail guide’ had been assigned to us to ensure that Jay did not knock over any of the valuable china or other gifts to the Governor General from overseas royalty and dignitaries. Thoroughly enjoying lying on the wonderful grey carpet in the reception room, I was duly informed that he was sitting where Prince William had played as a toddler. A year later we applied to attend the Waitangi Day garden party and our name was chosen from the ballot.
It was a rare lovely hot summer afternoon in Wellington, and Jay thoroughly enjoyed meeting all sorts of interesting people. Nervous he would relieve himself on the striped carefully manicured lawn, I kept a very close eye on him. He left lots of his lovely golden hair all over the white uniform of an aide-de-camp who really didn’t seem to mind. Meeting a past Governor General and other important people really made his day. The finger food was absolutely delicious, unfortunately it was for humans, not guide dogs. In the evening Jay took me to the best gelato café I have ever been to. Choosing three different flavours, I was astounded how much of this delicious dessert I then had to consume.
Eventually the loss of more sight, the inability to find extra work, and general ageing meant I made the decision to retire at sixty-five when I became eligible for superannuation. Jay received several gifts from my favourite school on the day we left. The following week we were farewelled again at a service in the school chapel. Jay proudly received his wooden Cherrington cross, leaving certificate and Dio candle. Some staff thought he was retiring also, but Jay was still a working guide dog. As he had aged Jay settled down a lot and became a very kind, decent and respectable gentleman. My retirement was going to be fun.
He enjoyed spending more time with Chocolat, even waking me once in the night as she had become stuck under the coffee table. He ensured she was happy and comfortable making room for her on all the blankets in the lounge. Jay still avoided usurping her role as ‘top dog’ and made sure she was inside every night after toileting.
Jay’s worst habit at this time was his tendency to bark. I had spent all summer teaching him not to react at everything which moved nearby or in the park over the fence. A woman moved into the new apartments nearby and brought a small puppy with her. The dog was locked in a cage all day and barked constantly. As it grew the poor animal began to scream, something I had never heard before. This meant that Jay, such a kindly soul, barked trying to comfort the poor dog. His level of barking increased until I was forced to mostly keep him inside. Eventually the woman realised that having a now large dog locked up all day was not appropriate. One day the dog disappeared. Peace and quiet reigned.
I loved retirement, and Jay and I undertook long walks, went to cafes, and the movies. We went out with friends where his beauty was constantly commented on. Yet he still embarrassed me. He would dive into bushes to attack cats sunning themselves quite legally on their own property. I had to hang onto his lead as he attempted to chase them mercilessly. Any cat deciding to traverse my section was in for a huge fright. Both dogs would race out the door at high speed, focused on removing the feline intruder. Faced with two large dogs the panic and confusion expressed by the cat meant it often missed the fence and became fair game when it fell back into my garden. Hellebores and irises received the brunt of the scrabbling and jumping, never to completely recover.
As a vision impaired person I regularly had falls when tripping on uneven footpaths, over sticks, or concrete edges even Jay did not see. I was a great embarrassment to him as when I hit the ground in a crumpled heap Jay would run away and stand looking at me. One can only guess what he was thinking. Passersby seldom came to my rescue, I was left to haul myself to my feet and then discover where he was standing laughing at me.
There was another very important love in his life, apart from me. This was a person who arrived just once a year and onto whom he showered large amounts of affection. It was Santa Claus. I have no idea how he became so enamored with the jolly fat man in the red suit, but as soon as Santa arrived in the local mall Jay begged me to stop for a visit. Rubbing his hair all over the neatly pressed red trousers and licking the poor chap’s beard, Jay was smitten. One day when I tried to walk past the Santa grotto Jay pulled the lead and harness out of my hand, pushed over Santa’s fence, and leapt into his arms.
Visiting other shops and malls at Christmas was a slow process. One day we met three separate Santa’s, one of whom asked me how I was! It took weeks to figure out who the chatty Santa was. When Jay was due to retire we held off until almost Christmas so he could visit Santa in the mall one last time. Yet last Christmas a lovely friend took Jay and I to visit Santa at the vet clinic and despite sore hips and feeling quite unwell Jay sat up proudly to have his last photo with the yuletide chap.
Working with a guide dog can bring some incredibly negative experiences. As he was such a big dog squashing around him while sitting in cars or taxis meant unfolding myself on arrival at our destination. I once fell out of a taxi trying to reach around my golden friend to shut the door. He was just too keen to use up all available space.
Jay also had a rather unusual habit when travelling in my friend’s cars. His puppy walking introduction to music included singers like Michael Jackson. This had to be rectified and soon Chopin and Mozart became his favourite composers. If he didn’t like the genre of music on a friend’s car stereo he would reach up with his nose and change the station. This had rather disastrous consequences one day when on pressing the button all music stopped and the screen was full of Japanese characters. Feeling very awkward, I told my friend I would cover the cost to rectify this. No one at her dealer could interpret what was on the screen, so as far as I know to this day Jay’s Japanese lesson remains on her stereo screen.
Eventually the local bus company noticed Jay travelling regularly on their buses. Invited to bring him to a publicity event, copious photographs were taken of him sitting on the bus, getting on and off again and again, which he became confused by, and generally looking smart and handsome. This photograph was soon to haunt him.
Travelling on the bus into the city one day, the driver questioned the validity of Jay as a guide dog. I insisted he was, showed his harness, and went to sit down. The driver kept saying she knew all about guide dogs and had written the manual. Although we carry an ID card I completely forgot as just before leaving home I had received some incredibly sad news and was not thinking clearly. The bus driver continued to harangue me all the way into town saying he was not a guide dog and would report me to the Blind Foundation. Asking how I would get a harness she insisted I had bought it online. The driver kept repeating she knew all about guide dogs and Jay was definitely not a guide dog. Another passenger spoke up on my behalf and explained she had seen me working with Jay around Chartwell and that he was definitely a registered guide dog.
As I exited the bus at the transport centre I politely told the driver I had reported this incident to the guide dog instructor. Her response was unrepeatable. She then followed me into the building and in front of other passengers waiting for intercity buses continued to yell and abuse me. I showed her the large photo of Jay now imprinted on the roller window above the bus company desk, her response was, “anyone could have put that there.” She kept insisting that I show her Jay’s ID medallion which I am not required to do. Eventually I gave in and did so. I then quietly told her she had ruined my day particularly after receiving sad personal news. “Don’t blame your problems on me” she snarled and flounced off.
Unaware that I was the bus equivalent of a mystery shopper, I repaired to a café and made notes in my phone of everything that had occurred. On returning home later the same driver was on the bus, but with an inspector sitting behind her. I wrote a detailed report of my experience which I sent to several people at the bus company as well as my guide dog instructor.
Although I was not informed of the official outcome, I understand the driver had to explain her behaviour and was eventually fired. I was presented with a gift from the staff of the bus company; ironically the photo of Jay exiting the bus! As far as I am aware his photograph still graces the roller window and is noticed by other members of the vision impaired community.
Life became relatively quiet, until the earlier bouts of unexpected vomiting and constant swallowing began to occur more regularly. Attending a concert at the university one day, students began stomping on the floor. I had to take Jay out as he was swallowing repeatedly and trembling. He had been treated several times for this, but the vet seemed to think it was nothing more than a dog eating something he shouldn’t. As other symptoms presented themselves such as Jay making a noise as though he had something stuck in his throat, my pleas for a diagnosis were still ignored. Eventually he became so unwell that guide dog services asked me to order a gut x-ray. When I rang the vet they again reiterated that they didn’t think there was really anything wrong with him, were too busy, but I could bring him down, put him in a cage, and they would x-ray him if they had a cancellation. Horrified by this, a staff member from guide dogs drove the two hours to my place from Auckland, picked Jay up at 5.30am, and took him back to a specialist vet. After intensive and of course incredibly expensive tests which examined him both externally and internally from end to end, the diagnosis was severe inflammatory bowel disease. It must have been present for much of his life, unfortunately exacerbated by the unexpected floor stamping. On checking I discovered some of the other dogs in the litter had presented with the same symptoms. Jay was put on a special diet, one 8kg bag costing $165. To boost his diet I was allowed to occasionally given him some cooked rice and boiled chicken. When researching the dried food I discovered it was made out of chicken feathers! This diet is effective as it does not include any type of food a dog may have eaten previously. Although he did not really enjoy the dry food, eventually Jay settled into a life without treats. Deciding to retire him, he was now able to take steroid medication to ease his symptoms.
Then covid arrived. Strict lockdowns in New Zealand meant short walks with Jay were my only daily outing. Initially we just went into the park next door, then realising that the streets were so empty I could have walked down the middle of the road, we began venturing out. Many people would go outside to enjoy the sun, or work in their gardens. Standing at a distance chatting, it was a wonderful way to interact with other human beings while getting exercise.
Soon Jay’s hips began to cause him pain and long walks ceased. He was now almost eleven, and lay in the sun to soothe his joints. Warm as toast when he came inside, on cold winter days he placed himself right in front of the heater, blocking the heat from keeping the room warm. Jay could no longer put his feet up on my bed in the morning to give me a lick, or stand on his back legs at the fence to talk to the neighbours. His walks in the park were short but fun. Most days were spent sleeping in the lounge.
A new vet, we had changed practice after the dreadful treatment he received over obtaining a diagnosis, took Jay under her wing and we muddled along. Then she left and on our subsequent visits never saw the same vet twice. One prescribed a drug which made Jay so sleepy he was virtually comatose. In desperation I consulted the vet manager at guide dogs and she referred him to the police dog vet who also offered her services to guide dogs. Instantly falling in love with my gorgeous gold retriever, she and I spent hours on the phone and via email trying to find a solution. She tried to contact the vet who had prescribed the drugs, he did not deign to reply. Eventually after some testing, my sending videos of the noise he made, Jay was prescribed the same natural joint remedy as the police dogs. Continuing with his sparse diet seemed the only option to help with his gut issues. Jay improved dramatically, even being able to take short walks on the footpath again. I decided to follow the young woman vet and enrolled him at a new practice she had set up with a colleague.
She watched over Jay until at thirteen I knew he was on borrowed time. The tummy issues had worsened and he was struggling to get up off the floor. He loved to lie under my feet or as near to me as possible. A park walk was very slow and reduced to a couple of times a week. During one checkup I had the ‘I know his time is coming’ discussion and she commented she knew to trust me to do the right thing.
One week Jay started refusing his food. Then he vomited several times over my carpet when I was out. For the first time ever none of my friends was available to take him to the vet clinic. Two days later in desperation I rang the clinic, explained my difficult situation, and they decided to come and pick him up. After a night in the vet hospital, antibiotics, and fluid, Jay improved and I brought him home. Happy to explore the house, the lawn, and bark at the neighbours, he crashed forty-eight hours later. Unable to use his back legs properly, he lay on the floor looking incredibly miserable. The only appointment I could get was mid-afternoon. Jay deteriorated as the day passed, and I sadly made a phone call to say I thought I would be bringing him in for his last visit, although I still had to find someone to take me.
Lifting Jay gently into a young friend’s car, we had to put him on a trolley when we reached the vet. He was panting continuously. Informed he was in heart failure, the vet asked “did I want to do tests?” “Absolutely not” I said, “he is fourteen, very ill, has outlived the rest of his litter, its time for him to go.”
Jay passed peacefully lying on a sofa, the first time in his life he had been allowed on furniture. His head in my lap, the look of peace on his face was all I needed to know I had made the right decision. My beautiful Jay was out of pain, his inflammatory bowel disease was finally at rest, and he seemed grateful I had let him go. Rest in peace my special kind golden guide dog, you served me well. I miss you and will love you forever.
Jay 8 weeks old
Jay at Home 2022
Jay Christmas 2022 (2)
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Jay at Waikato Diocesan School for Girls
Jay Christmas 2022 (1)
Jay Retirement Photo
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Chocolat, Jay and Susan
