Do Guide Dog owners really exist?
A CASE HISTORY
Article about Vet/Client Communication
By Aine Wellard
Irish Veterinary Journal, Vol. 46: pp157-159, 1993
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
1
PERSONAL ACCOUNT
2
INVALIDATION, CHOICE AND FUNCTIONAL
3
DISCUSSION AND ANALYSIS
3
CONCLUSION
4
REFERENCES
5
ADDENDUM
6
Introduction
Veterinary surgeons, like most other people, have their attitudes (including their
prejudices) moulded by society long before they embark upon their professional
training. Within the existing curriculum, veterinary medicine is dominated by the
'biomedical' model of care. Therefore, psycho-social issues tend to be ignored.
With little or no formal training, veterinary surgeons are expected to understand
how their own personal beliefs, anxieties and fears can affect their attitude
toward clients, and behaviour with them. Veterinary surgeons must also devise
their own coping strategies for situations which often require highly developed
interpersonal skills (Engel 1977; Buckman 1984; Tubridy and Wellard 1991).
The following case history demonstrates the destructive power of professional and
client roles; illustrates the restrictions that role expectations can place on
communication; highlights some misplaced stereotypic attitudes about guide
dogs; and provides bona fide evidence to support the conviction that veterinary
surgeons should receive training in the behavioural sciences.
A personal account
"Before making the decision to terminate life, all reasonable alternatives should
be considered and carefully evaluated" (Stewart 1989).
Such advice is also relevant when a veterinary surgeon is making a decision to
terminate an established relationship while the animal is still alive, as illustrated
in this case history of forced re-homing.
Forced re-homing refers to a situation in which a person who is emotionally
bonded to an animal can no longer keep it. This is usually due to a change in
circumstances: for example, long-term hospitalisation or moving into sheltered
housing, with a 'no animals' ruling.
The forced re-homing of a much-loved pet has a power for devastation potentially
greater than that of euthanasia, because the animal is still alive yet out of its
owner's reach.
My guide dog Sherry was a yellow Labrador and an inseparable part of my life.
Sherry was two-and a-half years old when I got her in April 1977, from
Leamington Spa Guide Dog Centre. As a working companion animal she had
attended university with me, accompanying me to all my lectures and seminars;
she was also present at my graduation ceremony. On one occasion she was even
allowed into Buckingham Palace and was stroked by Prince Philip.
In her tenth year, my veterinary surgeon, who offered no valid explanation that I
could understand, decided that I was no longer a suitable owner for Sherry. The
person nominated by him to be Sherry's new owner was a friend of mine. In
order to convince me that Sherry should live with this friend, he embarked upon a
series of lectures. To ensure that I had no way of escaping from them, each
lecture was eloquently delivered when I took Sherry for her annual vaccinations!
I was confused. Suddenly, without fully understanding why, I was being ordered
to put the past behind me, sever the bond that existed between me and my dog
and, just as if she was a sack of old rubbish, I was expected to give her away and
immediately adjust to a life without her; just as if she had never existed! For the
final three years of Sherry's life I felt as if she was owned by a cooperative.
Sherry died on 14th June 1988. She had spondylitis. Her condition had
deteriorated rapidly during what were to be the final three weeks of her life. On
that fateful day my veterinary surgeon remarked that "I think we've reached the
end of the road"; my reaction was that of shock and disbelief. In fact, I was
devastated. He became aware of my bewilderment and sense of helplessness and
spent the next three hours or so patiently discussing all available options,
covering the same ground several times over. Without feeling pressurised, I
eventually came to the conclusion that euthanasia was the only viable option
given the circumstances.
On that occasion, my veterinary surgeon demonstrated great sensitivity and has
demonstrated sensitivity on many other occasions. This makes feeling hurt about
what happened over two years ago in relation to re-homing Sherry all the more
difficult to reconcile.
Reaching an understanding
I wrote the above account one afternoon in 1990, because two years after my
dog had died, the reasons for my lack of suitability as a responsible owner of my
own guide dog still evaded me. I still felt very angry with my veterinary surgeon
and angry with myself for feeling angry. I also thought that when I had it on
paper the cause of the problem would become clear to me. But, in effect, only
one thing became clear: that something was still hurting. I found myself in tears
several times when originally writing the above text. I showed what I had written
to a friend who was a social worker.
After reading the text through, she came up with three key words to explain my
feelings: Invalidation, Choice and Functional. I felt physically relieved. Through
the use of these three simple terms she had given me a clear indication that what
I had written had been understood. I took her advice and sent a copy of the
above account to my veterinary surgeon and made an appointment to discuss it
with him. I am very glad that I did.
We discovered that, in the main, the whole episode had been a classic case of
communication breakdown.
Discussion and analysis
There had been fault on both sides and a lot of fear on both sides. I had thought
that the suggestion to re-home Sherry, ostensibly on the grounds of her being
ten years old, had been irrational. I discovered that my veterinary surgeon had
been motivated by a fear of litigation, in relation to 'a breach of the duty of care'.
He believed that had I been 'run over by a bus', he might have been held
responsible and sued. I would like to pose the question, at this point, by whom he
would have been sued and on what legal basis? As a response to this seemingly
irrational behaviour I had developed a fear of taking my dog to the surgery. I was
afraid she would be taken away from me; he appeared to be unaware of my fear
and doubtless thought that my attitudes and behaviour were irrational. A
situation had arisen in which my veterinary surgeon became defensive whenever
I questioned his judgement. I became defensive whenever he suggested that I
should re-home my dog. We no longer talked to each other, instead we talked at
each other and hardly communicated at all.
I believe that it would be useful to explain the source and consequences of our
communication breakdown, as I perceive them. The three 'key' words, used by
my friend, proved to be the key to what had gone wrong.
Invalidation: This is a situation in which little or no acknowledgement is given to
a person's thoughts, feelings or behaviour and a person feels as if she or he is
worth very little.
My veterinary surgeon had not consulted me about whether or not I should give
away my dog. Consequently, I felt as if I was being totally ignored, (i.e.,
invalidated). I had also been guided by very mixed and powerful emotions. I was
jealous of my dog’s potential new owner. I felt guilty about feeling jealous,
paranoid about what people were saying behind my back. I was also very angry
with the veterinary surgeon. It seemed to me that my feelings had not been
acknowledged by him.
Choice: I had a feeling that I had no choice as to whether or not Sherry remained
with me. My veterinary surgeon had not explained to me his reasons for wanting
to evict Sherry from her home. I thought that it must be because he believed that
I was incapable of looking after her. On the other hand, I had not asked him for
his reasons. I felt trapped and powerless. As a client I had fallen into the trap of
allowing him to 'set the agenda'. This meant that if he did not offer to discuss an
issue then it remained unresolved. I acted out the role of the 'model' client and
(like all good and compliant clients) I had let the veterinary surgeon decide what
was important. In addition, he had role-played the 'model' veterinary surgeon in
that he did not express his own fears and anxieties.
Neither of us had done anything wrong. We had just played our roles so well that
our 'role expectations' got in the way and we could not communicate with each
other.
Functional: It seemed to me that as far as the veterinary surgeon was concerned
a guide dog had a purely functional role as a mobility aid. Once this role was
redundant the dog had no further use.
In fact, he did explain later that a guide dog should be re-homed when it is no
longer working. "This is because if another guide dog comes into the home the
presence of a retired guide dog would make things difficult". Evidence refuting
this assumption has recently been published. In a study of the relationships that
exist between guide dog owners and their dogs, Jill Nicholson (1992) notes that
problems rarely arise when the old dog has its role taken over by the new dog.
When problems do arise, they are relatively short lived.
Conclusion
The termination of a relationship between an emotionally bonded owner and
animal can precipitate intense feelings of loss both when an animal has died and
when it is still living. In this respect this case history highlights an interesting
paradox. My veterinary surgeon had handled Sherry's euthanasia with great
sensitivity. He demonstrated an awareness and understanding of the strength of
attachment I had to her. When considering the option of euthanasia he had taken
into account both the desires of the owner and the needs of the animal. Yet, with
regard to the rehoming of Sherry, the desires of the pet owner were excluded. It
was the needs of the animal and the desires of the veterinary surgeon that
formed the criteria for decision-making. Both situations involved a 'break' in the
emotional bond; both could precipitate a grief reaction; both situations involved
the same owner and the same dog. Nevertheless, both situations received very
different approaches from the same veterinary surgeon. I do not know the
reasons why this should have happened. But possibly it was related to the
development of personal attitudes and beliefs. These are known to be heavily
influenced by the society in which we grow up.
It is my belief that, to some extent, my veterinary surgeon had fallen victim to a
popular misconception (which I have frequently encountered: that the blind are
helpless but for their marvellous guide dogs 'and certainly can't be trusted to
cross roads safely without them'. My veterinary surgeon would appear to have,
unintentionally, 'projected' his own fears and anxieties about the consequences of
blindness (i.e., his perception of my vulnerability) on to me. His problem then
became my problem and was treated as such. It seems that Sherry had fallen
victim to another misguided belief that 'guide dogs are public property'. As a
consequence, she was perceived as 'public responsibility. In turn, I was no longer
considered to be eligible for the rights that other veterinary clients take for
granted; in particular, the right to keep my dog. One thing is clear to me: any
dog I have in the future will be my companion and the property of nobody. This is
an experience which I never wish to repeat.
Perhaps I should point out one underlying feature that has not been overtly
stated. At no stage of this affair did I consider taking my custom to another
veterinary surgeon. Retrospectively, if I had possessed the knowledge that I have
now, I may have sought a second opinion but I did not consider at any stage
terminating the professional relationship.
It is said that trust is the foundation stone for all good relationships; I wonder if
the foundation stone had already been laid here, as this relationship had
weathered quite a severe storm - a storm which, perhaps, could have been
avoided. I have written here only one side of the story. I have not told of the
sarcasm, cynicism and poisoned arrows that the veterinary surgeon had to
endure because of my pent-up anger.
References
BUCKMAN, R. (1984)
Breaking bad news: why is it still so difficult?
British Medical Journal 288, 1957-1960.
ENGEL, W.L. (1977)
The need for a new medical model: a challenge for biomedicine.
Science 196 (4286), 129-136.
NICHOLSON, J. (1992)
The end of a partnership: a study of the reactions of guide dog owners to the end
of a working partnership with their guide dog.
Technical Review (4). Reading: Guide Dogs Association.
STEWART, M.F. (1989)
The dilemma: when to kill or not to kill companion animals.
In: Proceedings of British Small Animal Veterinary association animal Welfare
Foundation pp 1-15.
TUBRIDY, ]. and WELLARD, A. (1991)
A survey of small animal veterinary surgeons in Dublin city and county to
investigate the need for a bereavement service for owners of pets.
Irish Veterinary Journal 44, pp7579.
Addendum
In 1992, Jill Nicholson published her research on the relationships between people
and their guide dogs. She later explained to me that many people had expressed
the concern that their dogs would be taken away from them for no good reason.
In other words, my own fear of losing my dog was not unique. I did not give my
dog away but have never forgotten the fear of losing her. I have since had two
more guide dogs both of whom were “rescued” dogs, trained outside of the Guide
Dog Association.
I would like to pay tribute to my veterinary surgeon who, when finding out about
our communication breakdown, changed some procedures to try and ensure that
it never happens again.