Field Note #001 In Public

Chinook Mall, Calgary
Readiness Assessment for Public Access Training

Today was a test.

Not a test in the sense of someone standing over us with a clipboard, glasses lowered, eyes expertly trained on our every move. Although maybe there was a little bit of that too. Today was a test of whether Steven was ready for the next part of his training: learning to work in public.

Chinook Mall was our first real outing.

At first, Steven was distracted by almost everything. He was particularly interested in the people, and very determined to say hello to, well, everyone.

I wasn't exactly the picture of calm and composed either. I don't enjoy being out in public. And unlike Steve the social butterfly, I wasn't interested in interacting with people. In fact, on a normal day, I actively avoid it.

It started with door manners. I was supposed to wait until he sat on his own before going through. That took us a while. At home, this wasn't an issue. A part of me wanted to explain to everyone–to our very large and critical imaginary audience–that this isn't normal for him. I swear he is usually better behaved than this. He usually pays more attention to me and gives strong eye contact. I swear!

I cleared my throat.

This is the cheat code: he remembers his manners when I make that sound.

He looked at me and sat.

Finally.

After a few more minutes, he settled into the rhythm of things. His tail, which had been up at attention, relaxed. He walked through the mall happily and confidently, checking in with me and moving through the crowds comfortably.

I wish I could say the same about me.

Taking the elevator went well. I guess that's one of the perks of having lived in an apartment downtown when he was a pup.

The stairs are still a walk in progress. Not because he refuses to take them but because he still struggles to wait and keep pace with me.

We're still learning to walk next to each other. He's ahead but I feel like it's my fault. I have a habit of keeping myself half a step behind. He has a habit of bossing me around and telling me to get moving.

Then there was the food court.

A place full of people and all sorts of tempting smells, and food within reach. I was all too aware of the slight tension on the leash as he got close to a couple's table. I'm just not sure if the tension was coming from his end or mine.

We practiced "under", where he tucked himself neatly under my legs and settled.

I always forget just how long he is until he has to tuck himself under my legs. We struggled a bit while I make sure his tail was safely under the table too.

He didn't look at the food, but he did sniff for interesting things on the floor. I told him to leave it. He tried to negotiate, but when I didn't budge, he exhaled forcefully out of his nose and lowered his chin.

That was the moment where I felt myself relax a little. Not entirely. Being anxious and tense is so second nature to me, that being fully relaxed in spaces like these feels impossible.

There's something strange about training a dog for a job that requires him to move confidently through the world while I am still learning to do the same thing.

He's learning not to greet everyone.

I'm learning not to retreat from everything.

Neither of us was perfect today.

But we stayed.

When the assessment was over, Steven had earned his green and gold service dog in training (SDiT) vest. I've always thought of the vest as some sort of proof: to prove that we belong; that we can take space in the world. As if those are things needed justification.

It felt like symbol of something we hoped he would become someday, but I think it's really an acknowledgement not just of his potential but who he is right now and what he has already accomplished.

He was ready to begin public access training.

I hoped I could be too.