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I Remember Tess

By Javier Robles

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes - some drive big red trucks and fight fires and others have as their mission to "serve and protect.” However, some heroes perform daily duties without recognition or medals. They are the uncommon heroes, otherwise known as assistance dogs. These dogs provide independence for individuals with a variety of disabilities.

The hero in my life died a few years ago. Tess, a female yellow Labrador Retriever was trained by Canine Companions for Independence (CCI), the founder of the assistance dog movement. CCI was the first organization to train dogs to serve individuals with disabilities other than blindness. Since 1975 when CCI opened its doors, there have been several other organizations that have taken on the challenge of providing service dogs to individuals with disabilities.

Tess and I began our journey together after graduating from two weeks of intense training at the CCI facility located in Farmingdale, NY. I was at a disadvantage since Tess had already been trained for two years before I got there for my two weeks. Her tenure with me began while I was a counselor at Rutgers University. I noticed how independent she made me feel he first week I had her. I no longer needed to call co-workers to come to my office and pick up things that I had dropped. In addition, Tess would retrieve papers from the photocopy machine as well as turn the lights on and off. She would open doors and retrieve folders from the filing cabinet.

Tess came into my life at a time when I married Amy and we had just received custody of my nephew. Tess fit in perfectly to our busy and hectic lifestyle. Amy was attending graduate school at the time and Giovanni was in daycare, so Tess provided Amy with a sense of safety and me with true independence. When I was home alone, Tess was my personal care assistant. She would pick up dropped remote controls, notebooks, pencils or pens. In addition, she could get my lunch from the refrigerator and place it on the table.

On one occasion, when Amy had gone to school, I fell over onto my side in my power wheelchair. As a quadriplegic, once I fall over, it’s difficult or sometimes impossible for me to get upright because I have no control over my stomach and chest muscles. Realizing that I was in trouble, I gave Tess the command to bark for assistance and she did for almost an hour.

However, no one heard her. She also tried scratching at the door, but our neighbors were not home. At this point my side was beginning to hurt from the pressure that I was putting on it, and I was becoming a little light headed due to my positioning. I gave Tess the command to heal next to my chair. I placed my elbow on top of her head in order to relieve the pressure from my side. This was a great relief. Tess and I stayed in that position for almost three hours. She never complained or tried to move away. She assisted me in the regal and courageous manner, which was true to her nature. Later at the emergency room I found that I had some bruised ribs and was dehydrated. This is a far better outcome than I might have experienced if Tess had not been there.

Tess became my hero that day and every day after that. We had many journeys in the years following. I attended law school. Tess went with me, sleeping through most classes. When I received a job at Rutgers and then at the Community Access Unlimited, she was there to assist. Finally, when I became the Deputy Director of the Division of Disability Services, Tess was also hired.

All of this changed during one staff meeting. During the meeting, Tess had a grand mal seizure. I immediately did what we were taught to do during team training! I checked the surrounding area to make sure the she had not eaten chocolate or any other poisonous material. I found nothing. Many medical examinations and seizures later, Amy and I found out that Tess had a brain tumor that was rapidly growing. The doctors of the New York City Animal Hospital explained that Tess had about six months to live and that they may be able to prolong her life to one year if the growth was removed. We brought Tess into the animal hospital exactly one week from the day that she marched in the St. John the Divine Animal Blessing ceremony in New York City. She had been part of this ceremony for over 7 years and we had made a conscientious effort to have the operation done after the blessing.

Our feelings when we dropped Tess off at the animal hospital were of hope and sorrow. Our nephew and my then 3-year-old daughter gave Tess a big hug. Amy and I gave her a hug and kiss and I promised that as soon as this was over I would bring her favorite treat, vanilla ice cream. Before we parted, Tess picked up her leash and handed it to me. This would be her last act as a service dog.

A week later, my wife and I were asked make a decision about Tess. For all intents and purposes, Tess was already gone. She took 3 licks of her ice cream and then pass away. During her memorial service, I looked around and was pleased by how many people knew and loved Tess. I was particularly moved when my nephew stood in front of the audience and read a poem about dogs. Tess touched everyone in one-way or another.

Today, I am fortunate enough to have a new hero named Janus, a spunky Lab/Golden mix. He will open doors literately and figuratively, and we have formed the kind of bond that makes the service dog and handler a team. He is exceptional and sweet a true working companion. I have shared this story because it exemplifies what an assistance animal and handler can accomplish together. The bond between humans and animals goes back thousands of years; but we have only recently discovered the enormous contribution that they can make toward the independence of people with Disabilities.