Jolene tilts her head when she listens. Like Nipper, the phonograph-listening RCA dog, she focuses with intense concentration, adjusting her pointy ears like antennas. Jolene is so tuned into her environment that it’s the farthest thing from a game. Maybe it’s a girl-dog thing. Mister, bless his heart, has slept through Texas tornadoes, but nothing will sneak up on Jolene.
I have been tilting my head, offering my good ear toward sounds since I was a pup, too, but for a different reason. I was born with a hearing loss. I’m forever turning my face to position my good ear. For most people, hearing is an involuntary action, but for me it’s always an active choice. I must try to hear.
Here is the horse tie-in. They have hearing not quite as acute as a dog, but much keener than humans. The difference for them is that their lives depend on their senses. As prey animals whose best defense is running, they are constantly focused on their environment for signs of danger. Even in the barn they were born in, their senses are eternally on guard. Called sensory cognition, a survival skill. Women have always had that in common with horses.
A note about my writing genre: I am a memoirist. A word so sticky that I can barely pronounce it. These days, the genre is called creative nonfiction. We use literary techniques often found in fiction to tell a compelling story. May lightning strike me if I sound as dry as a Wikipedia fact list. The real question is why we think our experiences are so noteworthy? Kinda arrogant to always write about yourself, isn’t it?
Real life has way more twists and unexpected turns than any fantasy genre. You don’t invent a big mystery with red herrings to throw the reader off track because it’s dependable that life will do it all on its own. You let experience unfold and then write to understand it, all the while muttering that you can’t make this stuff up. And so, I did not see this coming when I started writing about a puppy.
The current surprise plot twist, because all stories have them, was losing most of my hearing three weeks ago. I have labyrinthitis, which could mean you’ve done a little too much T-Touch if you’re a horse person, or you’re stuck in rewind in an old David Bowie movie. It’s an inner ear kerfuffle, and if you’ve seen a diagram of the inner ear, it’s the perfect descriptive.
It’s doubtful the hearing will return, but there are a couple of options left, no quick relief. Eventually, a cochlear implant is possible. Please, no hand-wringing sympathy. In a world where children are starving or on cancer wards. Where many people do not have healthcare or have surpassed their allowed care. A world where cruelty, true suffering, and death are a daily reality, please. I am lucky, privileged, and in no actual danger. The diagnosis is only backstory. This essay is about a dog.
So, there I was. A gray mare taking stock of her new reality. Where to from here? I’ve been studying proprioception. In horses, it’s their natural “body awareness,” allowing them to sense their balance and movement in relation to their surroundings. The vestibular system is crucial for controlling balance and spatial orientation. Abnormalities can lead to clumsiness, poor balance, and difficulty with fine motor control. I’m uneven, like a chair with one leg shorter. I can’t locate sound if I don’t see lips move. I suddenly feel fragile. And didn’t I just lip off about writing about aging?
What does this diagnosis mean for my work with horses? Can I still communicate in a clinic setting? Is there a device to help me in Zoom meetings? And just like that, Jolene’s head pops up between my legs like a prairie dog, bumping my keyboard tray out of her way, and wiggling up on my lap. She takes her perch like a figurehead on a Viking ship. As the quiet moments pass, my breathing goes deeper.
It’s been a summer of new experiences for all of us. Puppies are wonderful distractions. Mister is delirious with tug games and bitey face. They are the perfect yin to the other’s yang. We didn’t know he was missing his other half until she came. Jolene has added a spark to our lives during this sad year. It’s hard to be serious when a small dog darts by, tripping over the underwear she has stolen so she can bark at it in the backyard.
The truth is, we were due for a plot twist, and this one isn’t life or death. The main character gets to have a few moments of teeth gnashing before setting about resolving the conflict. No different than so many of us working out ways to continue our farm lives in the face of change. Soon, I was mucking again, but I worried that I was failing Jolene. Peer pressure. Her siblings are out competing while she was on bedrest with me. Activities got canceled. We weren’t pub-dogging it. Now I was her wooden leg. Her liability.
Tachi, our Vallhund friend came for a visit. We want our dogs to be a girl gang, like the friendship her owner and I share. We expected the pups to run like banshees. We expected sheer pandemonium. Mister took over playing with the pup, while Jolene stayed close, reserved. More concerned with me than play. My friend and I, both animal professionals, watched in wonder. And laughed that we thought we knew more than dogs know. Then, like good students, we took our seats.
The scentwork class is off the rails, but in the best way. We are unstuck in our senses. I use my eyes to hear and she uses her nose to see. Jolene loves the hunt, she works the odor. I flounder, turn to lipread the instructor, and lose track of Jolene. Scent is a game about instinct and situational awareness. The blind leading the deaf. I need a longer leash. She bolts at the find command, and I can’t keep up. We’re trying our fifth harness because they make her twitch and itch and run sideways, biting at the buckle. Who among us has not felt the bite of a hook in the ribs?
Maybe you’re thinking I could train Jolene to be a hearing dog. Put her to work. I confess, I did google it. I read the requirements and already have more than a passing knowledge of service dogs. I think they are saints. But that isn’t the life I want for Jolene. Oh, I know she’d be serious and committed and loyal to a fault. That’s why I won’t ask it of her.
Instead, we will continue our experiment of non-training. She has already stopped doing most of the puppy things I didn’t correct. Immature behaviors aren’t faults and as her confidence has grown, she’s finding her place. She has a growing stillness inside that surpasses her age. I’ve had some pretty goofy puppies over the years, but she’s not one of them. Don’t misunderstand, she still fights me for every pant leg I try to pull on.
A special nod to Mister, who came to the farm four years ago today. He took one look at the horses and llamas and dove into my lap, staking a claim. He’s traveled the country with me, over 25k miles now. Walked me out at end of day and got me up early for breakfast. He’s untrained, but the best friend and lookout anyone could wish for.
Humans have been living with dogs for over 30,000 years. Anthropologists talk on about domesticating animals to do our work like we were missionaries to primitive cultures. We’re arrogant enough to think we are their masters. But every story has two sides.
I am certain dogs have learned more about us than we have them. They quietly blur the line until we notice we get more help than we give. We ask them to become more human, but instead we learn to mimic them. Even predators like us can see the wisdom of their ways. They don’t heal us so much as ask us to get over ourselves. To lay down our grievance and run with the pack. Share their strength in numbers and lick our wounds before dropping off to sleep in a dog pile. Tomorrow will come, and we’ll face the day knowing we aren’t alone.
Nothing’s changed. I will continue to write parables about our lives with animals. My hearing will return, or it won’t. Ordinary tasks will require my full attention. I will never be complacent around horses, but then I never was. There will be times I feel vulnerable, prey to unfamiliar places and to people I don’t know. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get older.
My question for my dogs remains the same. Who are you today? What role will you play in my life? And then I trust their answer.
It’s late now. Mister waits by the door. Jolene pops up between my legs, and grabs my wrist to get me for bed. She doesn’t like us to stay up late. That’s why I don’t train my dogs. They’ve been right all along.
[Part 20. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]
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Anna,
No fretting, indeed — for the last several months, my right ear has been letting me down. No. I then realized when I put my right ear to the pillow, I could hear very little. And as you say, it’s difficult to track the origin of sounds now — right, or left? David and I are both missing parts of lines. The cats and horses don’t care. However, as David is not always careful to watch the horses when he’s in the pasture, and his hearing is not good (he won’t wear his hearing aids at the barn, as he knows he’ll lose one or both).
I have to watch him carefully. Finally, we are old! There, I said it; it had to be said. My eyesight has also taken a dip. I won’t mention the bladder. Oh, I just did. I am sure I am in good company among your excellent readers and friends.
On that note: we have been considering a new barn (private, this time), and while visiting, I asked the owner about a bathroom.
Old people do that. She said, we don’t have one at the barn. We almost fell apart…what? Only a few young boarders and they
don’t have to constantly check there is a bathroom. Then, the lovely owner said, “Well, there is a nice bathroom in the exercise room (part of this beautiful barn). Plumbing is not her subject, but she said, I think the toilet works. David will take a look at it.
(She would never have a port-a-cabin on her property). Large, high ceilings, overbuilt, beautiful barn (and well managed facility)
automatic waterers and troughs (always best) and beautiful, deep, run-in sheds. 24/7 hay. One would think these are all basics,
but around these parts, they are more rare. Rotated pastures, 4 acres each — plenty of room for the three. Just one Palomino QH there and he’s as calm as a horse could be. And, my close young friend, and professional groom, Caroline, lives only 7 minutes
from this barn. We are meeting on Wednesday, 1st and will decide then. I want Caroline to see the facility first. The arena is
one of those that is above the pastures on slightly higher ground — not something I am accustomed to. All else is gorgeous.
The owner is a professional baker and works from home, so she’s there most of the time. Caroline has committed to working
for us three days a week. Hilly pastures with some flat areas — perhaps good for Jack’s stifle, although Simon is almost 30 and I hope it’s OK for him. The hay supplier is just one mile away — excellent hay from Lancaster, PA.
So, back to the bathrooms. Isn’t it a misery — whenever one visits a new restaurant, theatre, or other place (museum…), one has to immediately figure out the route to the bathroom(s), just in case of need.
I laugh (now, not then) when recalling a visit to The National Gallery in DC, a few years ago. I had been there many times, but with changing exhibits and varying work ongoing, I somehow encased myself deep in a gallery and could not find my way out of the
layers (I didn’t want to ask a guard…). Suddenly, my need to escape the exhibit was urgent…after that, I now ensure I know the
route clearly. All old people stuff.
When I drive, I make a note of places I can stop (usually Tractor Supply or Southern States!) in case of need. Trips tend to be shorter than they used to be. Our last trip to Charlottesville was problematic. Before we reached the Richmond area, we planned to stop
at a facility, but reaching it, a sign said CLOSED. Next facility 30 miles…. Then you have to drive to an exit in an area you don’t know, which is worrying. Life. Ears, eyes, bladder, anyway enough of the complaints.
We are with you, David now has hearing aids which seem more trouble than they are worth. The constant squealing when he adjusts them drives my ears crackers. We both blame the last Moody Blues concert at Old Dominion University. It was the
end of their tour, they were all exhausted, and the speakers were turned up to full blast to cover weaknesses in the performance.
Our ears paid for it, until the next day at least.
Our barn is close to Langley AFB and we are hounded by Air Force jets — it likely affects the horses’ hearing too. The new barn,
may get an occasional jet, but not so many. With the current situation on edge, we have been seeing four – six jets twice daily
(or more) in readiness. Right over the pastures.
Life is getting quieter, and with ear issues, one begins to have speech issues, just mild, but there. I have developed a slight ‘lisp’ which I had in teen years. Carruthers! It’s back.
Much affection, well wishes and remember, we are all aging together. Must carry on…at least for the horses…for a few years.
72 and 78 now…and as I said to my 72 year old neighbor this week, “It’s not going to get much better…so we have to just
try and laugh as much as possible.
Sorry for the long epiphany…hope it made you smile, somewhere.
Nuala
Thanks, Nuala. Hope the move works out.
All these “issues” are so familiar.
Nuala, the new barn sounds lovely – the quiet especially. Sounds as if things are aligning for a move.
Back when I still had Chico – the barn where I boarded not only had a bathroom, but eventually a water heater – such luxury!
It was appreciated, believe me. Mostly women at that barn so outside around a corner wasnt an option.
The hearing thing? Mine has been going downhill for a while – the expense of hearing aids is an issue. And I’m getting along ok.
I do agree, knowing if and where the bathroom is has become more important. Having a single kidney & drinking lots and lots of water contributes to that!
I’m sure I’ve said this before – so envy anyone who is fortunate enough to be able to “reach out and touch” horses in any way.
VERY good post, Anna (as I have said so many times before)
Thanks, Maggie
Hello again Anna~ I promise not to give you any advice about your ears or your dogs. I relate to your hearing issues. When I’m feeding our horses I have to be aware of them with my other senses more than my hearing. I can’t really hear any of them walk up behind me and I struggle to hear my human feeding partners when they ask how many flakes so and so gets. I love what you say about choosing to try to hear, because that’s the honest truth. And that gets exhausting. I have become more and more an introvert , and prefer being with animals since they don’t understand English anyway. But they “get me,” like yours do.
I love reading your posts. I’ll be thinking about you and yours, and I send you the very best wishes for your continued happiness in your lifestyle.
Pat
Dear Exhausted Listener. Yes. I know you know. Best wishes back.
They are symbiotic psychics our house predators… tuned into us for better or for worse, dogs more than cats I’d wager, although… Since Moe’s passing and my intermittent forays into the twilight zone, Sass has taken to spooning at my chest rather than at the bend of my knees. With her head tucked under mine so she can warble n lick at my chin if the belly massage was purrrticularly soothing or sharply nip at absent fingers, countering any further incursion into the t-zone…
Moe developed an uncanny sense of everything after he went blind… We walked a lot, occasionally scent tracking… without halter or rope which unbalanced him… He stepped out with the utmost confidence sometimes getting ahead of me… but always stopped inches away from an object , a wall or a parked vehicle… either cued by my vocal aid or by Sound shadows as Alexandra Kurland told me once… Blind horses see sound shadows… as can blind humans apparently.
No reason why deaf horses or humans could not.
It shouldn’t surprise us knowing that each of their senses is so much more developed than ours… So happy for the tiny messages. Thanks, Prita
Hello again, Anna, from your fellow Nose Work enthusiast! And now I read we have another area of common ground. My husband has had a cochlear implant (CI) for over 20 years. He went suddenly deaf around age 40 from autoimmune inner ear disease that affected his balance and hearing. I found out the man I thought I married was the man I married! He handled the situation with grace and humor – not to say he didn’t have moments of frustration. My eyes aren’t so great so we do joke about the Deaf leading the Blind (almost made the MD fall off his stool when we joked about that!). The worst thing for a social and witty person is the isolation that deafness can bring. His balance is still affected but he has adapted. He has a recumbent bike, and can still cross country ski. He has always focused on what he could still do – I often am annoyed with his ‘sainthood’! LOL
He also lip reads to help and thank goodness for CC. He cautions people that CI hearing, while a medical miracle, is not the same as before. It gives functional hearing, but it still takes some concentration. It is much improved from when he got his first one. I truly understand the effect this can have on all your human relationships but thank goodness, the animal ones will be as good as ever! We also looked into training our rescue to be a Hearing Ear dog and are also glad we didn’t. It’s amazing what he does, anyway, to accommodate Nick. 🙂
I sometimes feel we are kindred spirits even though I’m acquainted only through your writings. THANK YOU for those!! And if you do have any questions about the CI, please don’t hesitate to contact me(us).
Hello again, you! I have a friend with CI and it was not an easy process, so I hope something else works. I appreciate the offer, thank you. Your husband might be more of a saint than me… but I still have some options. I know my dogs will probably do what your dog does… they are smarter (and more saintly, too) than me. Thanks, Carolyn.
“Gray” mares are the best!
Agreed.
So enjoy your writing and your thoughts and stories Thank you!
Thanks for reading along, Tammy.