- By Ian Hamilton
- BBC Scotland
Ian still remembers getting Stella, his first guide dog, 40 years ago.
It’s been 40 years since I started training with my very first guide dog but the memories are still vivid.
At the time, I was a slim 20-year-old student at the Royal National College for the Blind in Hereford.
I traveled to Forfar for four weeks at the guide dog training center, where I stayed with 11 other blind people.
We were a diverse group, strangers brought together by our shared journey of vision loss and desperation to maintain our independence.
I knew this training would change the way I navigate the world.
No longer would I need to carefully maneuver the streets with a white cane, desperately hoping to avoid collisions with lamp posts, trash cans, and cars parked on the sidewalks.
In August 1983, the center’s accommodations were far from luxurious, but clean and comfortable.
Ian, who has worked for the BBC for 23 years, with his latest guide dog Major
There was an empty dog bed and bowl waiting for my new companion, but I wouldn’t meet the dog for four days.
The Association of Guide Dogs for the Blind was incredibly secretive at the time, resembling something akin to MI5.
At first, we were told nothing about the breed, name or gender of the dog, and the human trainer played the role of the dog, demonstrating the correct way to guide and give commands.
It was a bit like ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ without the sparkly tights and harsh judgments.
The coach would say, “Ian, put your left foot back and turn.” Now bring both feet together and pirouette to the right. Simultaneously punch your right thigh and twist, all in one motion.
“Oh, and don’t forget to tell me what a good dog I am.”
What a sight it must have been, the coach and I running through the center parking lot in unison exclaiming, “Who’s a good kid?”
When the time came to meet my new dog, I became impatient.
The tension in the room was palpable as we were all called to gather in the large living room.
One by one, the trainers read our names aloud and match them to those of the dogs.
Ian’s third dog, Tim, was a seven-stone German Shepherd with a personality to match
I sat there, silently praying that they wouldn’t give me a dog with a stupid name.
After what seemed like forever, I was told that I was going to have a Labrador Retriever mix dog named Ursula.
I slumped in my seat, dejected, wondering why they would give a 20-year-old boy from deepest, darkest Lanarkshire a dog with a name like that.
Before meeting our dogs, we were given strict instructions on what to do and what not to do.
We were told to sit quietly in our chairs and let the dog come to us.
It was imperative to remain calm and, under no circumstances, frantically chase the dog around the room.
There is the story of an overly excited trainee who ignored this instruction and was unable to find his dog.
They pressed the call bell for help, and when the trainer returned, they found the dog sitting in the sink, hiding from its new blind owner.
A shaky start to a mutually dependent relationship.
Moss, Ian’s fifth guide dog, had a natural talent for stealing the show
Luckily for me, when Ursula was brought into my room, she jumped up and jumped straight into my lap.
Shortly after, I changed his name to Stella, which I considered a much more acceptable option for a young man.
Day by day, our training expanded from basic exercises at home, which included walking the dog on a leash around the building, to venturing outside into the wider world and encountering various obstacles .
At first, the coach was always nearby, but as the weeks went by, he observed from a distance, scrutinizing our every move.
Cars drove by to see how the dog and I would react, and obstacles were strategically placed in our path to test our problem-solving skills.
A lot has changed in the four decades since I was trained with my first guide dog.
Major is my seventh dog and his training only required a week in a local hotel followed by three weeks at home.
Plus, I had the chance to meet him before practice started, to see if we were a good match. Spoiler alert, we were.
Matching dogs and owners is important, but the way trainers describe dogs is a bit like the way real estate agents talk about houses.
It took me a few dogs before I fully understood this code.
When an instructor says, “This dog is a hard worker,” what they really mean is that he is likely to drag you down the street at full speed.
“This dog has great initiative,” meaning he will go wherever he wants no matter how much you protest.
Renton, Ian’s sixth companion, had a unique approach to guiding
From the moody and officious to the prankster and the Buddhist, each canine companion I have worked with has brought a distinct character to our partnership.
For example, Stella would sulk and walk more slowly if we ventured somewhere she didn’t like.
She retaliated by skillfully avoiding puddles, delicately tiptoeing along the edges to keep her paws dry, while I found myself splashing in the depths.
When Stella retired, I took in Leo, another Labrador Retriever mix.
Independent by nature, Leo showed little interest in playing with other dogs and preferred the company of humans.
Although he performed his duties as a guide, he lacked enthusiasm and only did what was necessary to keep us both alive.
My third dog, Tim, was a seven-stone German Shepherd with a personality to match.
Tim easily commanded attention during train rides, his mere presence persuading passengers to leave their seats.
He would fix his intense gaze on people until they gave way, creating space for the two of us to sit down.
Weaver, my fourth dog, had a tendency to strike, throwing himself defiantly to the ground and refusing to move.
Moss, my fifth guide dog, had a natural talent for stealing the show. He looked confidently into the lenses of television cameras like a seasoned professional, becoming a familiar face in many television reports.
Renton, my sixth companion, also a large German Shepherd, had a unique approach to guiding. Instead of maneuvering around people, he gently leaned on pedestrians, encouraging them to move out of the way and let us pass.
Major, Ian’s current guide dog, takes his job very seriously
Finally, Major, my seventh and current guide dog, takes his job very seriously.
Of all the dogs I have had, Major demonstrates an exceptional level of understanding.
It never ceases to amaze me how much he understands.
Our interactions often feel like one-sided conversations because I know he’s absorbing every word I say.
Stella lived a long and fulfilling life until she was almost 16, and every dog I’ve had since has not only been a good friend, but also a way to break down barriers.
In two or three years it will be time for Major to retire and I don’t know how long it will take for him to get another dog.
Currently, many people wait up to two years after their old dog retires, which is far too long to be left without some form of reliable mobility.
It is difficult to determine the exact reason, and Covid is often blamed, but many blind people believe that the problems started before the pandemic.
Some attribute this to a change in training methods, which led to a high rejection rate of dogs. Lack of staff would also be a factor to take into account.
The Guide Dogs Association says its guide dog training methods meet international standards and prioritize welfare and safety.
They claim the Covid pandemic has led to a pause in its breeding program and has also caused a drop in guide dog training success rates due to limited opportunities for dog socialization.
They say the average wait is currently 15 months and they are taking steps to reduce wait times.
I hope this is the case because I know that guide dog training has been a lifeline for blind people for decades and will continue to be, no matter how it evolves.