Emotional Support Animal
The AKC has some good articles that explain the difference between a Service Dog and an emotional support animal (https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/training/service-working-therapy-emotional-support-dogs/) as well as an in depth discussion about what an Emotional Support Animal is and is not. (https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/news/everything-about-emotional-support-animals/) I don’t address any of these here, nor do I consider Bo my Emotional Support Dog. Like all creatures that we hold close to our heart she and I have a unique bond and she is certainly kind to lend a hand when she can.
Recently I came across a social media REEL where the woman demonstrated how her Emotional Support Dog helps her with Deep Pressure Therapy. I had seen things like that before, but this particular reel struck me on a few pressure points, small pun intended. Indeed I’m working through some trigger trauma responses related to an uptick in various symptoms from a POTShole that peaked last spring. And is still popping up in fast and furious flashbacks as it is slowly working it’s way back to what is more normal-for-me.
Having POTS the feeling of compression is often welcome. As are the hot packs that I use frequently during the day during minor flares. To be clear I use them also in major eruptions, but at that point I’m also throwing the kitchen sink at the symptoms. So the notion of both a weighted and warm applied therapy technique sounded like it held some promise and at least was something to do while I wait out the rolling waves of the storm.
Bo is an AKC rally trained dog, having earned her virtual certificate during the pandemic when the AKC made their programs available on line. So she has a good basic sense of basic commands. What I wanted her to be able to do was to come lay across my lap or lower abs while I was struggling and stay still for five or ten minutes at a stretch. One complication, was that Bo is not allowed up on my bed and this happens to be one of the places where I happen to be when I flare. And indeed the recline position is best for me while I’m laying down.
So first things first, I needed to train Bo to come with a hand signal, since speaking isn’t always easy to do when a flare hits. I chose snapping of my fingers. For the first couple of days, I would call Bo and snap my fingers at the same time. Then I would tell her to come up on the bed and I would PLACE her front legs OVER me and gently let her down so she was baring weight down on me with her body. We made sure to praise her and my husband also let her know she was GOOD because she was definitely anxious being on the bed when she knew this was not allowed.
I knew we had reached a turning point by day three, when I had a PVC that rocked me to my core. I vocalized in a loud noise of distress and slapped my right palm onto my right leg making a loud slapping sound. Bo jumped up from the beanbag chair near the window where she was resting, and pushed her paws against the side of the bed and dashed back to her sitting spot on the bean bag and watched me. It was almost as if she was saying DON’T DO THAT. I had barely noticed her movement, until the NEXT PVC HIT and I was emotionally unglued (trauma response from last spring.) I slapped my leg again, and Bo came rushing over, and slowly got up on the bed and laid down on top of my thighs and looked at me as if asking .. is THIS what we have been training for?
I assured her it was. And focused on the weight of her body and held her head in my hands as time slowly passed and I slowly felt more grounded and centered.
Bo is decidedly high strung … insert joke about the nut not falling far from the tree .. so we are working now on ways she can LEAVE the bed that don’t involve JUMPING UP and using my body as a spring board on exit.
Like anything else in life … sometimes we do things, just because it’s something to do. And for right now, Bo and I are doing this dance. There’s really no meaning behind it. I’m certainly not attached to an outcome (Bo’s not going to automagically make me better.) But for now, the weight of the world sometimes feels like a 40 pound hairless dog. And that’s a good thing.
