Photos of dogs in danger

The Sapphire Trust

These are all the dogs who we need to rescue from Olympiada.  We have received such generous donations from people who support this mission.  We are half way there!  We now have enough funding to transport ten dogs, please help us to fund the remaining dogs so that none are left behind.

The transport van arrives at the village on July 28th.  The dogs will arrive at The Sapphire Trust two days later, where they will be given shelter until they are found forever homes.  Please share this post and help raise awareness so that we can save every one of these dogs.

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Backfilling The Blog

Blog From The Bog

Book Launch 2014 8

On May 10th 2014 around 100 people gathered to celebrate the Past In Mind project and the launch of Kate Lack’s fascinating book: Past In Mind: A Heritage Project and Mental Health Recovery.

Whitbourne Village Hall was buzzing with excitement and anticipation as faces old and new filled up the room.

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Dash at book launchDash, my new guide dog, greeted people with his usual enthusiasm and helped everyone to feel at ease.

Book Launch 2014

It was very heartwarming to meet up with people we hadn’t seen since last year, and to hear their news.  Past In Mind became a very close-knit group and we all believed in the project so much that it has left a definite imprint on each of us.

Book Launch 2014 7

Book Launch 2014 3

After some luxurious refreshments there were a few short presentations from a cross-section of people involved with the project.  True to the ethos of Past In Mind this included some thoughts from volunteers…

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Talking Taboos: Should I live or should I die?

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Why is it that whilst some people are fighting to extend their lives, I am seeking to shorten mine?  Why did I fight so desperately and pray so hard when I had cancer?  I didn’t want to die then.  I wanted to live.  So why has my life value changed?  Is it a trick the devil is playing on my mind?  What do I really want?  Right now I am so close to killing myself.  That all-too-familiar feeling of a sinking heart, dark hole, bleak outlook, despair – all congealed into an emotional hell which swallows up your body, mind and soul.  So familiar, yet so hard to fight.  The conflict is painful in itself.  Should I live or should I die?  It’s like being torn in two by greedy birds of prey.
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I’m trying to tell myself that this is my illness talking, not me.  I am the person who fought off cancer, who has survived more than 40 operations, who has overcome sight loss, bereavement, rape and so much more.  So it doesn’t make any sense to want to die now when there are no such crises.  If only it was so neat and logical.  This illness takes away my reasoning.  My perspective shifts and I lose hold of the future I want to live for.  In fact the illness dilutes my world into nothing and emptiness.  It steals my feelings, kills off my plans, destroys my basic instincts for survival.  And finally it tricks me into thinking that this is what I genuinely want.  Death – so easy, so final.  Death is taking up so much of my head at the moment, and all this sensible stuff on paper is utterly meaningless.  I cannot find the true me in all of this.  I am standing on that proverbial cliff ready to jump.  Yet obviously I still have a desire to survive because I want to understand what is going on in my head.  I could have died earlier today.  Why didn’t I?  So am I in effect winning the battle even though I feel I am losing it?  Again, I cannot follow the logic.  When thoughts and feelings become blurred and memories and hopes peel off and flake into the forefront of my thinking – how can I know?  And this is why I hold on.  I hold onto that uncertainty, unsure whether it will flutter away and take me with it or land on the ground and take root.  I literally hold on to Dash my guide dog – Dash, who is physical and strong and lives for the moment.  And now my two lovely cats Hagrid and Cleopatra – they too live for the moment.
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As I write this I am listening to three animals sleeping – Dash is breathing heavily and the cats are squeaking, huffing and blowing air out of their mouths.  They let me know when they feel hungry, they are wired up to survive.  And so am I.  But this illness shakes all that up and I am left truly believing that life is not worth living, and wondering whether I can withstand yet another mental storm.   And oddly enough by writing this down and committing it to cyber space I feel a great sense of relief because I no longer feel alone.  I work hard at presenting myself well so that other people cannot see my suffering.  Sometimes people say it’s just a case of pulling yourself together, having a stern word with yourself and being grateful for what you’ve got.  Again, this illness is not founded on logic.  The only thing I am able to do is hold on, I cannot bat it away and do that British stiff upper lip stuff.  Not honestly, not inside.  And that’s why it’s such a struggle.
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Sometimes I sit at home absolutely sure that I have used up the last of my reserves.  Then an hour goes by and I realise I’m still here.  That raw, primaeval survival instinct somehow keeps my heart beating.  It’s when the pain gets too much and I start feeling guilty for burdening my friends and using up too many resources; when I see myself as one of David Cameron’s ‘parasites’ hated by the Daily Mail and the hard-working, tax-paying British public, that my life value dives to zero.  That’s when I feel I owe it to everyone to annihilate myself.  That’s the cruel trick that this illness plays, it feeds into your innate insecurities so that you can totally justify your reasons to die.  I am writing this while I have insight, in the hope that if psychosis lumbers into my thinking I will be able to read this and remind myself that there is no justification for suicide.  And my three protégés are testament to that as they lie here peacefully, not wracked by torment, but simply sleeping before they wake up seeking food, play and companionship.  Forget the past, forget the future, live for the moment.  Labradors and Ragamuffin cats do it, so why can’t I?
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Hanging Up The Harness

Trudy's harness 2008 - 2013

Trudy’s harness 2008 – 2013

I have had my guide dog Trudy (AKA The Hereford Hoover) for just over five years, and we’ve reached the time that I’ve been dreading most – her official retirement.

When Trudy bounced into my life I was living in a residential home and had got used to the fact that I would probably be there forever.  I rarely went out on my own, and feared strangers to the extent that I could not tolerate busy streets or crowded rooms.  I spent most of my time indoors listening to music or the radio.  The big wide world was virtually inaccessible to me.

Of course the furry whirlwind that filled my small room in May 2008 changed all that.  Time for a cliché – it really was love at first sight.  I knew Trudy was special.  I knew she would radically change my life.  It was breathtaking.  Three days after that momentous first meeting we began our four weeks training together, and life has never been the same since.

Goodrich Castle 2011

Goodrich Castle 2011

Less than two years after training with Trudy I moved into my own flat and immersed myself in a new life.  With Trudy’s help I overcame my fear of people and trained as a volunteer Speaker for Guide Dogs.  Sometimes I wonder if I am the same person when I give a talk to an audience.  I remember the me who refused to go into a room if there were more than two people in it.

The fantastic Fownhope Cubs 2012

The fantastic Fownhope Cubs 2012

Before I had even met Trudy I was told that she was a stubborn dog who loved her food.  I had no concept of the Hereford Hoover then.  Trudy’s trademark is her pinkish brown snout, glued to the ground wherever she goes, sniffing, snorting, and snuffling her way forward.  IMG_3627There has been countless occasions where the Hoover has been offered cleaning jobs in various public buildings.  (And as many where she has narrowly escaped being ordered off the premises).  But despite her penchant for hoovering, Trudy was always a first-class guide dog.  She has guided me to Scotland, London, Devon, Essex and all over the West Midlands.  Together we have mastered ferries, trains, buses, trams, the London Tube and even a carousel in Hereford High Town at Christmas.  Before I met Trudy, I would have preferred to die than go anywhere via public transport.  (And I definitely never would have tried the carousel!)

Trudy testing the water at Teignmouth, Devon

Trudy testing the water at Teignmouth, Devon

Trudy stopped walking in harness about three months ago, but is due to retire officially next week.  Her guide dog harness will be taken away for good.

Five years ago I never envisaged the emotional turmoil this would throw me into.  A guide dog provides so much emotional and practical support that as a team you begin to function as one being.  Picking up the harness and fastening the buckle under Trudy’s stomach is second nature to me.  We just used to get up and go out.  Being out and about with a guide dog is a real joy.  I was forever finding reasons to go out with Trudy just to experience the unbroken communication between us.

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I loved the feel of her body bobbing up and down under the harness, the different signals she used to give me through the harness handle as we explored the streets of Hereford, and her sneaky attempts to procure food from the pavements wherever we went.  Hoovering aside, I knew that I could trust Trudy with my life.  The trust between us is mutual and it unites us.  In her guide dog heyday Trudy was a keen worker and would always fly into her harness (quite literally!).  She used to cock her head as if to ask me what our plans were for the day.  No two days were ever the same.  One day we could be in Worcester, the next in the park, the next on a coach to London and the next in the theatre.  (I regret to say that Trudy often graced musical performances with her own vocal arrangements, so I always made sure we were right at the back near the exit!)

In the River Wye

In the River Wye

Go Walkies Fundraiser 2012

Go Walkies Fundraiser 2012

Reflecting over the past five years brings home to me how much Trudy has transformed my life.  In 2010 she was runner-up in the Life Changing category of the Guide Dog of the Year Awards, and in 2011 she won the Life Changing category.  The 2011 award was in recognition for Trudy’s role in helping me to cope with Breast Cancer.  She unquestionably speeded up my physical and emotional recovery.  IMG_3621

Trudy is notoriously inappropriate on official occasions.  She nearly ruined the photo shoot in the 2010 ceremony when she dived to retrieve an apple stalk and refused to drop it.  And far worse, when we met the Duke of Edinburgh last year during the Royal visit to Hereford, she stuck her snout inside his raincoat to sniff a certain part of his anatomy…  Less said of that the better.  (For the curious among you, he remarked: “Something must smell nice in there!”.)

Our precious moment of un-glory.

Diamond Day 2012 (notice the approaching snout...)

Diamond Day 2012 (notice the approaching snout…)

It’s very hard to acknowledge the end of an era with such a character as the Hereford Hoover.  Trudy is not quite ten, and probably could have continued as a guide dog for longer had she not effectively retired herself.  About a year ago I began to notice subtle changes in her demeanour when we were out together.  She seemed fed up, and became more and more distracted.  She started meandering instead of walking in straight lines, and frequently led me up the garden path (in fact every garden path in the street!). I got the distinct impression that she was no longer enjoying walking in harness.  Eventually this was confirmed when she lay down in the middle of the pavement on strike.  (Not once, but three times on three separate walks!)  A guide dog on strike needs to be listened to.IMG_3596

So three months ago I decided to stop taking her out on harness.  Since then Trudy has found her inner puppy, and bounces through the park revelling in her well-earned freedom.  I know I have made the right decision.

Running through thawing snow in Queenswood Arboritum

Running through thawing snow in Queenswood Arboritum

But although Trudy is benefiting from the redundant harness, I am finding our new way of life quite difficult.  The guide dog harness is a freedom ticket, and without it I have lost a lot of confidence.  I still have my lovely dog and she gives me so much in the way of affection, humour and companionship.  But our roaming area has shrunk from UK unlimited to a small corner of Hereford.

The Viewpoint, Aylestone Park

The Viewpoint, Aylestone Park

I am reasonably competent at using a long cane but this way of getting around ignites my old fears and anxieties about going out.  I find using a long cane quite an ordeal, and it makes me incredibly nervous.  After being dependent on a guide dog a long cane seems clumsy and lonely.  I have tried taking Trudy with me on my various practise expeditions.  It is better than being out on my own, but the slow walking speed and numerous crashes into bins, bollards and boards continue to put me off.  In addition (and this may sound ridiculous) relying on a long cane is a constant reminder to me that I cannot see, whereas walking with a guide dog enables me to forget it.  So my current solution is to go to the park every day with Trudy, but nowhere else.  And after five years of freedom and increasing confidence, this is a set-back.  If you imagine someone who has been used to walking with a prosthetic leg suddenly losing that leg and having to rely on crutches – that is how I feel without a working guide dog.  Thankfully I still have Trudy, and she has prevented me from becoming a recluse.IMG_3613

And that brings me onto the pivotal question.  What next?  This is the question that has caused me untold agonies.  My first decision was to keep Trudy as a pet and train with a new guide dog.  Guide Dogs have been very supportive and in March they loaned me a dog for a week to see how I would manage with two dogs.  The week went well and I coped.

But I knew deep down that I would not be able to sustain it.  When you have a guide dog on harness you’re not allowed to walk another dog at the same time.  I tried to imagine myself on a really bad day where I

IMG_3617struggle to make it out of bed.  Could I honestly say that I would be able to go out and about with the guide dog and then come back and take Trudy to the park?  There are days when I just manage to take Trudy out to the grass and then to the park gate where I let her off the lead.  With a young guide dog raring to go, and Trudy needing and deserving a quality retirement, I know the pressure would get to me eventually.  Not only that, I remember so clearly my first year with Trudy.  The first year in a new partnership takes every ounce of time, patience, energy and determination.  The more I thought about it, the more I realised that it would not be fair on either Trudy or the new guide dog to have the two of them.

Sock Thief (Not yet rehabilitated)

Sock Thief (Not yet rehabilitated)

So the reluctant decision I have had to make is that when the right guide dog is found for me Trudy will go to live with a friend in Hereford.  Subject to approval by Guide Dogs, this would be a brilliant compromise.  Trudy will have a fantastic retirement with people she knows and loves.  I will still have contact with my Hereford Hoover, whilst benefiting from having a guide dog to help me fulfil my remaining dreams.  This way Trudy and I will both be winners.  Someone advised me recently to imagine that Trudy is going off to University rather than leaving for good.  (Look out St. John’s College, Oxford!).  Bizarre as it may seem, this has helped me with the heartache.  Trudy will still be a huge part of my life.

Pawprints in the sand

Paw prints in the sand

In the meantime, Hoover and I are spending some quality time together and I have no regrets about her retiring.  I have my fingers crossed that my new guide dog will be an anti-establishment, rule-bending and reliably subversive canine with a character to rival the Hereford Hoover.  As Miranda Hart might say; “Such fun”.

Crafty Smile

Crafty Smile

Trudy mesmorised by Ghosty the Morrisman

Trudy mesmorised by Ghosty the Morris-man

Overseeing the excavation at Studmarsh, 2012

Overseeing the excavation at Studmarsh, 2012

Fundraising at Tesco 2012
Fundraising at Tesco 2012

To find out more about Guide Dogs for the Blind, please click here: http://www.guidedogs.org.uk/scarlett3/?gclid=CI_KgorL9bcCFfLHtAodYyYAqw

Standing By My Wife Through Her Cancer Journey (by Cameron Von St. James)

I was contacted in December by someone who wishes to share his family’s personal story.  This truly inspiring account written by Cameron Von St. James demonstrates the power of hope.  It has also inspired me to revitalise this blog.  Thank you Cameron.

Standing by my Wife Through Her Cancer Journey

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On November 21, 2005, my family’s lives changed forever. On this day, my wife Heather found out that she had malignant pleural mesothelioma. It had only been three months since we celebrated the birth of our first child, and instead of getting ready to celebrate our first Christmas together, our lives were heading into a chaotic period.

Before we even left the hospital, I knew that I would have an important job ahead. Caring for a cancer patient would be extremely difficult. After the doctor told us about mesothelioma, he gave us three places we could go for treatment. My wife was speechless after learning about her diagnosis; therefore, I made the decision to go to Boston under the care of Dr. David Sugarbaker, a renowned specialist in the treatment of mesothelioma.

During the next two months, we were living in a very chaotic situation. Heather and I both used to work before she was diagnosed with cancer; however, after her diagnosis, she could no longer work. As for me, I could only work part time. I had to care for my wife, travel to Boston, and take care of our daughter. I was so overwhelmed and often thought about the worst possible outcomes.  I was terrified of losing my wife and being left alone to raise a daughter who would never really know her mother.  On several occasions, I found myself breaking down and crying when I was alone.  However, I never cried around Heather because I knew she depended on me to be strong for her.

We were blessed to have so many people to help us. Many people would give us  both words of comfort, and financial assistance which we so desperately needed.  I was so hesitant to accept their help at first, but as soon as I let go of my pride and started accepting the generous offers that were coming our way, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. If there is anything that I would tell people dealing with cancer, it would be to take any offers of help offered to them.

Caring for someone with cancer is difficult, and most people will experience a ton of emotions; however, it is important to not let the fear and anger take control. By continuing to have hope, life is easier to manage.  It was the most difficult journey of either of our lives, but after Heather’s intense treatment involving surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, she miraculously beat mesothelioma, a feat so rare it is almost unheard of.
After this ordeal, I decided to go back to school to study Information Technology.  My experience as Heather’s caregiver helped prepare me.  I graduated with high honors, and at my graduation, I was the student graduation speaker. During my graduation speech, I informed the audience that I would have never imagined giving a graduation speech five years prior; however, by having hope and never giving up, people can accomplish more than they have ever dreamed of accomplishing.  Heather and Lily were in the audience to cheer me on, and that was the best reward of all.

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The Hoover and Bag Go Forth!

I’m writing this post in some haste.  Trudy and I are embarking on an adventure early tomorrow morning which is making me feel electric with excitement and apprehension.

In November last year when life was pretty bleak I responded impulsively to an e-mail which was offering a discount on a Murder Mystery Weekend in Dunoon. 

I realised today that I have been wanting to go to Scotland for thirty-five years, so this trek across the border feels momentous.  Trudy and I have been told to arrive at Gourock Railway Station by 4.30pm tomorrow.  The whole trip has such a thrilling, mystifying, alarming uncertainty about it that I am almost beside myself. 

The sense of adventure is gripping.  I have no idea what to expect – or even if we will get there.  This journey is truly putting Assisted Travel to the test!  My public transport experiences have been so varied that I am prepared for anything.

I do not know anyone in the holiday group so that too is fuelling my imagination.  Who will be there, and what on Earth am I doing?  Whether I’m experiencing some mid-life crisis or latent travel bug is immaterial now, for I am all packed and about to go to bed so that I won’t sleep past the alarm (set for 5.30am).

No time to think about the whys and wherefores.  The Hoover and Bag go forth!

Monday Melancholy Is On The Dole

 Monday – it always brings a flavour of melancholy as it peeps through the bedroom curtains.  Today’s Monday emptied an entire dessert spoon of gloom into my morning coffee.

I had to get up earlier than usual – never a great start to the day.  Trudy got up too, wondering if breakfast was going to be extra early.  After some tense anticipation she grumbled and slumped into her day-bed in the lounge.  How I envied her, lying curled up in all that fur just waiting for breakfast to be served.   

An engineer from the Housing Association was supposed to be coming to fix my shower which is slowly detaching itself from the bathroom wall.  So while it was still dark outside and the birds were feebly trying out their vocal chords, I was polishing taps and shower fixings, and almost got to the point of cleaning the floor.  But procrastination filed away that noble idea before it had time to flourish. 

I was told the engineer would arrive  “AM”.  According to the Tenancy Handbook, that can be any time between 7am and 1pm.  So I waited.  And waited.  And waited even more until AM turned to PM.  No engineer!   When I phoned to ask what was afoot, I was given no explanation, just an apology and a re-scheduled appointment for tomorrow morning.  The waste of an entire morning and the likelihood of a repeat performance tomorrow fuelled my Monday melancholy into despair. 

But today is one of those cold days with an icy sun baring its bald head in the sky.  So I decided to take Trudy to the park to give her a free run and to give me a blast of cold January air.  Even before I had reached the metal gate at the park entrance my spirits had risen in line with the sun.  The sharp breeze was flushing out my lungs and giving them new life.  I gulped like a goldfish to take in as much air as possible. 

Standing still in the open field which spans the bottom of the park, I felt invigorated.   Monday melancholy was insignificant here.  She began to lose her power and before long I could no longer sense her shadow.  Trudy was tucking into an earthy molehill, her back-end was vertical and her collar-bells were clinking rather than ringing.  When I whistled her she was reluctant to come, but eventually the prospect of a titbit was more alluring than a mound of earth and she bounced towards me with her ears flapping.

Within seconds she was off again, investigating some new scents which she had not noticed before.  If only I could learn from my Labrador and live for the moment.  No anxieties about the long-term future, no regrets about the past, just the here and now.  Something about Aylestone Park in Hereford always brings me back to the here and now.  There’s a magic in this park that stills Time, calms the spirit and frees the soul.

Minutes later Trudy came brushing by in the hope of another titbit.  I ruffled her fur, it was damp and smelt of winter grass.  Her wagging tail thumped against my legs and I counted the beats – one, two, three, four.  It was like a slow drum-roll at the start of a dance.  While we stood there together the ice on the sun began to thaw and I felt a warm glow drizzling over my shoulders.  I realised that I was truly happy.

When Trudy and I ventured home we were both transformed.  Trudy was tired and slow, and could only manage a very slight wag with the tip of her tail.  I was at peace and ready to start my Monday afresh, even though it was half past two in the afternoon.

As I write this, Monday has ebbed into the early hours of Tuesday.  Trudy is stretched out on her bed lost in Labrador dreams.  Before I start to slide into my own dream-world,  I thank God that I am alive.