CGC Test

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OR: If at first you don’t succeed… small recalibrations are your friend.

Do you remember last Monday?

At the big, smell-y store, with all the friendos?

That was a test?

Yes, goober. It was a test.

What’s CGC mean?

It means “canine good citizen.” It’s a training program the AKC–basically “the dog people of America”–came up with as a marker of “yes, this dog behaves well in public,” and because Amanda and Scout’s Legacy are so thorough with their service dog training, you have to pass the CGC tests before you graduate, even though it isn’t a legal requirement.

Oh… 

Yes, I remember. Why do you ask?

We’ll come back to that.

Did you know that a spaceship’s gyroscope never stops recalibrating? From the moment it blasts off to the moment it lands again, it is constantly checking where it is in relation to where it should be, and it keeps reorienting itself so as to keep on the right path.

What’s a gyro-whatsits?

A gyroscope. It’s the thing that keeps a spaceship on course and the right way up, and all that good stuff.

Oh. It sounds tiring being on alert that often.

Doesn’t it? But the thing is, if a compass is even a little bit off from what it should be, you could end up a very far distance from where you want to be.

Really?

Yes.

Well, imagine you were standing in the center of that cake. You want to start down one of the cuts, but if you’re even a fraction of a degree off that path, you’re going to end up a different point when you get to the end of your cake, right?

Yes.

Now, imagine if you weren’t just walking to the end of a cake, but much farther. That wedge is going to get wider and wider, and you’re going to get farther and farther from your desired destination. There have been stories of people whose compass was off just a degree or two when they were sailing from the mainland US to Hawai’i, and they would’ve missed the islands completely if they hadn’t recalibrated themselves when they saw a ship on a usual route and, from its position, realized they were off their intended route. There are other stories about people in the middle of a blizzard a little over a hundred years ago in the Midwest US walking from their barn to their home that say they would’ve completely missed their house if they hadn’t run into a wheelbarrow at the edge of their property that told them they were off their route.

That’s a scary thought.

Extremely. I had one of those moments this past week at Bass Pro Shop. See, I thought we were walking smack in the center of the cut–that we were right where we needed to be. And then I ran into the wheelbarrow. The CGC tests, as it were.

You mean we didn’t pass it?

No, we didn’t. We would’ve passed all three, but for one thing in each. And they were small things, too. They had to be–if they were big ones, I would’ve seen that we needed to work on it. But, seeing as how this is not only your first time on this journey, but mine as well, I didn’t. Just like when I don’t see that you’re playing me like a fiddle.

What does it mean that we didn’t pass?

See, that’s the beautiful thing about a recalibrating gyroscope. You can always adjust your path to get back on track. So, we’ve been practicing what we didn’t pass on–walking on stairs, and you paying attention to me in a distracting environment–and then we’ll take it again. The service dog world–while it may be pass/fail, is very forgiving. If you don’t pass this or that test, you keep working at it until you do. You can’t just push through things like this, so sitting on this or that thing until you get it is the MO. That’s why getting the verdict of a wash is such a gut-punch when it happens. Because it’s amputating the limb rather than working on it, and doing what you can to heal it.

I didn’t pass the CGC because I didn’t look at you?

In a simplified manner of speaking. One of the parts of the test is being able to walk through a crowd of people and dogs while focusing on me and not getting distracted. You pretty much did the opposite, if you recall. The other dogs were just too much of a distraction, and I was just… there.

Is that why I have to look at you more often on walks, now?

Yep. It’s seeing the ship in a different place than you would’ve expected. You can’t just continue as you are; you have to make a notable effort to turn your boat, and overcompensate due to where you were. This is the same way; we were off in our training and abilities, so now we have to overcompensate in practice to make the next mile marker and pass the next CGC test.

Because I’m not a real service dog without it?

No. A service dog is a dog that’s task trained. You don’t legally have any tests you have to pass, or certification you have to have. I don’t need to show anyone my medical history to prove you’re a service dog. According to the ADA, you don’t even have to be wearing a vest. It’s recommended, because it tells you you’re working, and it is supposed to tell people to leave us alone because of that, but people can’t kick us out of the building just due to a lack of vest.

However. A service dog can do their job much better if they know how to handle themselves in public. A handler has much more confidence in–and is able to handle their dog better–if their dog is obedience trained. And, as Amanda says, we are unable to be invisible once you put on the vest, and, because of that, are not only rep’ing the program, but all service dogs once you do. We are to show the difference between true service dogs, and fake service dogs. Dogs are dogs, but the service dog training program is expensive, and exhaustive, and there are some people that just buy the vest off Amazon and think that’s enough. It’s not. Which is why you and all the other genuine service dogs have to behave yourselves in public and NOT go running off in stores because you can get away with it.

So what I did in Michaels the other day–

Was absolutely not okay. There weren’t many people in the store, and you didn’t mess with those who were, but, like I said, we are representing everyone in this community when we go out, so we can’t just let stuff like that happen. As much as other people have to respect the vest, so do you.

But it’s hard, Hooman!

It is hard, I agree. Which is why not every dog is cut out for this work. But you like working, right?

Yes.

And you’re more than capable of it. You just have to remember you’re a good boy, and you can’t act in public like you would at home.

Of course. This is a team, after all. Like Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 puts so eloquently:

Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble. Likewise, two people lying close together can keep each other warm. But how can one be warm alone? A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

We’re a team. We’re better together. When we were at Natural Grocers the other day practicing the same thing (heel off-leash), and I had a seizure you didn’t bolt. You stayed right by my side, and let me put the collar back on you right away afterwards. Your job is to reach out and help me; I can reach out and help you remember you’re a good boy every so often, too.

Even better news? We’re more than three–we’ve got you, me, all the trainers at Scout’s, all the people over at Figz, and my entire family working with us. We’re not easily broken–we’re not about to fail, come what may. Puppy brain, CGC tests, adolescent stages, fear stages, retirement. We’re going to make it through this. You know why?

We’re not born to fail?

Darn right, we’re not. And neither of us is about to let the other forget it, are we?

No, Hooman.

Attaboy.