Penny and Bear

Like most working Americans, this morning I woke early for work. My alarm sounded and I hit the snooze button, not once, but twice. I lumbered from my warm bed into the brisk coolness of my bedroom where I reached for the little Ziploc bag at my bedside and rewarded my morning wake-up alarm with a morsel of thanks. Not just one, but a second treat for the snooze. And then a third because I couldn't resist those four brown, begging eyes. Eyes that belong to my German Shepherds.

They wake me every workday. Without my hearing aids, I cannot hear my morning wake-up alarm.  So they hear for me. Their persistent howls are within hearing range of my better ear if I happen to be sleeping with that ear up. And their paws on the side of the bed wake me when it's not. (I also have a bed shaker as a back-up plan, but I seldom need it.)

They're not service dogs. But their service to me is invaluable.

Even with my hearing devices on, it can be very hard to hear. I am frequently startled by my husband and daughters when they come into the house. I can't hear the front door. And I can't hear the doorbell. Or knocks. Sometimes, there are sounds in the house that I can't identify.

Irrational fear creeps in. Especially when I'm alone.

Sudden deafness doesn't just affect what you hear -- or cannot hear. If rearranges your normal. What was becomes different. Confusing. Disorienting. And even frightening.

Having my dogs nearby relieves that anxiety. They're my security blanket, in a sense -- providing a quiet sense of security and wellness and comfort. And normalcy.


"Don't worry, human," they tell me with their eyes. "We've got your back."

They deserve another treat.

Time to get up, Human.