Dogs help veterans with PTSD cope, improve
York, PA - It's fourteen-hundred-hours in York County.
U.S. Marine Corps Sgt. E5 Harold Fake heads into battle.
He's pressed his black Vietnam veteran ball cap into his gray hair. He's locked and loaded into his 2008 Kia Sorento. He eases into the West Manchester Township Wal-Mart parking lot and cuts the engine.
Fake doesn't like the timing of this mission -- midday means more people.
More people make him nervous.
Vietnam veteran Harold Fake of East Berlin and his dog Lakota make their way through Wal-Mart in West Manchester Township. Fake, who struggles with PTSD, is putting his dog through a class which helps him deal with the problem and allows him to perform daily functions in public, such as shopping. (DAILY RECORD / SUNDAY NEWS -- JASON PLOTKIN)
For nearly 40 years, Fake has wanted a cease fire in the war he never stopped fighting in his mind. He's tried pills. Booze. He even took a knife to his own wrist. Nothing works.
Fake looks in the rearview mirror. His comrade is there, sprawled on a canvas hammock out of view from the windows.
He breathes easier.
With Lakota, it's all right. It's always all right.
"Ready boy?" he says. Lakota, a slender, black Labrador retriever, jumps to his feet and follows Fake out the driver's side door.
Lakota is more than Fake's fellow soldier and one of the great loves of his life. Their relationship is part of Fake's treatment, a novel method for guiding veterans through the ravages of post traumatic stress disorder. Former soldiers teach dogs to wake them from nightmares, switch on lights and remind them to take medication.
"He saved my life," Fake said.
A new treatment
Helping Hounds, a program sponsored by the Central Pennsylvania Animal Alliance, trains veterans with PTSD to train their own helper dogs.
Veterans from conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan, Bosnia and Vietnam visit the Lower Allen VFW once a week. Earlier, the group used the Capital City Airport in New Cumberland. There, in a hangar -- sweltering this time of year -- they teach their dogs to walk on leash, to socialize with others and how to remind them to take medication using different bags and a timer.
Kelly McGinley and other trainers and social workers help the veterans and dogs.
On some evenings, the group of about 10 veterans and dogs -- most of them rescued or bought -- march in a column to the nearby Giant Food Stores grocery store. There, the dogs walk alongside their masters, who push carts and bark commands to make sure jaws don't wrap around packages of hot dogs.
McGinley has watched lives like Fake's, which has been crushed under PTSD for four decades, transform in a matter of weeks.
"I don't think any of us, until we saw the magnitude of the progress they've been making, really saw the impact it could make," she said. In a relatively short period, some veterans find "a self confidence they didn't have before."
And all that's required is "a will to get their life back," she said.
Little study exists on the effectiveness of dog training in treating PTSD, because "it's still too new," said Tom Murray, a readjustment counseling therapist and a licensed clinical social worker with the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.
Among the condition's many symptoms is hyper vigilance, Murray said. It transforms the supermarket aisles into canyons where snipers can hide. Because they're constantly afraid of what they can't see, people with PTSD often prefer to stand against walls when they're out in public. Or they avoid going out at all.
Drugs like antidepressants quell some of the effects, anti-psychotics others. But there's no panacea, Murray said.
Patients try everything. They use blinking lights sometimes in a therapy called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. Some try meditation. Others try listening to music.
Murray said dogs can help PTSD victims with safety and trust issues. The dogs can become eyes to the veterans' rear, alleviating a common perception among PTSD sufferers that someone might be sneaking up behind them.
Standing guard
With a command of "Watch my back," Lakota, the dog belonging Vietnam veteran Harold Fake of East Berlin, will position himself to keep an eye out for his owner, as he does during a recent visit to Wal-Mart in West Manchester Township. (DAILY RECORD / SUNDAY NEWS -- JASON PLOTKIN)
Lakota and Fake enter the West Manchester Wal-Mart. Fake pushes a cart with one hand; the other holds Lakota's leash.
Fake has outfitted Lakota with a green synthetic vest. A red patch says Third Marine Division, Fake's outfit in Vietnam and a patch that shows his rank. "I made him a sergeant," Fake explains. Inside a flap on the harness is a collapsible canvass water dish for hot days.
The day's mission: Obtain a birthday present for a female neighbor.
The cart zips past the produce aisle. A few shoppers stop and stare at the Lakota. Lakota's brown eyes look back. He trots along next to Fake's hip, sending glances at any noises.
"He knows my feelings better than I know myself," Fake said. "He's in tune to me."
At the checkout counter, a pair of children giggle. Lakota's ears perk up.
"Watch my back," Fake says.
'I was fine'
Vietnam veteran Barry Baker, holding onto his dog, Hunter, chats with Jeff Hoke, one of the handlers of Boomer, the York Revolution mascot. Before taking classes with Boomer to help his post traumatic stress disorder, Baker would never enter a crowded environment like Sovereign Bank Stadium. But after only a few weeks, he has ventured out and gained confidence. (DAILY RECORD / SUNDAY NEWS -- JASON PLOTKIN)
Vietnam veteran Barry Baker of Manchester stared into the floor of the office inside the Capital City Airport hangar. Without looking up, each sentence and phrase came at the end of a pause.
Baker was talking about Vietnam.
Baker, then 19, had volunteered for the Army in the mid-1960s. Until 1967, he served with the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment.
He drove an armored personnel carrier. One day in June 1968, in the midst of the Tet Offensive, a rocket-propelled grenade hit his convoy.
Baker watched the explosion rip three close friends to pieces.
In October 1968, Baker returned to York County. He started drinking "to forget everything that happened."
It didn't work. In his nightmares, he was back in Vietnam. In the same convoy. Watching three friends die.
His temper shortened. An 18-year marriage disintegrated. He was a time bomb. Even his children became leery of him -- what would set their father off?
Baker rarely left his house in Manchester. He managed to get his drinking under control about 13 years ago, but he never took the other condition, the one doctors called PTSD, seriously.
"I figured they had me on pills," he said. "I was fine."
Baker was a hunter. One day, while hunting in the woods he fell and hit his head.
"When I got up I thought . . . no, I knew I was back in Vietnam," he said. "I was in the woods. I was looking for people to shoot."
Someone managed to stop him. Authorities sent him to the psychiatric ward of the Veterans hospital in Lebanon. He was there for eight days.
Then it got to be a struggle just getting out of bed in the morning. He didn't want to hunt any more, wanted nothing to do with guns. Wanted nothing to do with anything.
A VA nurse told him about the dog program. He opted to take Hunter, the lab he bought three years ago who he hoped to turn into a hunting dog.
That was on Easter weekend. In the hangar, Baker guided Hunter through figure eights around the instructors, taught him various commands, and joined the parade of helper dogs in training heading for the nearby Giant Food Stores.
Baker goes to several York Revolution baseball games now every week. When he talks with friends at the game, Hunter sits facing the opposite direction, standing guard. He's trained the dog to stand between him and anything he finds upsetting.
Recently, he took a trip to the Wall that Heals, a smaller, traveling version of Washington, D.C.'s Vietnam War Memorial, which had come to the York Fairgrounds. He brought a wreath with the names of the three friends he lost in 1968.
His wife was there, holding Hunter's leash.
"I just started to lose it," Baker said.
Baker's wife let go of Hunter. The dog ran to Baker and stood between him and the wall.
"I just started hugging him," Baker said, "and I knew everything was going to be OK."
Back to life
Fake was a farm boy from Stewartstown when he joined the Marine Corps.
"I saw things nobody should ever have to see," he said. "Maybe the guys that are (at war) now are seeing worse. But I doubt it."
Vietnam veteran Harold Fake of East Berlin gives his dog Lakota a treat before the start of the 'Helping Hounds' class at Capitol City Airport in New Cumberland. (DAILY RECORD / SUNDAY NEWS -- JASON PLOTKIN)
After the war, he moved home to York County, eventually settling in East Berlin. Fake drank. Nightmares shook him awake most nights. He couldn't hold a job for very long.
Being near people hurt. "It's just a feeling that comes over you," Fake said. "You just had to get away from people."
He bought Susie, a 3-foot-tall yellow and blue macaw with a beak like a stiletto knife. People thinking of popping in for a visit are warned: "She'll tear you up. She's like me. She hates the world."
A fat, white scar spills across his wrist, evidence of his most recent suicide attempt about 10 years ago.
He developed prostate cancer. He blames Agent Orange for that.
About six years ago, a woman from Littlestown wanted to get rid of a dog. The black lab puppy, Lakota, had been abused suffered from broken ribs.
Fake decided to nurse him back to health.
About eight months ago, Fake learned of Helping Hounds. He was the second veteran to sign up.
Back then, just leaving the house to make the trip up Route 83 was a challenge.
His connection with Lakota has deepened. When Fake has a nightmare, Lakota wakes him up. He presses a cold nose into Fake, or rolls over on his side and kicks him.
"He's kicked me out of bed before," Fake said. "I wound up on the floor."
Lakota also has the run of some of the house's electronics. For example, if Fake is disoriented or afraid, Lakota can press a button with his paw or his nose that operates the lights.
Crowds still worry Fake. He still does his grocery shopping at 24-hour stores late at night. Baker invited him to a baseball game recently, but Fake turned him down.
Still, Lakota's watchful eyes have opened a world to Fake.
***
At the West Manchester Township Wal-Mart, Fake takes his bag from the Wal-Mart clerk and heads for the exit.
On the way out of the store, a woman stops and reaches out a hand. Lakota nuzzles it. "Hi doggy," the woman says.
Fake breaks into a smile so big every tooth glows.
"He's a good boy," Fake says.
Vietnam veterans Barry Baker, left, and Harold Fake run their dogs Hunter, left, and Lakota through training during the Helping Hounds class at Capital City Airport in New Cumberland. Fake and Baker, who struggle with PTSD, both are training their dogs to help them feel more at ease in public. (DAILY RECORD / SUNDAY NEWS -- JASON PLOTKIN)
PTSD symptoms
PTSD can cause problems like:
--- Flashbacks, or feeling like the event is happening again;
--- Trouble sleeping or nightmares;
--- Feeling alone;
--- Angry outbursts;
--- Feeling worried, guilty or sad.
Source: National Institutes of Health
By the numbers
7-8 percent: Percentage of the population who will have PTSD at some point in their lives
5.2 million: Number of adults who have PTSD during a given year. This is only a small portion of those who have gone through a trauma.
10 percent: Percentage of women who develop PTSD
5 percent: Percentage of men who develop PTSD
Source: The Department of Veterans Affairs
Dogs in the military
Some dogs are veterans, too.
On July 31, U.S. Marine Corps Sgt. Christopher Wrinkle, a 29-year-old dog handler from Dallastown, died in Afghanistan when fire swept through his barracks.
Wrinkle was trying to save his dog, Tosca.
Between 600 and 700 dogs are serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, said Ron Aiello, president of the United States War Dogs Association in Burlington, N.J. The group offers equipment and support to dog handlers overseas, plus tries to establish memorials to military dogs.
Many of the dogs are breeded and trained at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. The military places puppies from the program in foster homes until they're about 9 months old.
Dogs are then trained for careers in bomb detection -- they sniff out explosives and then are trained to sit so soldiers know when a device is present. They also hunt for narcotics, guard bases and help track people.
When they're ready for retirement, the dogs are shipped back to Lackland, where they're given to adoptive families.
Wrinkle's family asks that anyone wishing to honor his service to his country may make a memorial contribution to the Sgt. Christopher M. Wrinkle and Tosca's Memorial Fund, c/o Metro Bank, 2160 S. Queen St., York, 17402. Contributions received will be directed to Dallastown's Courtyard of Honor and to two programs for military working dogs -- one that provides supplies for active military working dogs and another that finds homes for retired canines.
HOPE
The HOPE (Hounds of Prison Education) Program was launched in March of 2005 in an effort to help more homeless animals find their way into forever homes. Sponsored by the Central Pennsylvania Animal Alliance, the HOPE Program works in conjunction with the State Correctional Institute at Camp Hill and CPAA member rescues.
The Helping Hounds program works with CPAA member rescues and the Camp Hill prison to train rescued dogs to become companion, therapy and/or psychiatric service dogs to aid veterans.
Donations may be made to CPAA, 1802 Silver Pine Circle, Mechanicsburg, PA 17050.
The program pairs inmates with dogs for six to 12 weeks. The inmates work together with a professional trainer, prison staff and HOPE volunteers to provide the dogs with basic obedience training, socialization, behavior modification and one-on-one attention.
At the moment, none of the dogs in training with veterans is from the HOPE Program, but those animals can be worked into the mix for the muttless.
Related story and photos
HOPE: Prison inmates help rehabilitate dogs
Credit: BILL LANDAUER Daily Record/Sunday News
No comments:
Post a Comment