Mom, dog love disabled child
Rescue pup sees past rare genetic condition
Dogs have a way of sneaking into our hearts as stealthily as they sneak into our beds.
For example.
Terri Hart-Ellis and her husband, Michael, have two daughters. Catriona is 19 and a college sophomore. Addie is 15 and a freshman at Whitefish Bay High School.
For Christmas this year, Terri and Michael got their daughters a rescue puppy. Mykonos. A beagle/terrier/ whatever, he is named not after the sun-dappled Greek island in the Aegean Sea, but rather after the gyro place in downtown Milwaukee. It’s one of Addie’s favorites.
Terry was wary but ultimately OK with adding a puppy to the family.
“Everybody wanted a dog,” Terri says. “We are dog people. But I always thought, for me, I would be the one doing most of the taking care. I didn’t want to add to the complication.”
Terri’s care-taking responsibilities were already demanding.
Addie has Rubinstein-Taybi syndrome. It’s a rare condition; since it was first described in 1963, about 400 cases have been reported. While people with this condition share some physical, mental and emotional features, their abilities vary.
They are, as all people are, regardless of their abilities, unique.
But when some people meet Addie, they don’t see a child who is unique. They see a child who is abnormal.
Certainly, Addie has distinguishing characteristics. For instance, she is nonverbal. While she understands what people are saying to her, she responds with sign language and assistive technology.
It pains Terri when people fail to see Addie beyond her disabilities. She’s had it up to here with pity and tolerance. What she wants for Addie are respect and inclusion.
“I spend a lot of my time convincing people to see all of her, not just part of her.
“She is so dismissed.”
Not by Myko.
Myko is by nature a friendly dog. When people visit, he likes to lean against them as if he thinks he and they could become one.
And he is particularly attuned to Addie.
Once, when he was just a few months old, during a trip to the vet’s, a large puppy came lumbering in and seemed to be headed toward Addie. Myko, much smaller than the other dog, protected Addie with his puppy-sized body and an angry growl.
Another time, on one of those weekend nights in which the house was a chaos of people coming and going in nine different directions, Myko started to bark.
“He won’t stop,” Terri says. “I was irritated. I was like, ‘Be quiet!’”
But Myko wouldn’t stop. Then Terri noticed that Addie had a bloody nose. Blood covered her face. Myko was trying to get her attention.
Myko, Terry realized, was more than a pet.
He regarded Addie with the same unconditional love as she did, as she hoped everyone would.
“He never saw anything but the core of her. Ever,” Terri says.
“I know it’s ridiculous. He’s a dog. “But a lot of people see her and make decisions about her and react or decide not to react accordingly. But he just went right to the middle of her, which goes right to the middle of me.”