Life With a Deaf Dog by Danica S. Billingsly, Au.D.
Rosebud (“Rosie”) is a one year old mixed breed dog, born into unknown conditions in rural Kentucky. Sometime in her first six months she ended up at an animal shelter, and was placed on “death row”. While in the pens, she was attacked viciously by a group of other dogs. A no-kill shelter in McLean County picked her up, performed surgery on her wounds, nursed her back to health, and found her foster care. A few months later, two little girls boarded the adoption bus in a Bloomington parking lot, spied the striking white dog with a pink nose and lots of scars, and fell in love. She was friendly to the girls, she didn’t lunge on the leash, she was happy to be petted. The adoption bus staff said cautiously, with hope in their eyes, “There’s just one thing. She’s deaf.”
The word “deaf” didn’t scare Danica and Doug Billingsly, however. Human hearing loss has been a part of their family identity since Danica chose a career in audiology. Dr. Billingsly works every day with patients whose untreated hearing losses have affected their self-concepts, and acute hearing is so much a part of our concept of what makes a dog…a dog. Rosie will never be trained as a guard dog, as she can’t hear a door open in the house. She wouldn’t be a good sports dog as she doesn’t hear the approach of other animals at a distance. She can’t be called in verbally from the backyard. Rosie is also sometimes socially awkward with other dogs, as she doesn’t catch sound cues like low growls, and takes the sniffing “conversation” too far.
Living with a deaf dog takes a full shift in understanding of how we communicate. Take away the usual verbal commands, and you have facial expression, stance, and gestures … body language. Some trainers will suggest that deaf dogs be trained using a vibrating (not shock) collar, in order to get the dog’s attention at a distance. Rosie’s new family found that she is attuned to floor vibration, and has made a language of the interplay of light and shadow. Her attention can be easily gained by stomping the floor and waving a hand or by flicking a light switch. Her favorite play is to chase a flashlight beam. She can be called from the backyard quickly (and silently) using a simple laser pointer shone on the ground. Rosie learned the commands of “sit”, “stay”, “drop it”, “come” and “no” as well as the important “good dog” using gestures based in part on American Sign Language. And because Rosie’s attention comes from her eyes, not her ears, she walks using a head halter instead of a collar-leash.
Rosie’s family has found some silver linings in her deafness. A deaf dog doesn’t hear the doorbell or the garbage truck. She doesn’t care if the “squeak” has been removed from her squeaky toys. She doesn’t mind the mail carrier’s visits. She doesn’t join in the neighborhood barkfests. And she can sleep through the Fourth of July, as long as the blinds are down. But for the most part, Rosie – like her millions of human counterparts with hearing loss – isn’t a “Deaf Dog”. She’s just a dog with a family who loves her, and she happens to not hear. If you see Rosie out walking in Bloomington with Dr. Billingsly and her family, feel free to stop and wave “hi”; Rosie loves to make new friends.






