Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (25 page)

So the call from CCI only three and a half years later came as a complete surprise. They’d had a cancellation for a class starting in two weeks—would I be available on such short notice? Without hesitation I said, “Yes!” I felt a rush of emotion. I’d pinned all my hopes on this, and now it was finally happening, almost too fast.

The very next day I headed to the CCI campus as requested, just to be sure they had a possible match for me. This preliminary session was to test my handling skills and to see which of three potential canine partners might “click” with me. I was taken into a dog-filled room, and was surprised when a very fat black-and-white cat, threading his way calmly through the dogs toward my wheelchair, decided my lap was the perfect resting spot.

A trainer brought the first dog, a petite black Lab named Satine, to meet me. We had only a minute to get acquainted before starting basic commands such as “heel” to see how she would respond. Despite the feline riding shotgun on my lap the entire time, Satine responded amazingly well to everything.

Next, a much larger dog, a black Lab-mix called Hawk, took Satine’s place—and the cat left my lap in a rush. But Hawk didn’t give chase. In fact, he ignored everything to focus on me. Although his headstrong personality initially tested my commands, I held to my guns and soon Hawk started working for me—opening doors, picking up dropped items and a long list of other things. I was awestruck by his sheer presence, not to mention his skills and obedience.

The third candidate was a lively golden retriever named Tolarie. She was very pretty and smart, but no matter what I did, she didn’t want to work for me.

When asked which of the three dogs I would choose, I named the more easygoing Satine as first choice, but really, I wanted Hawk. I was totally in love with that dog from the word go!

The next day, CCI called to tell me that I had impressed the trainers with my handling skills with Hawk and that they hoped to place me with him. My heart soared! I thanked themprofusely andmade arrangements to attend the two-week training course at CCI’s campus in Oceanside, California.

I arrived early and spent the first day doing paperwork and meeting the three trainers and five other people in my class. When we entered the classroom, I immediately found Hawk. He came to the door of his crate and licked my fingertips as if to say, “Hi there, I remember you.” I could hear his tail thumping in eager anticipation.

Then came the moment we all were waiting for: working with the dogs. The trainers brought Hawk to me, and we spent the first few minutes in a joyful exchange of greetings.

The next four days were nerve-racking. Pairs wouldn’t be assigned until Friday, after we’d each worked with enough dogs for the trainers to determine the bestmatches. By the second day, though, most of us had already chosen our favorites and felt jealous if “our” dog was working with someone else. On Friday, Hawk was paired with me, but the match still wasn’t permanent. Trainers needed to be satisfied that the dogs had bonded with us, and that we felt comfortable with each other and worked well together. By then, I couldn’t imagine having any other dog but Hawk—especially after what happened the first night we spent together.

Since my accident I’d always had a very hard time sleeping at night. Every time I moved, the pain roused me, and falling back to sleep was next to impossible. For me, three hours was a good night’s sleep. The first night with Hawk, I was supposed to crate him while I slept. But as Hawk and I lay on the bed watching TV together, I dozed off. I woke at five the next morning—and Hawk was still there. He had stretched himself across my body in a way that was comfortable for me but kept me from painful motion. I had slept the whole night through!

I was amazed. With the renewed energy and sharpness that comes with a full night’s sleep, I realized Hawk had done similar things all week that I’d written off as part of his training. He’d bonded with me from the start, and in a remarkably short time, had figured out my abilities and limitations and adjusted to them to make the whole training process easier on me. Every time the pain got unbearable, he had done something silly or sweet to take my mind off the pain and help me get through that day. He had done all this with no instruction—just his innate love for me and his desire to please me and make my life easier.

Hawk and I passed our final test with flying colors. We returned home and started a new and very different life— together.

Now when I go out in public, people no longer avoid me or give me weird stares. When people hear the jingle of Hawk’s collar and see this team on the move, they smile and come over to meet us. Hawk does so many different things for me: he pulls my wheelchair when I’m feeling tired, opens doors and picks up things I might drop. People love to see my beautiful black dog rear up on a counter and hand a cashiermy cash or credit card—what a crowd-pleaser!

Hawk’s “fee” for all this? A simple, “Good boy.” He loves to hear those words because he knows he is doing something that makes me happy.

His other rewards come when we get home. We both enjoy our nightly cuddle on the floor, followed by a favorite tennis-ball game. It still amazes me that Hawk, who can pick up a full bottle of water and not leave a single tooth mark, can pop a tennis ball in no time flat.

I would never have believed that I could feel this way about my life again. Each day I look forward to getting up after a full night’s sleep, grooming Hawk, going out some-

6
DOGS AS
TEACHERS

I
think dogs are the most amazing creatures.
They give unconditional love. For me they
are the role models for being alive.

Gilda Radner

Good Instincts

I
f your dog doesn’t like someone, you probably
shouldn’t either.

Unknown

The wind whistled round the corner of the house, thunder rolled and rain slashed against the windows—not a night to be outside but rather to sit by the fire, thankful for the solid walls and roof overhead. I could imagine Dr. Frankenstein’s creation being abroad on such a night. Iwas alone, my husband away and the nearest neighbor a quarter mile down the road. Alone, that is, except for Lassie, a shaggy, black-and-white border collie, who sat with her head inmy lap, her intelligent, brown eyes gazing up atme as if to say,
Don’t worry, we’ll be all right.

Lassie had arrived at our front door four years earlier by her design, not ours. Throughout the eighteen years she was with us, she proved time and time again to be a superb judge of character. We never knew if it was as a result of her sense of smell or sound—or some sixth sense—but, whatever it was, she definitely possessed a talent we humans lacked. On first meeting she would either wag the tip of her tail a couple of times to indicate that the visitor was acceptable, or slightly curl her top lip, which told you to be wary. Always accurate, her gift was never more apparent than on this night.

The doorbell rang. I decided not to answer it. It rang again, more insistently this time. Whoever was there was not going away. Still I hesitated. On the fourth ring, with Lassie by my side, I finally answered the call. My stomach lurched and my mouth went dry, for there, silhouetted by the porch light, stood the monster himself. Not as big as I imagined but equally menacing. A twisted body under a heavy overcoat, one shoulder hunched higher than the other, and his head leaning slightly forward and to one side. Gnarled fingers at the end of a withered arm touched his cap.

“May I use your phone?” The voice came from somewhere back in his throat and, although the request was polite, his tone was rough.

I shrank back as he rummaged in his pocket and produced a piece of paper. Shuffling forward he handed it to me. I refused to take it. Believing he might try and force his way in, I looked at Lassie to see if she was ready to defend the homestead. Surprisingly, she sat by my side, the tip of her tail wagging.

You’re out of your mind, Lassie,
I thought. But there was no denying the sign and, based on past experience, I trusted her instincts.

Reluctantly, I beckoned the stranger into the hallway and pointed to the phone. He thanked me as he picked up the instrument. Unashamed, I stood and listened to the conversation. From his comments, I learned his van had broken down and he needed someone to repair it. Lassie always shadowed anyone she mistrusted until they left the house. Tonight she paid no attention to our visitor. Instead, she trotted back into the living room and curled up by the fire.

Finishing his call, the man hitched up the collar of his overcoat and prepared to leave. As he turned to thank me, his lopsided shoulders seemed to sag and a touch of sympathy crept into my fear.

“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” Thewordswere out before I could stop them.

His eyes lit up. “That would be nice.”

We went through to the kitchen. He sat while I put the kettle on. Bent over on the stool, he looked less menacing, but I still kept a wary eye on him. By the time the tea had brewed, I felt safe enough to draw up another stool. We sat in silence, facing each other across the table, cups of steaming tea in front of us.

“Where are you from?” I finally asked, for the sake of conversation.

“Birmingham,” he answered, then paused. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he continued, “but you’ve no need to worry. I know I look strange, but there’s a reason.”

I said nothing, and we continued to sip in silence. I felt he would talk when he was ready, and he did.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he said. I sensed, rather than heard, the catch in his voice. “But some years ago I had polio.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“I was laid up for months. When I managed to walk again, I couldn’t get a job. My crippled body put everyone off. Eventually, I was hired as a delivery driver, and as you know from my phone call, my van broke down outside your house.” He smiled his crooked smile. “I really should be getting back so I’m there when the mechanic arrives.”

“Look,” I said. “There’s no need to sit outside in this weather. Why not leave a note in your van telling them where you are?”

He smiled again. “I’ll do that.”

When he returned, we settled by the fire in the living room. “You know,” I said, “if it hadn’t been for Lassie here, I wouldn’t have let you in.”

“Oh,” he said, bending forward to scratch her head. “Why?”

I went on to explain her uncanny ability to judge people, then added, “She sensed you for what you really are, while I only saw the outside.”

“Lucky for me she was around,” he said, laughing.

After two hours and several more cups of tea, the doorbell rang again. A man wearing overalls under a hooded raincoat announced the vehicle was repaired.

Thanking me profusely, the stranger headed out into the night, and a few minutes later, the taillights of his van disappeared down the road. I never expected to see him again.

But on the afternoon of Christmas Eve I answered the door to find the rainy-night stranger standing there. “For you,” he said, handing me a large box of chocolates, “for your kindness.” Then he placed a packet of dog treats in my other hand. “And these are for Lassie, my friend with the good instincts. Merry Christmas to you both.”

Every Christmas Eve, untilwemoved five years later, he arrived with his box of chocolates and packet of dog treats. And every year he got the same warm welcome from our wise Lassie.

Gillian Westhead
as told to Bill Westhead

A New Home

“Mom, watch out!” my daughter Melissa screamed as a drenched brown pooch charged under our van. Slamming my foot on the brakes, we jerked to a stop. Stepping out into the freezing rain, we hunched down on opposite sides of the van, making kissing noises to coax the little dog—who, miraculously, I hadn’t hit—to us. The shivering pup jumped into Melissa’s arms and then onto her lap once she sat down again in the heated van.

We were on our way home from Melissa’s sixth-grade basketball game. Her once-white shirt with the red number 7 was now covered in dirty black paw prints. I stared at themess as she wrapped her shirt around the small dog.

“That shirt will never come clean!”

“Well, at least we saved his life,” she frowned as she cuddled him. “Running through all those cars he could have been killed.”

She continued petting him. “He’s so cute. And he doesn’t have a collar. Can we keep him?”

I knew how she felt. I loved animals myself—especially dogs. But I also knewthemess theymade. Dogs dig through the garbage. They chew up paper, shoes and anything else they can fit in their mouths. Not to mention the little piles and puddles they make when you’re trying to housebreak them. I didn’t need a dog. I loved the clean, bright house we had recently moved into, and I wanted to keep my new house looking just that—new.

I glanced at the ball of brown fur and the black mask outlining his wide, wondering eyes.
She’s right. He is cute.

The smell of wet dog escalated with the burst of heat coming out of the vents, bringing me to my senses. I turned the heat down and shook my head. “Melissa, we’ve been through this before. I told all four of you kids when we moved into the new house: absolutely no pets.”

As we pulled into the drive, she said, “But Mom, it’s the middle of February. He’ll freeze out here.”