Together (5 page)

At least a
concussion
, Charlie thought,
maybe brain trauma.

Brenden's pulse fluttered, and his
blood pressure was dropping. Though it was June, temperatures on the mountain
were in the teens, and Brenden showed indications of early stages of
hypothermia.

"We've got to get him
down," the team leader said. "We've got to get him down in a
hurry."

The call went out to the
helicopter, but the pilot quickly decided that the angle was too difficult to
risk a landing.

"We need the basket," the
team leader radioed. "It's gonna be the hard way—climbing anchors and
hand-over-hand—but we'll get him down to a flat area as quickly as we can. Then
you Flight for Life guys can medevac him to Frisco, Denver, or Grand Junction."

"Grand Junction is standing
by," the helicopter pilot radioed back. "Go easy. We're right here
when you're ready."

Charlie grumbled. "IHOG rules.
We're gonna waste a lot of time."

IHOG was the International
Helicopter Operating Guidelines, and with all the accidents that occurred
around the country, Flight for Life simply would not stretch the regulations.
The team worked as fast as it could, with the paramedic assigned to Brenden
constantly checking the young man's vital signs.

Forty-five minutes later they found
the flat spot, and five minutes after that Brenden and Charlie were on their
way to St. Mary's Medical Center in Grand Junction. The paramedics on board
were feverishly working to warm Brenden with thermal blankets and gentle
massage. Charlie took the time to call Brenden's mother and alert her that they
had found her son and where they were going.

"Thank you, Charlie, thank
you," she said. "I'll start driving to Grand Junction right
now."

The pilot interrupted. "Tell
the guy's mom that after we drop him off, we'll pick her up. My office will
call her and tell her where to be."

"That's awesome," Charlie
said, and he passed the information on to Mora.

Over the next twenty minutes,
Charlie alternated between watching his friend and praying, something he hadn't
done a lot of, but something he very much hoped God would hear.

chapter
five

Smitty. Smitty.
Smitty.

The black Lab stood in the backseat
of the car, shaking as if he were on point, hunting birds. Then he began to
turn in circles— off the seat to the floor, back up again, down again, back up.
When the driver came around and opened the car door, the dog leaped forward,
nearly taking the man holding the leash off his feet.

"Okay, Bart, okay." Dan
laughed. "I know. That's your Smitty. Go ahead, boy. Go ahead."

By now, Harold Smith had reached
the bottom of the stairs. He dropped to his knees, opening his arms to receive
the animal, whose heart pounded so hard it could be felt through his skin. It
was hard to tell at that moment who was happier—the man or the dog.

Neither of them expected this
moment ever to happen. As his trainer, Smitty wanted Bart to succeed in the
field, and the animal accepted his new life and responsibility in the
fulfillment of his guide dog purpose not once, but twice. Now fate stepped in
and brought these two friends back together in a reunion that was as deeply
felt as could be imagined.

Smitty remembered that Bart had
never really been a verbal animal—not a barker in the kennel or a dog that used
his voice to express his feelings. But now the emotion poured out of the big
black Lab, and he made high-pitched singing noises. He covered the man with
kisses and tried desperately to climb into his arms. Failing that, he turned in
circles, forcing Smitty to move his head out of the way every time the long
tail whipped around. The dog rubbed his entire body against the man, and sounds
of disbelief and excitement came from deep inside his chest.

Smitty was actually surprised when,
despite himself, he became aware of a few tears falling from the corners of his
own eyes.

"Do you want me to put him in
the kennel, Smitty?"

"No, no, that's okay, Dan.
I'll take care of it. Thanks for picking him up."

"What about the rest of the
paperwork?" Dan asked. "Do you want me to fill it out?"

"Naw." Smitty laughed.
"It's late. You've been driving all day I'll take care of that in the
morning."

"Okeydokey," Dan said.
"I'll head on home. That's one happy dog right there. I don't know if I've
ever seen one so glad to see his trainer. Good night, Smitty."

"Good night, Dan."

As the car pulled away, Smitty
thought about what Dan had just said. Sitting on the steps still hugging the
big dog, Smitty knew that this was more than the usual dog/ex-trainer reunion.
He really crossed the line with this animal. Oh sure, he loved all the dogs he
worked with, but somehow this behaviorally challenged friend reached the part
of his heart that made him willing to break every rule in order to make sure
Bart would have a great life.

"Okay, pal," he said,
rising. "Somehow we're going to have to figure out how to check you back
into school, so I think I'll take you home for a few days while we think about
it. How do you feel about that?"

The big dog nuzzled his hand,
making it clear he didn't care what they did—he was with Trainer, so anything
was just fine with him.

The man and the dog found Smitty's
Camaro in the parking lot, and in a few minutes they were on the highway headed
home.

Bart still trembled with excitement
as he settled on the seat next to Smitty, within reach of his hand. He didn't
take his eyes off the man, and the black tail thumped every time Smitty glanced
his way. Bart didn't understand how all this had happened, and he didn't care.

For his part, the man was aware
that he had a real problem.

There were many things that Smitty
didn't know much about, but he had come to realize one thing. Although he could
never admit it publicly, with very few exceptions he liked—no,
loved—
dogs
more than he liked most people.

After fifty years on the planet,
there were some basic truths he understood. A dog's love was absolute and did
not require anything but love honestly given in return. He was convinced that
there were no bad dogs, only those that were misunderstood or mishandled by the
humans they interacted with. He knew the viable communication possible with
these creatures simply by paying attention and learning to read their body
language and tone of voice, just as they read his.

Smitty developed all of these
feelings and many ingrained instincts over thirty years as a professional
trainer, first in the air force, where he worked with rescue dogs, and later on
a tenure with the Detroit PD with drug enforcement animals. It was good fortune
that brought him into guide dog work, where he had placed over a thousand teams
of dogs and blind people into the field. There was no question that Smitty
loved what he did, and if he were really honest with himself, he would have to
admit that he was obsessed with his work and the dogs that he trained.

This obsession, he knew, had cost
him his marriage. He could even remember the night when it hit the fan. His
wife accused him of loving animals more than he loved her, and in that moment
of real candor, he realized that she was probably right.

Since then he had lived as a
confirmed bachelor in a two-bedroom basement apartment without much of a view.
He slept in one of the bedrooms, and the other became his designated hall of
fame with walls filled to bursting with pictures of dogs and people, the teams
he was so proud of. His two indispensable possessions dominated his living
room: a large La-Z-Boy chair and his one true luxury—a gigantic plasma screen
TV that cost him a fortune.

Smitty was a sports junkie, and
along with never missing a good game, he wasn't averse to betting on a few that
he thought were stone-cold lead pipe locks. Thankfully he never bet a lot. He
learned that he just couldn't pick 'em. In fact, there were some months when he
cut back on his beer budget to pay off his losses.

This was his favorite time of year,
when the Giants were getting ready for spring training, the NBAs Warriors were
laboring in the middle of another losing season, and the 49ers prepared for the
NFL draft in the hope that they would find the next Rice or Montana. He was
thankful that ESPN covered the rest of the country, because a sports junkie
never knew when he might wake up at three in the morning and just have to see
the national highlights.

If home is where the
heart is, Smitty's house was exactly where Bart
wanted to be, even if it was the simple abode of a not-too-domestic bachelor.

The staccato beat of Bart's tail on
the kitchen floor reflected the joy in his eyes as he watched Smitty moving
about to build himself a big sandwich. The last few days had been the happiest
in the dog's whole life. He was with Smitty. Not in a kennel, not in a house
with people who didn't understand him, like Lady. He was here with the one he
cared most about in the world, and that's all a dog really needed.

Smitty had to acknowledge he was
just marking time, since he really didn't know what to do next. Beth was
probably right: he couldn't keep checking Bart back into school as a beginning
dog candidate. He had already broken all the very firm rules about not allowing
more than two recycles of new masters for any dog. However, he was convinced
that Bart was the best dog he had ever trained, and somehow he could not let
this animal go without fulfilling his mission. Beyond that, Bart got to him on
a deep emotional level, and Smitty knew he crossed professional lines when he
allowed his heart to get involved.

He hated the idea that Bart had
been rejected twice, and he had only himself to blame. He was the one
responsible for matching Bart with the two men who had been his temporary
masters. Looking back, he couldn't say either choice was ideal, but sometimes
when a dog is ready to go, the perfect match doesn't come along.
That's the toughest
part of all,
Smitty thought.
You can't keep these dogs hanging around until
they're three or four years old, waiting for the right person—you want to get
them active in the work while they're sharp. You tend to forget that some of
those blind people aren't right for a guide dog in the first place.

Smitty chuckled as he bit into his sandwich.
It's like an online dating
service. The match may not be perfect, but sometimes the natural order of love
and commitment will fill in the spaces. Sometimes. Not every time.

Smitty continued to enjoy his
sandwich, in spite of Bart's big dog eyes.

"Looks like your last master
must have been feeding you from the table, boy. Bad idea. At least that's one
rule we won't break."

Smitty understood completely that
Bart was a lot of dog to handle. He thought of him like a precocious child—a
genius when applying himself to the work, but a terror on four paws when he was
off duty and tempted by food or things to chew or be curious about. At two and
a half, he was like a teenager slow to develop maturity.

Looking into the bright eyes,
Smitty was aware yet again that this fellow was something more. No dog he had
ever trained grasped concepts so quickly. No animal was more aggressive or
definite in his work when he made a decision. Yet no dog could be more loving,
which was obvious every night when Bart collapsed next to him, taking up most
of the double bed they shared.

Smitty reached a finger to scratch
between those bright eyes fixed on him.

"I won't give up on you, my
friend. If I ever manage to get you back in the field again, it will only be
with somebody good enough to deserve you. And strong enough to handle
you!"

It was halftime in the
Lakers/Warriors basketball game, so Smitty put his plate and beer can in the
sink and picked up the paperwork on the group of students who would be coming
into his next class. The string of dogs that he presently worked was the J
litter of that year, meaning that all of the names began with the letter J. As
Smitty scanned them, reality dawned as to what the next step must be.

"Bart, my boy," he said,
looking at the big animal on the floor whose tail responded immediately,
"we have to change your name—one more time. Then we just might try to
sneak you into the next string of dogs."

Smitty glanced back at the papers
in front of him.

"When I finish this J
class—let's see, uh—based on the number of trainers, I'll probably be getting
the N litter. Okay. Who will you be?"

The tail wagged again.

"You're such a great guy. Even
after a couple of masters, you're still an optimist. So what should we call
you?"

On the big screen was a news update
being given during the halftime break in the game. The anchor talked about
Oprah Winfrey's contribution to South Africa. She recently provided over forty
million dollars to develop a school for girls, and the news showed pictures of
the opening ceremony. Smitty watched as Nelson Mandela, the revered leader of
his people and Nobel Prize winner, helped Oprah cut the ribbon for the opening
of the wonderful new school.