Another dog, one who seems well-suited to me, is here. One dog, a dog who isn’t with me anymore, who wasn’t quite suited to work with me, is somewhere else. Astra sleeps at my feet through the whole thing.ĭay Thirteen: I am grieving. When the time comes to load into the vans, our instructor plays “pump you up” music to get us ready for the darkness, but instead we are prevented from the walk by a glorious thunderstorm that washes the windows clean and brightens the world with a white light. When we’re finished, we sit in a Starbucks while everyone else practices their routes – and I feel normal. He sits at each downcurb, and we do treats often and consistently to show him where we will go at night. My instructor and I teach Astra our route. Our first route is so smooth it feels like I’m walking on air.ĭay Twelve: Tonight is supposed to be the night walk. He licks my face and bounces a foot in the air to reach it when we’re not on the floor together. My heart thuds in my chest, my breath catches in my throat, but I stay upright, fighting against the undertow.ĭay Eleven: There is another dog in my room. Maybe this will work out after all.ĭay Ten: I am almost swept off my feet by the current of my Labrador surging forward in a harness. More crying as we successfully make a route back to the lounge. Juno and I get up and down the escalators safely. One mistake and the dog’s paw can be damaged for months. This has to work.ĭay Nine: Escalators are terrifying. What if I can’t get him to focus consistently? What if I have to wait for another dog, another year with a cane? I can’t go back. I can barely breathe through the fear that this won’t work. They come from somewhere I didn’t even know was there, like a flash flood. Do you ever have all these feelings that you didn’t know were there until, like a surge flood, they all burst out of you in one single moment? That’s lunchtime. Will he be able to continue?ĭay Eight: Lunchtime. After a while, my classmates and I figure out one of our number hasn’t been seen in a while. Their hurried footsteps echo down the halls. There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do but to sit in my room and cuddle this dog who I already love so much, or be in the student lounge playing endless rounds of Uno.Īt 7 p.m., the instructors disappear. I heel mine up and down the hallways of the school, practicing the technique we’ve been taught. How will I ever get where I need to with this dog at my side? Is it me? Am I just bad at this? Or is it him?ĭay Seven: Sunday, we don’t have assigned tasks. Every snowbank is a sniffing distraction, every doorway a temptation to veer off our course down the center of the sidewalk. Every block has been filled with frustration. I am crying, with a Labrador in my lap trying to lick up my tears. Patrick’s Day Parade is setting up behind me. We aren’t supposed to compare the dogs to each other, but I can tell some of the other dogs lie straight ahead, waiting for the next command, their black and yellow bodies like smears of ink, the head-shaped blob pointed in the right direction.ĭay Six: It is 11:30 a.m. All the dogs snap to our sides when we call “heel”, but mine slides diagonally in front of my feet when I put him into a down, snoot pointing to the treat pouch on my hip. This short walk my instructor allows tells me that I’ve made the right decision.ĭay Five: It is 6 a.m. My steps are smooth and rapid and, even though my lungs protest, it feels amazing. It’s hard to explain, but it feels a bit like skating on fresh ice, or skiing down fresh powder. I cough, my entire torso seizing as the cold air releases inside of my chest, but being outside with Juno is like nothing else. He sits on my lap and cuddles and my heart grows about sixteen sizes.ĭay Four: Did I mention that I came into class with the tail end of bronchitis? It is bitterly cold and my lungs burn with each breath. He is big, and has black fur that is long and shaggy and goes everywhere. We range from first-time guide dog handlers (like me) to someone who has worked a guide dog for forty years, but we all have one thing in common: we’re excited to find out which one of the dogs we worked with today will be ours.ĭay Three: Dog Day. No one is the same.ĭay Two: “These are young, foolish Labradors,” one instructor says, as she addresses twelve eager humans. This is the emotional arc of that experience, from day one to day twenty.ĭay One: As my classmates trickle in, my lifelong belief that there is no one kind of blindness is reinforced. I would eat, sleep, breathe, and even use the bathroom with a dog not more than 3 feet from me at all times. On February 22nd, I made the decision to drop everything in my life and make the biggest change I’d made since getting married.įor three weeks, I’d live on campus and train with the dog who had been selected for me.
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