Together (12 page)

"I think
so," Brenden said, not really getting it.

Smitty could
see the obvious puzzlement on the young man's face. "Don't worry about
it," he said. "Let's just try one. The curb is about twenty yards
from here in a straight line, so let's walk up to it. Here we go. Give me the
command forward."

"What
should I call you?" Brenden asked. "Should I just say, 'Forward,
dog'?"

"No. Use
my name, and give the name first. Say, 'Smitty, forward.'"

Brenden
laughed. "This is great. I'm finally in control."

"That's
exactly right," Smitty said, touching Brenden's shoulder. "That's
exactly what we want. By the end of this month, we want you to be able to
control your dog because the dog wants to work for you. Now give me the
command."

Brenden took
the handle of the harness. "Smitty, forward."

The man
stepped out at a brisk pace, snapping the harness with aggressive forward
pressure. Brenden was forced to keep up. As they reached the curb, Smitty
stopped abruptly enough that Brenden stepped over the edge. Smitty's free hand
flashed out, protecting the blind man from falling.

"You
see," he said. "I told you. The dog will come up to the edge of that
curb smartly. You have to be alert. Let's try it again."

The next time
Brenden stopped perfectly with his toes square to the line of the crossing.

"Okay,"
Smitty said. "Now give me the command again."

"Smitty,
forward," Brenden said. But as they crossed, the trainer purposely slowed.
Brenden was not feeling pressure in the harness.

"Encourage
me," Smitty said. "Encourage me to pick up the pace. Sometimes dogs
are afraid when they make a crossing with a new person. Tell me to hop
up—that's the command they all know—and use my name. Come on, Brenden, encourage
me."

Brenden
laughed. "Okay. Hop up, Smitty, let's go, boy. Come on. Hop up."

"Remember,
name first."

"Smitty,
hop up."

The trainer
picked up the pace and arrived, stepping up the curb an instant before Brenden
did and stopping.

"Brenden,
the dogs are trained to put their front feet on the curb to let you know that
you're going to be stepping up. After a while, they won't do that—I mean, when
you go out into the world. You'll just make the crossing, and the dog will
learn to just give you a feel for pause as they step up. That's part of the
nuance that we talked about: the seasoning, when the dog begins to read you as
much as you read him."

As they
walked along the next block, Smitty talked to Brenden about the different kinds
of curbs he would encounter.

"Not all
curbs are straight. You may remember from the time you were sighted. Sometimes
curbs are rounded. Those are much harder to grasp for the student, and you have
to trust your dog to line you up squarely to the direction you want to go.
Then, there are the wheelchair ramp curbs. Those can be really tricky because
the dogs tend to stop early at the top of the ramp rather than taking you all
the way to the edge of the curb. There's also what we call flush curbs. You
encounter these in a parking garage or an alley, and the break is not really a
curb. It's just sort of a space in the street. The dogs understand these
things, but very often masters force the animal over the edge, and sometimes
the dogs start to take these kinds of crossings for granted. You'll really have
to use your ears and be aware of what you're doing, most particularly listening
to traffic. This work takes concentration, Brenden, a lot of concentration, but
the rewards are worth every bit of effort you'll put into becoming a good
team."

Brenden
couldn't help but be touched by Smitty's enthusiasm, and that glimpse of hope
that he felt on the way to the guide dog school once again made a fleeting
appearance.

"Okay,"
Smitty went on, "when we get to this curb and I stop, we're going to make
a lateral crossing. To do that, I want you to give me the command, 'Smitty,
around,' and then step back and allow me to move up to the curb on your left.
Do you understand?"

"Yes, I
get it, Smitty," Brenden said.

"Okay,
here comes the curb."

Brenden
stopped perfectly and gave the trainer the command for around, lining up for
the north/south crossing. The pair did it very well.

"Nice
job, Brenden," Smitty said. "You have potential."

Over the next
three hours, the pair worked on walking through the door of a building, finding
an elevator, and searching out an empty chair in a crowded restaurant. After
the lunch break, Smitty talked about how to correct a dog when the animal makes
a mistake.

He did this
with a vivid demonstration. He and Brenden came up to a curb, and Smitty
stepped right out without pausing, causing Brenden to trip slightly

"Drop
the harness," he said, "and take the leash in both hands. Now, jerk
the choke chain until it tightens as you tell the animal no."

Brenden
practiced this three or four times, once using the phrase
bad
dog
along
with the word
no.

"Don't
ever say that," Smitty said. "The dogs are never bad. They are just
wrong. You never want to do anything to break the animal's sense of self-worth.
It's critical that they feel as good about themselves as you feel about your
success as their working partner."

Brenden was
surprised at how much there was to learn, and reluctantly he had to admit to
himself that he actually enjoyed the experience. He couldn't help but
appreciate Smitty's ability, and he found that he really liked the guy's
company. Smitty was a teacher, and Brenden always respected those who knew more
about things than he did.

In the
afternoon the work was repeated, but this time Brenden was introduced to the
simulator. This four-wheeled contraption, designed in Denmark, allowed the men
to attach the harness to the vehicle, and the trainer walked behind, creating
momentum by pushing the odd-looking contraption forward. This was important,
because now the student had open space in front of him without the instructor
there as a buffer.

By the end of
the second day of class, Brenden and Smitty had covered virtually all of San
Rafael's downtown area, and even an athlete like Brenden had to admit he did
have sore feet. He couldn't believe Jimmy, the old guy. His enthusiasm was
catching as he held court during dinner the second evening.

"Okay,
everybody," he said, the passion obvious in his delivery. "One more
day of this Juno crap, and we will meet our dogs. Tomorrow night, boys and
girls, we get to know man's best friend."

"You
mean your only friend, don't ya, Jimmy?" Lorraine never let up on him.

The old man
led the laughter. "You're just upset, Lorraine, because we didn't fall in
love years ago. Maybe it's not too late."

Brenden heard
something whizz through the air—did Lorraine actually throw a roll? Judging
from the soft thud and Jimmy's laughter, Lorraine had apparently hit her
target.

"I don't
think you're blind, Lorraine," Jimmy said. "That's much too fine a
shot. Maybe I should have fallen in love with you. That probably would have
been the best thing that ever happened to you."

Lorraine
sighed. "Oh brother." But there was a smile in her voice, and
everyone at the table, including Brenden, could feel it.

After dinner,
students were separated out to have one-on-one interviews with their trainers.
The class of twelve was divided into four groups of three, with four
instructors assigned, and as the evening went on, gradually trainers invited
students to join them in a quiet room for a one-on-one talk.

Actually, all
of the instructors evaluated the students over the course of the first couple
of days. But now it was time to try and put the pieces together, allowing
trainers to create the people/animal matches that would lead to wonderful life
fulfillment for both.

Smitty talked
through a few details on Brenden's application.

"Well,
Brenden, I see from your application that you're very much an outdoorsman and
that you love sports. Did you play many sports in high school and
college?"

"Yeah,"
Brenden said, his face taking on a dark expression. "Yeah, I played
everything—quarterback on the football team, captain of the baseball team,
point guard on the basketball team.

And then
there was skiing and hiking. Most particularly"—he paused—"most
particularly, mountain climbing."

Smitty jumped
in, understanding. "That's where you got hurt, wasn't it, Brenden?"

"That's
how I went blind, you mean," Brenden said. "Okay," Smitty said,
"that's how you went blind. So?" "So, everything," Brenden
said. "That's how I became"—this time, the words poured
out—"that's how I became handicapped, or—what do they like to call it
now?—disabled or challenged?"

"But
that's not why you're here," Smitty said. "You're here to gain the
independence, or maybe I should say the interdependence, that comes when you
fall in love and share your life with a friend—a furry one, for sure, but
you'll never have a better, more loving pal. And by the way, dogs are the
ultimate chick magnet. The women flock to a good-looking dog. You'll never be
short on dates. Do you have a girl?"

"I had
one," Brenden said quietly. "I don't know anymore."
"Well," Smitty put in immediately, "when you bring a pooch home,
she's going to love you both. The fastest way to a girl's heart is to hook her
up with a Lab, a golden, or a shepherd. Wait and see."

Brenden found
himself getting a little fed up with this whole sanctimonious idea that if you
had a dog everything would be just peachy-keen.

"Listen,"
he said, "you make it seem as if the dogs make everything just hunky-dory.
I mean, if you have a dog, life is perfect."

"I
didn't say that," Smitty said. "Remember when we were working today
and you tripped over curbs, and a couple of times I let you thump into bushes,
and then there was the door that nearly hit you in the head. There will be a
lot of that when you get your dog, because even though we've poured our hearts
and souls into these animals, they are as new at this work as you are, and each
of you will have to decide to invest in the other. That's what all of this is
about, Brenden, a mutual investment in each other."

Both men were
quiet.

"I don't
know if I want all that," Brenden finally said. "I don't know if I
want the responsibility, and I don't know if I really want to try that hard to
be good at this."

"Well,"
Smitty said, not hiding the sarcasm, "what's the alternative? A cane? You
already told me you hated the stick. Or just hanging out in your house, letting
your mother take care of you?"

"Shut
up," Brenden said. "That's not fair. I've only been blind a little
while."

Smitty
softened. "I know that, Brenden. I really do know that, but I swear, if
you give the dog and me a chance, we'll give you the greatest gift in the
world."

"What's
that?" Brenden asked, leaning forward in his chair, interested in the
answer.

"Freedom,"
Smitty said. "Wonderful, blessed freedom."

Brenden
thought about that as he lay in his bed later that night. He thought about how
much he really wanted freedom, how much he really wanted to feel alive. Again,
there was that faint glimmer of hope, like a butterfly flitting around in his
stomach. Was the trainer right? Could he love an animal? Was freedom possible?

At about the same time,
Smitty also lay awake, thinking
his own thoughts. Was this the guy he wanted for Nelson? Had he found the
person who could make it happen with the energetic black Lab? It would be
risky, he considered. What if Brenden cracked, folding up like a cheap suit at
the animal's intensity? What if he went home, beaten, and Nelson was forced to
return to the kennel one more time? Could the dog handle defeat? How many times
could he think he had found the right master and then experience rejection
without being shattered?

Smitty knew
that animals have delicate psyches, just as people do, and he understood
completely that Nelson had just about come to the end of his capacity for
failed experiments. The next two weeks would tell him a lot, and he found
himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep as he considered what would happen
when the man and the dog began their odyssey tomorrow evening.