Authors: Tom Sullivan,Betty White
The
butterflies were back in his stomach as Brenden took a deep breath.
My
maiden voyage,
he thought.
It'll probably be like the
Titanic.
"Okay,"
he said. "Nelson, forward."
The animal
turned his head to look at Smitty, first questioning and then taking on an
expression of profound sadness.
I know, boy,
Smitty thought.
You've been through this twice before, but it has
to work out this time, Nelson. It has to work with this guy.
"Again,
Brenden," Smitty said, determined. "Tell him forward again."
Brenden
repeated the command. "Nelson, forward."
Again the big
dog's eyes found his trainer, forcing Smitty to look away. Knowing what he had
to do, the trainer reached out and gave the animal a sharp tap on the shoulder.
"Tell
him again, Brenden," Smitty said. "This time be even firmer."
Brenden did
as he was told. "Nelson, forward."
With one more
look of resignation to his trainer, the dog moved out smartly, and for the
first time Brenden felt the excitement of moving through space with the animal
tracking in a perfectly straight line.
Smitty
dropped back a few steps, and when he did, the dog's head turned to follow him,
still hoping, even though he kept moving down the street.
"Brenden,"
Smitty told the new handler, "correct your dog and say, 'No,
straight.'"
The big dog
understood he had been corrected. He still wanted to work for Trainer. That's
who he loved. But the man held the leash and the harness, and the animal had
been conditioned to always obey the harness. Discipline took over. Nelson
settled down and began to show Brenden why Smitty believed that this dog was
the best he had ever trained.
Over the next
hour they moved up and down the straight street, gaining confidence with every
pass. For the first time, Brenden was in a good mood as they joined the others
for dinner that evening. He actually engaged in conversation and found that
some of the students were people he really enjoyed.
People,
he thought.
These
are real people. They're blind, but their hopes and dreams and feelings are
just like everyone else's.
The conversations ranged from sports to politics,
music to good books, but inevitably came back to the commonality of disability
and dogs. Brenden was surprised to learn how many different jobs were
represented in this class.
There was
Alberto, a Puerto Rican American who lost his sight through retinitis
pigmentosa and was now living in
Boston
working as a computer programmer for a major software company.
Lorraine was
a social worker, spending her life making a difference for senior citizens
struggling to adjust to disability.
Jimmy had
been a schoolteacher. "Imagine that," he told Brenden. "I taught
public school for thirty-five years, most of it with a dog in the classroom.
You think I was popular?"
Suzanne was a
homemaker with three children. Eddie Harrison was a piano tuner who made his
rounds using public transportation, taxis, and, most importantly, his dog to
make a good living. There were a couple of musicians and a fascinating guy
named Mark West, who was a trial attorney.
As Brenden
listened, he wondered what he would do with his life. It was much too soon to
know, but after the terrific day he'd just had with Nelson, he began to look at
the possibilities with new eyes.
My life could be worthwhile
, he thought. Maybe he would
find a reason to believe living could be worth it.
Nelson had been through
all
of this
before. In the beginning there had been a family with two little kids he loved
to play with when he was a puppy. Then Smitty had been his master. He loved
Smitty. Then he had been given to another man and after that to Man and Lady.
He did the job, but he had been with none of them long enough to care about
them. And now he took commands from this new guy, who smelled different from
the others, who felt different when he held the harness, who commanded him
differently and patted him differently.
The confusion
and sadness showed in his eyes and in the way he always tried to search out
Smitty whenever everyone was together. He couldn't understand. Why was he going
through all this again? He was an unhappy black Lab, and what he wanted was to
be with Smitty.
Another day
ended with the man going to sleep and the big dog staying awake long into the
night.
He knew it
was wrong, but he decided to chew on the socks Brenden had left on the floor.
His anxiety, along with his sense of frustration, made him restless and uneasy,
and he just had to have something to bite on.
After the
socks came the soft patent leather of Brenden's expensive loafers and then a
flannel shirt that was one of the man's favorites. A warm breeze blew through the
open window, and Nelson registered the sound of a car passing by on the main
road just outside the campus. His animal brain connected
car
with
go.
But where?
It registered.
To Smitty.
He needed to go to Smitty, and
the need was impossible to fight. Placing his paws on the windowsill and
looking out, he made a dog's uncanny assessment that if he jumped he could land
on some bushes and then continue with a leap to the ground.
Okay, go!
The screen crashed, and the big dog landed perfectly
on the bushes and then on the ground. Shaking once, he trotted off—a black dog
on a dark night in search of his master, in search of Smitty.
The crash of
the screen jolted Brenden awake. Struggling to understand the sound, he
remained still for a moment, waiting to see if some other kind of catastrophe
would follow.
Soon he
decided he was safe and remembered that he wasn't alone. "Hey, fur ball,
are you okay?" he called.
There was no
response anywhere in the room. Brenden tried again.
"Nelson.
Come here, Nelson. Are you all right?"
Again there
was no response, and Brenden climbed out of bed, not really worried but
certainly curious. Not knowing his room very well and being newly blind, he
moved slowly, his hands groping in front of him as he widened his circle. After
finding no dog, his feet kicked—what was it? Reaching down, he was surprised to
discover—what? The heel of. . .
"Oh
no," he said out loud. "The heel of my shoe. My loafers."
Now crawling
along the floor, it didn't take him long to discover the rest of the damage—his
shirt, socks, and his shoes all chewed into pieces.
Feeling the
air moving through his window and following the breeze, he came to the window,
felt the broken frame of the screen, and figured it out. Nelson was gone,
probably to Smitty, he reasoned.
"Well,
good riddance," muttered Brenden, pitching the ruined shoe across the
room. "I can't tell anybody about this until morning anyway, so I'm going
back to bed. Good riddance, you destructive fur ball."
Dawn was breaking in the
east, and Smitty was dreaming—something
about Tahiti, swaying palms, and hula girls— when his sleep was disturbed by a
sound that he recognized immediately. An animal scratched at his door, and not
just scratching but demanding to be let in.
He stepped
into his slippers, turned on the light, and crossed his living room and opened
the door. He was almost knocked flat as Nelson burst in crying and yipping to
express the joy, relief, and love that poured from his heart. He had found
Smitty.
"Okay,
Nelson, okay," the trainer said. "How did you get here, boy, and what
kind of trouble are we in now?"
After giving
the dog some water, Harold Smith showered and dressed, even though he didn't
have to be up for another couple of hours. It was only thirty minutes later when
the dog and trainer arrived at the school. None of the other trainers had shown
up, and people were just beginning to stir as Smitty pulled his car into the
parking lot and got out. He and Nelson went right to Brenden's room and knocked
softly. When there was no response, he tried again more firmly.
"Go
away," the voice said from inside, "and take Mr. Destruction with
you."
"Come
on, Brenden," Smitty said. "Open the door. Let me see if I can
help."
"Go
away," Brenden said again. "I'm not interested in you or your
dog."
"Open
up, man," Smitty said more forcefully, "or I'll get a master key. We
have a responsibility to every student and animal to keep you safe, and I need
to know what went on in there."
Slowly, the
door opened, and Smitty saw the damage.
"Oh
brother," he said. "You've really done it this time, Nelson."
The trainer
crossed the room in three long strides, placing his hand on Brenden's shoulder.
"First of all, pal—"
"Don't
call me pal," Brenden interrupted. "We're not pals. We don't even
know each other."
"All
right," Smitty said, taking a deep breath while Nelson settled on the
floor, not even considering that he had done anything wrong. "Okay, Mr.
McCarthy, you should know that the school will replace anything that's damaged.
It happens sometimes when our animals are going through withdrawal. The
changeover isn't easy." Smitty couldn't help himself. "Especially
when the dogs sense that the new person doesn't want them."
"Well,
isn't he bright?" Brenden said sarcastically. "To figure that out?"
Smitty pulled
on his memory. "Look, you told me that the reason you are here is to get
back your independence. Is that right?"
Brenden
considered and then answered grudgingly, "Yeah, that's right. I want to be
independent."
"Then
let me tell you something," Smitty said. "This dog can give that to
you faster than any other method available. You've already experienced what it
feels like when you're working together. I think you ought to give it a little
time before you make any snap decisions. You know, the easy way out is just to
feel sorry for yourself and figure that it's another bad break on the rocky
road to living. If you want to get back to freedom and to normal life, this dog
will give you the best chance."
Brenden sat
quietly, thinking about what he'd just heard, thinking about Lindsey and
independence.
"Okay,"
he said. "Okay. Let's see what happens, but get the screen fixed, and get
me some money for the stuff your fur ball destroyed."
"Yes,
sir, Mr. McCarthy," Smitty said, a touch of sarcasm in his own voice.
Over the next three
days,
Brenden and Nelson worked on curbs and turns. Nelson performed perfectly. The
dog was matchless in his ability to move Brenden smartly up to a curb with the
man's feet set squarely on the line that would take them across the street with
accuracy and safety. When they reached the other side, Nelson consistently
stopped with his front feet on the up curb until Brenden gave the signal to
step up. Smitty explained that later, when they went out into the real world,
it would be easy for Brenden to teach the animal not to stop, but just to pause
on the up curb.
This actually
happened on the second day because, unlike the other dogs, Nelson had already
been out in the field. An instinct took over. Smitty couldn't help but be proud
of the animal, and because Brenden was athletic he chose to let this particular
discipline slide.
They also
worked on left and right turns, with the young man learning to follow his dog
closely. When it came to stairs, the dog had to learn not to move down the
steps too quickly. It was important that the pace be steady, with the harness
pressure not too extreme, which would cause the master to lose his balance.
This was hard for all the dogs because it meant they had to maintain their own
balance without resorting to sort of jumping down the steps.
Up to this
point, all the trainers worked in close proximity to student and dog, sometimes
moving a couple of steps ahead to encourage the animal's work, sometimes
walking on the outside of the dog to help the animal maintain a straight line,
and sometimes dropping back a few steps when the work was going well. In
general, Nelson maintained the quality of his work without looking to Smitty
for support.
Sunday came
around at the end of the first week, and the students had a day off. Smitty was
pleased to write in his training report that Nelson seemed to be accepting
Brenden as a handler. The concern was that Brenden did not yet seem committed
to accepting his new life with the animal.
"I
hope," Smitty wrote, "that this will correct itself during week two.
If it doesn't, I believe this candidate may not qualify as a graduate of the
program."
Now the class
moved into the next stage of training. During this period, the trainers
introduced independent travel. Students and their dogs were trained to
accomplish various outings around San Rafael.
First, in a
planned environment, the team walked the same route a number of times, with the
trainer expanding the distance at his discretion. The instructors encouraged
independent travel, and they gave the new dog/person teams a set of destinations
to reach on their own.
This was
where the team had to begin to trust each other, and it was that element that
worried Smitty very much when he considered the readiness of Nelson and
McCarthy.
As he noted
in the report, in the early stages they seemed to do okay because the route was
simple. After leaving the lounge they would turn left on Fourth Street and
follow it one block to D, where they would cross and make a right turn to the
curb so that they would be, once again, facing Fourth Street.
When the
traffic was clear, they'd cross and continue south to Third. Turning left, they
would then walk down Third Street to C, and depending on how the team felt,
they would continue two more blocks to A, where they would turn left, cross,
and return to Fourth—basically walking a square grid.
Brenden had a
distinct advantage over many of the other students because, though he didn't
know it, he worked with a dog that had done this many times before. Like all
the animals, Nelson's memory was photographic, and patterning was an element
that all good guide dogs brought to the job.
Consequently,
Brenden found himself feeling a sense of accomplishment during this elementary
period of training. He also found himself having conversations with many of the
other students about coping with blindness. He became interested as he learned
that the group seemed to be divided when it came to the basic discussion of who
had it tougher: people who were born blind and had grown up that way or those
who lost their sight through illness or an accident.
He was sure
that people like him must find it more difficult, but he was surprised when he
found out that both groups believed they were the lucky ones. The people who
had been born blind talked about how they had grown up learning to cope with
the disability, while the people who had lost their sight in later years talked
about how much it meant to have visual concepts in their heads.
Old Jimmy
made a real impression on him when he said he hated the fact that over the
years, he had lost his perception of some colors.
"I just
can't remember purple," he told Brenden. "I can't pull in the picture
anymore, and I don't remember my daughter's beautiful eyes. It's just been too
many years. I can't keep the image in my head."
Brenden
wondered if that's how it would be for him. How long would he be able to
remember the gold of the aspens in the fall? How long would he remember
Lindsey's exquisite face and form? The idea of forgetting those glories made
him sad and angry. And yet, something inside him—something fundamental to his
character—made him remember old Jimmy and how much he had lost.
Casually, the
young man dropped an arm over the old man's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jimmy,"
he said. "I really am sorry. It's gotta be tough when you lose the colors,
but think about how many people you've touched over the years. I mean, as a
teacher and a husband and a father."
Jimmy smiled.
"Now, don't go soft on me, kid. I figured you for a tough guy."
"Not
that tough." Brenden shrugged. "Not that tough at all, Jimmy."
By the middle of the
second week, Smitty allowed
more and more space between Brenden, Nelson, and himself. He dropped back
farther and farther when Brenden walked the route and hid in doorways to keep
himself out of Nelson's sight line. No matter how hard he tried, however, the
big black Lab always seemed to know where he was. He chuckled, remembering how
keen the animal's senses were.
You just can't hide from a dog
that wants to find you
, Smitty reminded himself.
Brenden had
begun to freelance on the routes, being given the opportunity to enter stores,
make purchases, and develop a sense of early independence.
All in all,
Smitty thought,
things do seem to be going well. But I still feel
there's something missing, and I think it's love.
The route was
one they had walked before. Certainly, they were in an area that Nelson knew
very well. Smitty moved across the street to take up a position in the doorway
of a hardware store. As he watched, he saw the problem coming at about the same
time the big dog did.
Ahead was a
new construction area that the team would have to pass, and the street was torn
up to install new sewer lines. Men were working in hard hats with jackhammers,
making it impossible to hear anything else. Smitty made one of those
instinctive decisions based on his years of training. He decided to let the
young man and the dog work out the problem. Frankly, he wasn't sure about
Brenden, but he trusted the seasoning that Nelson had been given in the field,
and predictably the dog made exactly the correct choice.
As he and
Brenden moved closer to the sound, the animal slowed, maintaining harness
pressure but easing his master away from the building to the outside of the
sidewalk.
Smitty
couldn't see exactly what was ahead of them, but Nelson did. A gaping hole in
the concrete made it almost impossible to get through the area, and so the dog
came to a stop, looking up at Brenden as if to say, "We need help."
Brenden felt
cocky. Things had gone very well over the last few days, and he hated the sound
of the jackhammers. Should he turn around and retrace his steps or try to carry
out the assignment? He made an aggressive decision.
"Nelson,
forward," he said. The dog didn't move. "Nelson, forward," he
commanded in a much firmer voice. Again the dog refused. There are moments in
life when the human psyche is strung as tight as a bowstring—any vibration, any
jarring, and the tension must be released.
Brenden
snapped, breaking every rule of affection-based training. Brendan dropped the
harness and used the leash with three violent pulls on the choking chain,
causing the dog to drop to the ground.