Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul

by Jack Canfield

  Meeting Abacus inspired me to start looking for a house to buy instead of continuing to rent. Soon we found a nice rural home with acreage at an affordable price. I applied to adopt Abacus, and we were able to celebrate his third birthday by bringing him home with us a few weeks later.

  Life with Abacus required a few adjustments. I learned daily therapeutic exercises for his hind legs, and how to get his strong, wiggly body into his wheelchair (called a K-9 cart) by myself. His castle, when I am not home, is a special padded room with a comfy mattress and lots of blankets and washable rugs. Often, I wrap his paralyzed legs in gauze bandages to help protect them from the abrasions he gets from dragging them on the floor or from the uncontrollable muscle spasms that occur in his hindquarters.

  When Abacus is inside the house but out of his cart, he scoots around using his strong, muscular front legs. At times he can support his hind legs for a while, which looks a bit like a donkey kicking and occasionally causes him to knock things down as he maneuvers around the house. But when he is in his K-9 cart, Abacus can run like the wind. We have to supervise our canine Evel Knievel in his cart since he can tip it over and get stuck when taking curves too fast.

  Even though he requires extra care, I have never thought of Abacus as a burden. Living with him is a privilege. Enthusiastic about everything, he treats strangers like long-lost friends. And as much as he loves food, he loves cuddles even more. His zest for life inspires me, as well as others who meet him. Some people who see him feel pity for his challenges, but I always point out that he is not depressed or daunted by his differentness. I am sure if Abacus could speak, he would say that special-needs dogs can live happy, full lives and can enrich the lives of their adopters as much as—if not more than—a “normal” dog can.

  The main reason I adopted Abacus was because I wanted to give him the comfort and security of a forever home, but in addition to that, I felt that he could help me give encouragement to others. A principle I have always lived by was shaped by part of an Emily Dickinson poem I learned as a child:

  If I can ease one life the aching

  Or cool one pain,

  Or help one fainting robin

  Unto his nest again,

  I shall not live in vain.

  I only wish my brother could have known Abacus. For although animal-assisted therapy is not a cure-all, I believe a seed of hope can be planted in the heart of a physically, mentally or emotionally challenged child—or adult—when he sees a special-needs animal living a full and happy life in a loving home.

  To spread this hope, I worked with Abacus to train him to become a certified therapy dog. After passing an evaluation this year, Abacus has begun visiting a school for special children. My employers at Farm Sanctuary—an organization that understands the mutual healing power that people and animals share—graciously grant me permission to take time off work for these twice-monthly weekday visits. Abacus looks forward to these excursions and always wows the kids (and teachers) with his bouncy “Tigger-like” personality. On occasion, his visiting attire includes his snazzy Super Dog cape that flies behind him as he zooms around in his wheelchair. Abacus always leaves happiness in his wake.

  Living with a special-needs animal isn’t for everyone, but it is a rare treat for those who choose to take it on. In fact, my experience with Abacus has inspired me to adopt a number of other special-needs animals over the years. All of them have more than repaid my investment of time and energy by being constant positive reminders that life’s challenges need not be met with despair and negativity. Their love is healing, their appreciation rewarding, and their quirky personalities add priceless meaning to my life.

  Meghan Beeby

  Dog Days of School

  Teaching second grade is always a challenge. Each student arrives at school with his own needs and difficulties. One particular year a student I’ll call Billy challenged me with his behavior as well as his academic requirements. He struggled daily with his overpowering emotions and often became angry—sometimes even violent. I knew that in order to make academic progress, his emotional outbursts needed to be controlled.

  One way I tried to help Billy was to have him come directly into the classroom when he arrived at school, rather than playing on the playground. Billy liked the extra attention before school, and I could make sure his school day started out on a positive note. I also found that when Billy came to the classroom early, he avoided the usual playground fights and arguments caused by his volatile temper.

  Oftentimes Billy’s mom would call me to alert me to a particularly emotional morning at home. On those mornings, I would focus on defusing his anger and calming him down before the other students arrived. Billy’s mother loved him and wanted desperately for him to improve and do well. As the weeks passed, home communication, firm boundaries, and love and care were helping Billy make big strides in controlling his own behavior, yet he still lapsed now and then.

  One week our class was studying pets. I thought one way to bring hands-on learning into the classroom was to bring my dog Rocky to school for the day. Rocky is a two-year-old shih tzu. A perky, friendly creature, Rocky loves people—especially children. He was raised with my own children, so he is used to being petted, played with and snuggled. I was confident that the class would adore him, and I knew that Rocky would love all the attention from twenty eager, excited seven-year-olds.

  The morning of Rocky’s big day at school began as normal. Arriving at school early, I prepared activities focused on dog themes. Our math for the day was to measure Rocky in as many ways as we could think of. We were going to measure the length of his ears and body, his weight, and even how much water he drank. The read-aloud story I planned for the day was about a dog. I was looking forward to a fun day.

  A few minutes before I expected Billy to arrive, the phone rang. It was Billy’s mom. She was calling to tell me that he had a rough morning at home and I might need to spend some time getting him settled. As I was talking to his mom, Billy stormed into the classroom. To Billy’s surprise, Rocky immediately ran up to his new “friend,” wagging his tail. Billy knelt and Rocky licked Billy’s face, slathering him with doggy affection. Billy couldn’t resist Rocky’s charm. The little boy began giggling and laughing as his anger melted away. The happy sound of his laughter traveled through the phone line to his mother’s ears. In a quavering voice she asked me, “Is that Billy?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I brought my dog to school today, and Billy and he are getting acquainted.”

  “It sounds like Billy will be just fine,” she said, her voice filled with relief.

  I couldn’t have chosen a better day to have Rocky at the door.

  Throughout the day, Billy showed his caring and loving nature. He never left Rocky’s side and took responsibility for Rocky by feeding him, being gentle with him and even shushing the other students when Rocky took a snooze.

  Billy was known for doing anything he could to avoid reading. But on this day he found a good dog story, Clifford’s Puppy Days, and read it to Rocky. Rocky was a good listener and never minded if Billy missed a word. I marveled at the sight of Billy reading happily. My little dog was able to transform Billy’s day from one of anger and frustration, to one of joy, laughter, gentleness and unconditional love.

  That day Rocky did more than just help me with teaching; he helped to change the life of a child. After that Billy’s behavior definitely improved. For, thanks to his mom, Billy soon had a dog friend of his very own at home.

  Jean Wensink

  Raising a Star

  From the very first meeting that I attended, I knew that raising a guide-dog puppy was the project for me. My dad had other ideas. He thought the responsibilities required were too much for a sixth-grader to handle. After months of my lobbying, begging, sobbing and working my tail off to convince him, he finally agreed that I could raise a puppy. And so I began my journey as a guide-dog puppy raiser—a journey that lasted six years.

  After I turned in my ap
plication, I still had a long time to wait before a puppy would be available. In the interim I began to puppy-sit. When the dogs I cared for dug holes in the yard, I thought, Oh . . . my puppy will be different. I was in a euphoric (and definitely ignorant) state. The days seemed to pass so slowly without a puppy to raise.

  On Christmas Day, 1992, after all the presents under the tree were unwrapped, I still had the gifts in my stocking to open. I pulled candy, brushes and Silly Putty out of the overflowing stocking, but when I reached the bottom, my fingers closed around something unlike anything I had ever felt in a stocking. It was a piece of fabric. I pulled it out and saw it was a tiny green puppy jacket. Attached to the jacket was half a sheet of paper with a note written on it:

  Dear Laura,

  You will need this on January 6 when you come to get me in the Escondido Kmart.

  I am a male yellow Lab and my name begins with B.

  When I finished reading the note, I burst into tears. My puppy! I could hardly wait for the day when I would meet the newest member of my family.

  On January 6, 1993, I received my first puppy: a yellow Lab named Bennett. He was the first of a series of guide-dog puppies—Hexa, Brie, Flossie and Smidge, to name a few—that I raised over the next six years. Each of the puppies holds a special place in my heart, a place each won as soon as I saw him or her. Who could resist that small, bouncy bundle of fur placed into your arms for you to love and care for?

  I found raising guide-dog puppies to be a deeply rewarding service project, yet sometimes I wondered who was raising whom. Each one of my canine teachers imparted lessons of love, pain, separation, forgiveness and patience. Four legs and a tail motivated me to do things I would have never attempted on my own. And when you know you’ll have just 365 days to spend together, you learn to cherish each moment.

  During that year, I organized my time carefully, making sure to include all the required training, such as obedience, grooming and socialization. To help these future guide dogs acclimate to many different environments, I had to take each puppy with me just about everywhere I went, sometimes even to school! I admit that at first this special privilege was the main reason I had wanted to raise a guide-dog puppy, but the meaning of the project grew much deeper as time passed.

  The many hours I spent in public with each dog turned out to be a fraction of the time and energy I spentwith him or her at home. It’s then that the individual raiser adds his or her own personality to each dog. In my experience, it was the minute or two that I took before leaving for school or going to bed—just to stop and petmy puppy or tell him that I loved him—that created the strongest bond.

  And that love flowed both ways. Every time a puppy would jump up onto my lap and kiss me one last time for the night, I’d forget all about the unhappy manager who threw us out of the grocery store that day, the hole being dug to China in the backyard and the potty calls at three in the morning. It takes so little extra time to raise not just a well-trained dog, but a loving dog—a dog who will bring such light into a nonsighted person’s life.

  At the end of the year, it is time for the puppy to leave. The day arrives sorrowfully for me, even though she suspects nothing. The whole day I’m filled with memories of the year we spent with one another: long days at school together, hours spent swimming in the pool and cuddly moments watching TV. But the time has come for the puppy to move on, to do what I have raised her to do. Tears fill my eyes and rush down my cheeks as I say the final good-bye, then take off her leash and hand her over to her new school. Before she even leaves, I miss her, wondering if the important work I have done is worth the anguish. The squirming, brand-new puppy placed into my hands cannot be compared to her. I know I will soon be filled with the same love for this new little one, but I will never forget the one that’s leaving.

  For six long months, I wait for her weekly school reports, opening them eagerly when they arrive. Finally, she has made it: she graduates from school and is matched with a blind person.

  The long trek to San Francisco would be worth it just to catch a glimpse of her, but I usually get to spend the whole day with her and the person she will help. Before that day, I feel as if no one could deserve her love and affection, but I always change my mind as soon as I meet her new partner.

  Seeing them together, once again my perception of the project is lifted to new heights. The puppy who pulled me across the yard is now a sleek, gorgeous, grown-up dog who guides a nonsighted person across the busiest streets in America. They are no longer a human being and a dog, but a single unit that moves with more grace than a world-class ballerina. To know I have been a part of creating this team is enough to erase the last vestige of the pain of missing her. She has a new job now. She has matured from the puppy who comforted me, loved me and was my best friend, to become a guide dog: a lifeline for someone who needs her. And though a single star is missing from my sky, she has opened up a whole universe for another.

  Laura Sobchik

  Star Power

  Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.

  Colette

  “How much longer can I live with this loneliness?” Mom sighed heavily into the phone after her last remaining friend in Florida had died.

  For many years, Mom had relied on their daily conversations, filled with laughter, to nourish her soul. She clearly thrived on friendship, but it wouldn’t be easy for her to find another friend. Her days were spent homebound, caring for Dad, who rarely felt the need to talk to anyone.

  Mom’s despair gripped my heart, choking off any coherent reply. My words of encouragement felt thin and grew thinner as they traveled a phone line a thousand miles long. After hanging up, Mom’s voice continued to echo in my mind, which was devoid of answers. My thoughts seemed paralyzed, but my feet began to search for a solution as I paced around the house. Eventually, I wandered outside and looked skyward. I asked the heavens to take care of Mom’s needs. Each morning and every night, without fail, I repeated the request.

  One night after nearly twoweeks of this prayer vigil,my dog woke me to go outside. She repeatedly disturbed my sleep that night. Finally, as I opened the door for the third time, I witnessed a star shoot across the southern sky.

  Earlier that day, one of my favorite childhood songs, “When You Wish Upon a Star,” had played during a television program. The song stayed with me that afternoon as I hummed the tune over and over. Seeing the falling star, I immediately appealed to that action-packed star to deliver the answer to Mom’s needs. It felt like an exclamation point to my prayers.

  Meanwhile, down in Florida, during those same two weeks that I pleaded for answers, Mom’s thoughts turned to her dog, who had died three years prior. He had always listened to her when she had needed to talk to someone. She realized his comfort had carried her through other times of grief. A dog was definitely needed. She contacted the animal shelter about rescuing a dog, but Dad didn’t feel that they could afford the seventy-dollar adoption fee. What could she do? She had found the answer, but not the means, to improve her days. Mom drifted back into despair.

  Finally, on a Friday morning three days after the falling-star incident, Mom announced with forceful determination to Dad, “I’m taking the grocery money to get fruit, vegetables—and a dog.”

  At the animal shelter, her bubble of hope burst. All the dogs were too large for her to handle. Bewildered, she wandered through the shelter’s kennel area, searching for one small set of ears to whisper into.

  At the same time, just outside the front door of the shelter, an elderly couple stood frozen with indecision. A few weeks earlier a sweet dog had strayed into their yard. The couple had tried tirelessly, but in vain, to find the owner. They already owned a dog and were unable to keep this one. Still, they found it difficult to release her to the unknown fate that awaited her inside the building.

  Then suddenly the man went into action, telling his wife, “I’m going inside to find someone to take this dog home.”

  He walked
through the kennels, around a man petting a German shepherd and a child peering in at a Labrador retriever. His path continued until he directly faced Mom.

  He asked hopefully, “Are you looking for a dog?”

  Dispiritedly she replied “Yes, but I want a small one.”

  The man smiled warmly and replied, “Come with me. My wife is outside with your dog.”

  As Mom walked out the door, she saw the dog: a Boston terrier. She held out her hand. The dog greeted Mom with wiggles and licks. She opened her arms and the dog stepped into her heart. Mom offered to pay the couple.

  The woman laughed as she told Mom, “Payment in full is the smile on your face.”

  Mom and the couple exchanged names, handshakes and the dog they called Fancy Face.

  Later that day, Mom’s voice beamed across the miles as she phoned to tell me about her new furry friend. Mom confided that she had always wanted that breed of dog. She thought this one was perfect in every way, except for the name. I suggested that since the dog had only been called Fancy Face for a few weeks, Mom could certainly give her new dog a new name.

  Mom thought about it for a minute, then replied in an excited voice, “Well maybe I will. The dog has very nice markings but most obvious is a partial star on her forehead—”

  I broke in, “Mom, you won’t believe this!” I proceeded to tell her the story of my two-week prayer vigil with its shooting-star finale.