Penny Helps Portia Face Her Fears

by Caryn Rivadeneira

  All this time, Miguel and I practiced our commands. I got really good at “sit,” “down,” “stay,” “leave it,” “here,” “come,” “settle,” “sit pretty,” even “roll over.” And I got very popular with the kids in the neighborhood. Miguel took me for lots of walks and gave me extra pats when I sat nicely and took treats softly from the kids who always came out to pet me.

  Miguel and I also went to special training classes with other dogs. I did really well. On the last night of the class, I sat still as a statue while kids and dogs ran past me, then a lady in a wheelchair zoomed by, and balloons popped and bottles dropped all around me. I got my Canine Good Citizen badge that night. Miguel game me lots of extra treats and hugs.

  Then one day Miguel found me leaning against our fence. Melanie, the girl next door, was crying on the other side. I was just trying to listen—and to let her know I would listen. Miguel ran to get his phone. He recorded me as I shifted so Melanie could reach good places to pet me and as I snuck my paw through the fence so she could hold it.

  Miguel texted the picture to his sister.

  “I knew you were something special the day I saw you wandering in the snow,” Miguel said to me after Elisa texted back.

  That was nice to hear. I thought Miguel was something special that day too.

  CHAPTER 5

  Two days later, Elisa and Tex came over with a man named Mr. Tuttle. He was the head trainer for the Helper Hounds. Every summer, Mr. Tuttle and some of the Helper Hounds taught a summer camp for kids at the zoo where Elisa worked.

  That was the first time I ever heard of Helper Hounds. I was still just a dog from the streets, learning new things every day. And that day, I learned all about Helper Hounds. I also learned that as head trainer, Mr. Tuttle decided which dogs got to go to Helper Hounds University, and then which dogs got to graduate and become actual Helper Hounds.

  I could tell from Miguel’s jittery hands and jittery laugh that Mr. Tuttle was important.

  Good news: When you have relied on the kindness of strangers most of your life like I did, everyone is important and you treat everybody that way. So, “important” people never make me nervous.

  I went right up and licked Mr. Tuttle’s hand hello. When he said “sit,” I sat. When he motioned for me to “come,” I came. When he put me in a stay and started doing jumping jacks, I tilted my head at the weird man, but I stayed put.

  Mr. Tuttle said I was a very good girl.

  “I heard other dogs could be a problem with her,” Mr. Tuttle said while watching me and Tex sniff each other’s behinds.

  “They were at first,” Miguel said. “Who knows what she had to deal with on the street. But Penny has relaxed now. I wouldn’t apply if I thought dog aggression was an issue.”

  Miguel’s voice came out higher than normal. Still nervous, I guess.

  “She does seem fine with Tex,” Mr. Tuttle said. “Elisa? What do you think?”

  While Elisa talked about my finer points, about how calm I was around people and how relaxed kids were around me, I decided to give myself a bit of a bath. I sat and stretched my back leg high in the air. That’s the best way to freshen the leg pits. But I must’ve stretched a little too high because before I knew it, I tumbled back. Right onto Tex.

  Tex had been freshening up himself. So he didn’t see me coming at all. As soon as my body hit his, his head jerked back and his upper lip pulled back. He showed me all his teeth. I have to admit: It was scary. Miguel, Elisa, and Mr. Tuttle stopped talking. All eyes turned on us.

  But Miguel had taught me well. I looked right at Miguel and picked myself up. Tex just went back to licking.

  “Impressive,” Mr. Tuttle said. “She is definitely relaxed.”

  Mr. Tuttle knelt down next to me. “Congratulations, Ms. Penny,” Mr. Tuttle said. “We look forward to seeing you next semester at Helper Hounds University.”

  Elisa said, “Yay!” And Miguel got down to hug me.

  I just kept on with my bath.

  Long story short: Helper Hounds University was a lot of fun. I learned lots of new tricks and got lots of treats. Most of them for just lying around. We visited schools and hospitals. We flew on airplanes and rode on trains. We went up elevators and down escalators. We met cats and horses and lots and lots of people.

  Other dogs won awards for sitting the quickest or staying the longest. My only award was for the best “settle.” I’d settle so well, I’d fall asleep. I still do, as you know. It’s a gift.

  Anyway, I graduated at the end of the semester and got my red vest, my red leash, and my ID card. From street dog to Helper Hound in less than a year. What a life!

  But now, let’s get back to Portia.

  CHAPTER 6

  Portia’s neighborhood looked a lot like ours. Rows of three-family-flats lined the block. Every once in a while, a single-family home snuck in. Some were bungalows like the one Miguel and I lived in. Others were tall thin “Victorians” with front porches and loopy woodwork. Miguel called those houses “Gingerbread.” It sounded yummy. I hoped Portia lived in one of those. But instead, we pulled up in front of a gray, stone “three-flat” with bulging bay windows and a steep front stoop. The roof looked like a crown. Miguel called it a “parapet,” which sounded fun.

  People must’ve known we were coming. As soon as Miguel turned off the engine, kids ran toward the car.

  “Portia!” a boy yelled. “The Helper Hounds are here!”

  I put my front feet on the window and wagged my tail—right into Miguel’s face—as he reached to straighten my vest and grab our backpack.

  Miguel grabbed my leash and I followed him out his door. The kids formed a semi-circle as we approached.

  They all smiled at me. I smiled back. My tail wagged and wagged.

  “Can we pet her?” a boy asked.

  “Sure,” Miguel said. “Just don’t crowd her. Penny doesn’t really mind. But lots of dogs hate that.”

  A few of them gathered around and pet me hello. Miguel pointed out the best places on my back to pet me.

  “Thanks for the warm welcome,” Miguel said. “This is Penny.”

  “We know,” another girl said. “We saw her picture online. She was at that fire.”

  “That’s right,” Miguel said. “Penny and a few of her friends from Helper Hounds University hung out with some folks after their apartment building burned down. It was really sad. Penny was glad to help.”

  The kids pet and pet and pet me. I rolled over so they could scratch my belly. That made one little girl giggle non-stop.

  “I hate to interrupt all the love,” Miguel said.

  “But we’re here to see Portia. Are any of you Portia?”

  Miguel smiled and scanned the crowd. I sat up and did the same. My tail swept the sidewalk.

  The kids stepped back and pointed. One girl stood on the front walk. Her hands dug deep into her pockets. The girl looked up at a woman who leaned against a huge cement planter at the top of the stoop. The woman smiled and nodded at Portia.

  Portia pulled a hand from her pocket and waved. “I’m Portia,” she said.

  I stood up. My tail sliced the air.

  Miguel walked us forward a few steps. Portia froze—straighter than the parapet above her. Miguel told me to sit. So I did.

  The woman at the top of the stoop hopped down the stairs, her hand straight out.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’m Nance Obello Tornsten. Portia’s mother.”

  Miguel shook Nance’s hand. “I’m Miguel,” he said. “And this is Penny.” Miguel turned to Portia. “Would you like to pet her hello?”

  “No, thank you,” Portia said. “Not yet.”

  Miguel laughed and said, “Fair enough!”

  Portia’s mom suggested we wave goodbye to the audience of kids and head into the backyard.

 
“Great idea!” said Miguel. I barked my agreement.

  Miguel waved goodbye, I gave the giggly girl a quick lick, and then we headed down the alleyway between the three-flats. I used to hang out in places like this when I lived outside. You’d be surprised how cozy a spot between two garbage cans and a warm brick wall could be! But I was glad to be walking through—and not snuggling in for the night.

  Nance opened the gate for us and we all walked through. Penny and Nance first, then Miguel and me.

  I stopped for a sniff of the yard: possum poop, roses, grilled steaks, and something else, another smell—bacon-y—that was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place. It didn’t matter: I didn’t like rose bushes much (ouch!), but possum poop and grilled steaks made every backyard better!

  I looked at Portia. I wondered if she liked the possum poop smell too.

  Portia stared at me. I relaxed my big face into a smile. I hoped she’d relax too. But she held her eyes tight on mine.

  “Let’s sit,” Nance said. She waved her hand toward the backyard furniture. Nance and Portia sat on one set. I climbed up next to Miguel on the other.

  “Oh, sorry,” Miguel said. “Is this okay?”

  Nance laughed and said, “Be my guest!” I curled up for a snooze.

  “Penny’s a pit bull,” Portia said.

  “She is!” Miguel said. “Well, as far as we know, at least…”

  “Pit bulls are mean,” Portia said.

  I opened one eye. Then lifted my head. If I had a steak for every time Miguel and I heard people say pit bulls were mean, I’d weigh a lot more than my fifty pounds.

  “Why do you say that?” Miguel asked.

  “I’ve seen stories about them,” Portia said. “In the news.”

  “Pit bulls do get in the news,” Miguel said. “It seems like any time a dog bites, it’s a pit bull, right?”

  Portia nodded.

  “I know from your mom, your teacher, and the way you ask questions that you’re one smart girl,” Miguel said. “So I’m going to give you the straight-up facts, okay, amiga?”

  “Okay,” Portia said.

  “Pit bulls get written about in the news more than other dogs, but that doesn’t mean they bite more than any other dogs,” Miguel said. “In fact, Google it! No dog breed or type bites more than any other. Not pit bulls. Not rottweilers. Not German shepherds. Not poodles. Not pot roast and noodles.”

  Miguel smiled. Portia laughed.

  “If Dr. Seuss wrote about dog bites…” Nance said.

  “But for some reason, pit bulls make good headlines,” Miguel said. “And people get scared. Just because they don’t understand. They think Penny’s mean without even getting to know her. Pit bulls are misunderstood.”

  Portia’s eyes drifted over to me. Her eyes were softer now. I sat up and wagged. Portia smiled at me. Just for a second.

  “I’m misunderstood,” said Portia.

  “How so?” Miguel asked.

  “People look at me and think I can’t read or can’t ride horses,” Portia said. “They think I’m not smart or strong enough.”

  “And are they right?” Miguel said.

  “No way,” said Portia. “I’m strong and I’m smart no matter what anyone thinks.”

  “Same with Penny,” Miguel said. “She—along with most pit bulls I’ve ever met—are sweet and silly and sleepy no matter what anyone else thinks! You’ll see once you get to know her. And you’ll see your new neighbor dogs aren’t so bad when you get to know them too!”

  Portia’s mom squeezed her arm around Portia. “What happens when they get to know you, hon’?”

  Portia laughed. “They invite me to book club and get jealous of my blue ribbons.”

  “Well done,” Miguel said. He put out his fist. Portia bumped it.

  “Would you like to learn about dogs?” Miguel asked. “And then get to know Penny?”

  Portia nodded. “I don’t want to be afraid of dogs any more,” she said. “I want to understand them.”

  “And that, amiga, is the first step in getting over your fear,” Miguel said. “Muy bien!”

  CHAPTER 7

  I curled up on the wicker sofa and caught semi-snoozes while Miguel told Portia all about dogs. And I mean all about dogs. Miguel went back 10,000 years. All the way back to the one friendly wolf that wandered up to a human’s campfire. Miguel told how that friendly wolf’s friendly puppies had other friendly puppies and on and on until: voila! Dogs!

  Miguel talked about breeding—and over-breeding—and about all the dogs who live (and die…) in shelters. Miguel talked about our teeth and jaws. Miguel gave the speech on how pit bulls’ jaws do not “lock” like some people say.

  I opened one eye as Miguel pulled my mouth open and said, “See?” Portia nodded. Then she smiled at me. We were making progress!

  I snoozed on as Miguel told Portia about how we like to be pet—and how we don’t. He said we don’t like staring contests (staring makes us nervous) and how when you run, we will chase. And dogs are faster than humans. So we’ll catch you! Much better to make like a tree and stand very still. Speak nicely! We like baby talk. It calms us right down.

  But Miguel also warned never to go up to a strange dog—especially not when it’s tied up, eating, or chewing a bone or toy.

  And then Miguel talked about dog bites.

  “Most of the time,” Miguel said, “dogs don’t bite because they’re ‘bad’—they do it because they’re scared or because they’ve been mistreated. Sometimes it’s because people don’t know how to read a dog.”

  And it’s true. Lots of people don’t!

  “But you’re a great reader,” Miguel said. “Of people and horses and books. So learning to read dog should be no problem.”

  Portia nodded.

  “Are you ready to see how nice dogs can be?” Miguel asked. Portia nodded again.

  Then it was time to put everything Portia learned into practice. Miguel shook me awake. I jumped down onto the grass. Portia held out her hand.

  CHAPTER 8

  I went all wiggly. Wiggly neck. Wiggly butt. Wiggly walk. I took two quick sniffs of Portia’s hands but I already knew she was good.

  “See Penny’s body language?” Miguel asked. Penny nodded. “That’s how you know a dog is happy to see you. She’s wiggly and loose. Now, let’s review the rules. Do you remember?”

  Portia nodded and began to recite: “Relax and walk up to the dog carefully. Not too fast. Not too slow. Don’t stare. Don’t bend down. Don’t hug. Don’t wave your arms or jump around. Be polite.”

  Miguel laughed. “Great memory!” he said. “Go for it. And after she sniffs your hand, tell her to sit.”

  Miguel handed Portia a treat. Portia took a deep breath and looked at me. Then she looked away quickly. Her eyes raced across the backyard—looking at everything BUT me.

  “Great job, Portia,” Miguel said. “You can look at her. Just don’t stare at her face.”

  “Okay,” Portia said. She breathed in and out, in and out, peanut butter and jelly on her breath. Yum! Then she took one big breath and said, “Sit!”

  I sat.

  “Hand her the treat,” Miguel said.

  Portia reached forward—slowly, slowly—with the bit of liver snack. I leaned forward and started to open my mouth when—zap! Portia whipped her hand back.

  Somewhere in my brain, the deep-down wolf in me wanted to snap at the treat and see if I could snatch it out of her hand. I didn’t. But not all dogs have my self-control!

  “You did great,” Miguel said. “But let’s try that again. And let’s add ‘Don’t yank your hand away’ to the list, okay? Penny knows how to take a treat nicely. You don’t have to be scared of her mouth.”

  Portia reached her hand forward again and opened her palm. The bit of liver sat right in the middle. I leaned
forward and reached out my lips forward. Voila! Liver in my mouth!

  I sat up and wiggled some more. Portia laughed.

  “Good girl,” Nance said from the chair. “Tell her she’s a good girl too, Portia.”

  “Good girl,” Portia said. Almost like she meant it. “I want to try it again.”

  Miguel handed Portia more treats. Before she knew it, Portia was taking me through all my tricks. I went down. I stayed. I sat pretty and rolled over. This time, Portia met me on the lawn to give me my treat—and a belly rub.

  “You are a good girl!” Portia said. “She’s not wild like the sisters.”

  “The sisters?” Miguel asked.

  “The dogs that live downstairs,” Nance said. “They get jumpy. That’s what Portia’s really afraid of.”

  “Ah,” Miguel said. “Well, Penny’s not much of a jumper, but I can give you some tips. But you have to stand up.”

  Portia gave my belly one last scratch. I flipped over to watch.

  “If a dog jumps,” Miguel said, “you go stiff and tall like a tree again. But this time, you bring your hands up and together. Like you’re praying, but close to the chest.”

  Portia mimicked Miguel. Portia’s mom stood up to try it too.

  “Then,” Miguel said, “you turn away. A jumping dog just wants your attention. But jumping on people is rude. And even little dogs can knock people over! So we don’t want to reward jumping with attention.”

  Portia and Miguel ran through the motions together. They looked like dancers. I strolled over for a closer look. Portia had it down pat. Like she’d been working with dogs her whole life. I poked my snout into her knee to let her know she was great.

  Portia bent down to pet me. I licked her hand and she didn’t yank it back. Then I sat down. She followed and asked Miguel if she could give me a hug.