The doorbell rang and my whole body tensed. I clenched my knees and forced myself to keep my feet planted on the floor and remain seated, which is what Clarissa had instructed me to do. From my chair I heard the door open, the high-pitched sound of greetings, then my mother and Clarissa sharing pleasantries. It was hard not to get up, but discipline prevailed. I counted to ten slowly, calming myself. A moment later my mother came in, her eyes glittering with excitement. She told me she was instructed to put the blindfold over my eyes. I knew this was part of the process. I could’ve just closed my eyes, but I went along with the blindfold. The idea was that when I opened my eyes, I’d have that first moment when I would see the dog up close, rather than watching the dog walk in. It was meant to be a wow moment.
Once the blindfold was secure, Mama called out the okay. “I’m leaving now. Clarissa said it was important you be alone.” Mama kissed my cheek and I heard her retreating footfalls.
I could feel the tension mounting inside me. I sensed I was being watched. It took all my determination not to rip off the blindfold.
“Hi, Taylor,” Clarissa called out as she walked in. Her voice was calm and cheery.
I imagined her the last time I saw her. Exceptionally pretty, blond, blue-eyed. You’d expect she was a model, not someone who trained service dogs. She was the kind of girl I’d normally ask out. But these were not normal times and Clarissa Black was all-business.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Clarissa.” With the blindfold on, my other senses were heightened. I heard the swish of jeans as she walked closer, smelled a floral scent and something else . . . something animal. I heard the command “Sit.” Suddenly I sensed another presence close to me. With a shuffling Clarissa took a seat near me, then all went quiet.
Clarissa said in a formal tone, “Taylor, I’d like to present to you, in the name of Pets for Vets, this service dog to thank you for your service to your country.” She paused and I heard the smile in her voice. “You can remove your blindfold.”
I tore off the blindfold, and the first thing I saw were two large, soulful brown eyes staring straight into mine.
This was a big dog, bigger than I’d planned on. And formidable. His dense, short hair was as glistening a black as a raven’s wing. He had the face of a Lab and the body of a smaller Great Dane. He looked to be a force of nature, a dog not to be messed with. Part of that impression came from his Great Dane size and black color, but also from the way he held himself, straight, confident, yet with an aloofness I admired. This was no goofball. I felt I could regain my own confidence with this dog.
Yet I didn’t feel that willingness to touch yet. “He’s a good-looking dog,” I said stiffly, sitting erect and still with the same aloofness as the dog.
“His name is Thor.” Clarissa reached out to stroke his long neck and broad back. Her face softened as she did so. “He was named that because of the white lightning bolt on his chest.”
I checked that out, and his white chest markings did indeed look like a bolt of lightning. Thor, the God of Thunder. I liked that, too. I glanced up at Clarissa. She was watching both me and the dog intently. I knew she was looking for signals, trying to ascertain if she’d made a good match.
“We found Thor sitting in a shelter. He was on the list to be euthanized. He only had another day or two at most. When I saw him and looked into his eyes, I knew he was special. He passed the temperament evaluation form with flying colors. He might appear stoic, but he’s actually very social.”
It was hard to imagine that this beautiful dog could be euthanized. “He’s cool,” I said appraisingly.
She laughed. “Yeah, he’s that. And so are you.” She laughed again.
I gave her a look that back in the day might have been construed as flirtatious, but in these circumstances, it was all about friendship and depending on each other for honesty.
“Some dogs always want to be near the master. In the same room, even in the same bed. Some dogs are more independent. They still want close companionship, but from time to time they want to have their own space. Thor is that kind of dog.”
“Suits me.”
“I thought it might.” She chuckled in self-deprecation. “I spent many long hours choosing not just a good dog for you, but the right dog. Let me tell you, Thor is smart. He not only responds well to commands, but he intuits your needs. There will be times you won’t even have to give him a command. He’ll just know in advance what to do. That quality is rare.”
She pet Thor again, scratching behind his ears. “He’s truly a great dog. He deserves someone to love him. The way I look at it, humans failed him, not the other way around.” She paused, and then looked at me. “You haven’t petted him yet.”
I nodded and frowned, self-conscious. I studied Thor’s massive head, his floppy ears, his broad, muscular shoulders, his gleaming black coat. I liked the dog. He was beautiful and soulful, stoic and smart. What was not to like? But as with all things now, my emotions were bottled up. I hadn’t touched another creature with affection in so long. I’d thought—hoped—seeing the dog would somehow open that part of me up.
“You know,” she said, “from the moment he walked into the room, Thor hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.”
“Really?” I leaned closer to Thor. A lot of emotion lurked behind those eyes. This dog was a lot like me, I realized. He’d been hurt. Betrayed. He held all his emotions in check. Like me, I figured he wouldn’t take the chance. It was a stalemate.
Then, surprising me, Thor lifted his paw and put it firmly on my thigh. I felt the weight of it touch my heart.
Thor’s generous gesture opened the floodgates of my emotions. This dog had showed more courage than I. This great, powerful, beautiful dog was willing to take a chance on me—a broken, depressed, lonely Marine. I took a long, shuddering breath. I didn’t realize I’d been holding it. In fact, I’d been holding my breath for months, ever since the explosion.
I reached out to place my hand on Thor’s broad head. Tentatively at first. The fur was short, stubbly, like my own hair. As I let my hand skim the fur from his head down his neck to his massive shoulders, I looked in his eyes. I could see pain deep in his brown eyes, shadows of his invisible wounds. I could also see the same flickering of hope that I felt sure he saw deep in my own eyes. The hope that I would save him as I hoped he would save me.
“He’s my dog,” I said with conviction, then cleared my throat of the emotion choking me.
Clarissa beamed like a proud mother. I wondered how many times she had made this kind of match. How many lives she had saved.
“If you’re ready,” she said, “I’d like to spend some time to go over Thor’s diet, health records, and to teach you basic training.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“No thanks necessary. You don’t think I’d just drop off your dog and say good-bye? We want to ensure your success. Initially we’ll spend time with basic commands, earning his trust. And you will learn to feel comfortable with Thor as a constant canine companion. You need to learn to understand and ‘read’ your dog, as he must learn your cues, too. The goal is to make you a solid team.”
I nodded. That was what I wanted, too.
We cleared the furniture from the center of the room and began an hour’s basic training. I’d never trained a dog before, never learned to give basic commands. When I made mistakes, Thor gave me a break and complied anyway. He knew the drill. A real smart dog, I thought, and was glad for it. Clarissa had to remind me to lavish praise on his successes. To pet him often. For the first time in months I enjoyed touching another living thing.
After an hour Clarissa determined we had mastered the basics. She presented me with the welcome box, a cornucopia filled with everything I could need—leashes, toys, bowls, food, nail clippers, brushes, beds—you name it.
“I know it’s been an emotional day, and you two need time to hang out and bond. We can continue tomorrow.” Her tone of finality signaled that she was leaving. “Is ten
o’clock good for you?”
“Tomorrow?” I didn’t expect another training session at home. There would be continuing group classes later, likely after the Christmas holiday.
“Absolutely. Training your dog to be a service dog is not something that can be done in a day, a weekend, or even in a month. It will be an ongoing process continuing for the whole life of the dog. However, the most intense training will be in these early days and weeks. Taylor, after this rush of excitement there will be days when you will feel you are not progressing, and in fact you may think the whole process is going backward. Keep in mind that these days are normal, as long as they only happen occasionally. Training requires consistent, daily effort.”
She paused and looked at me square on. “If you don’t have the time to do this, or you aren’t willing to spend time working and practicing with your dog daily, a service dog may not be for you. A lot is expected of them, and they deserve the right care. Every day, without fail, he must be cared for. This means he’ll need to be taken out several times a day, cleaned up after, fed a nutritious meal at least once a day. His ongoing training must be maintained, even improved. He’ll need mental and physical exercise and stimulation, to be groomed when necessary. Basically treated as a living, breathing creature under your care. If that sounds like too much of a commitment of time, a companion dog may be a more appropriate choice.”
“I’ve got nothing but time,” I replied lightly.
She studied me with the same intensity Thor had earlier. “Taylor, see”—she paused—“it’s not just the training. As smart as Thor is, he’s in some ways like a child, dependent on you for his well-being. You’re a team. Where you go, he goes. He’s more than your dog. He’s your partner. Your guide. Your best friend.”
I realized what she was telling me. This was a lifelong commitment. A decision to deal with the ups and downs of a dog at my side day in and day out. I shouldn’t, couldn’t, take it lightly. I looked at Thor, sitting closer to Clarissa than to me, calmly waiting for his next command. I knew a sudden fear that she was having second thoughts. That she would take Thor away. At that moment I knew I couldn’t let her do that.
I gave Thor the command to come. He trotted immediately to my side and sat, looking up at me patiently. I looked down at this great dog. He quietly exuded a steadfast patience and a willingness to serve. If I would dare. We had work to do, sure. There would be mistakes. But we’d solve them together.
I put my hand on Thor’s head and looked up at Clarissa. “I understand. My commitment is absolute. This is my dog.”
She smiled and I could see she was convinced.
I almost smiled back, but at the moment I heard a high-pitched voice behind me.
“What’s going on?”
I swung around to see Miller standing at the threshold, still in his parka, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, his backpack hanging from one arm. His eyes were wide under a shock of brown hair falling across his brow.
“You got a dog?”
But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time . . .
—A Christmas Carol
Chapter 15
Miller
“It isn’t fair!” I shouted.
All the adults—Taylor, my mother, and some blond lady I never saw before—swung their heads to stare at me with surprise on their faces. They weren’t expecting me. I’d finished my exam early—aced it. My attention was caught by the big dog when it stood up and took a step in front of Taylor, blocking him, his eyes on me.
I stared back at them, my hands in fists and bubbling over with rage and, most of all, hurt. They’d lied to me! Taylor got a dog! It was always Taylor getting the attention. Taylor the big war hero. Whatever Taylor wanted, Taylor got. No one cared what I wanted. We could afford a dog for Taylor but not for me? How could my mother be so mean? How could Taylor get a dog when I told him how much I wanted one?
My mother spoke first, in that tone she uses when she doesn’t want me to get hurt. “Miller . . .”
I didn’t give her time to speak. “It isn’t fair!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Dropping my backpack, I spun on my heel and ran from the room. I heard my mother following me. All I knew was I couldn’t bear to see her or talk to her. I had to get away from her and Taylor. I had to try to outrun the hurt clawing at my chest. So I ran.
I ran out the back door, around the house to the street, and there I just kept running. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks and I was sobbing out loud. Even as I ran, I thought to myself I’d never heard myself cry like that, like a baby, loud and deep, from my heart. But I couldn’t stop it. It came bubbling out from some deep well that I’d been filling for weeks. My feet pounded the pavement, my arms punched the pace, tight-fisted and close to my body. At first I didn’t know where I was going. I was running from something. But when I reached Pinckney Street and passed the shops, the fog in my mind cleared. My sobbing stopped and I could hear my footfalls pattering on the street and my breath keeping pace. I knew where I was going.
“Miller, how nice to see you.” Mrs. Davidson smiled at me in surprise when she opened the door. I hadn’t been to the house in a few weeks, not since my daddy told me I couldn’t have Sandy. When she looked closer at my face, however, her smile wobbled some and she got that sad expression that told me she’d seen that I’d been crying.
“Can I see Sandy?”
Her face scrunched in worry. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please. Just one more time?”
Her face softened and she smiled again. “Sure, okay.” She opened wide the door. “You know where they are. I’ll get Dill.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I passed her and ran into the back room. All the puppies were in a larger pen now, higher and wider. I couldn’t believe how much bigger they’d gotten in just two weeks. They were cuter than ever, rolling and playing and nipping at each other. One was sweeter than the next. They all looked so bouncy and happy, I wanted to get in there and roll around with them, just bury my face in their fur and let them climb over me with their puppy breath until I felt better.
My eyes sought out the only golden pup in the litter. Sandy. I found him across the pen sitting alone, chewing on a stuffed toy. When I drew near the pen, I called his name. “Sandy!” He didn’t even look up. I felt sad and disappointed. Has he forgotten me already? I wondered. I slipped out of my parka and opened the gate. I had to be careful because the puppies started jumping up on my legs. I walked to Sandy and sat beside him. Immediately two other puppies came over. They started tugging at my sleeve and sniffing me. Sandy had stopped chewing his toy and sat up, quietly looking at me. I saw a red ribbon around his neck, and I knew that meant he was sold. I wanted to cry right then and there.
“Come here, Sandy.” I patted my lap.
In a bound, Sandy climbed into my lap and put his paws on my shoulders and began licking my face. I didn’t cry then. I started laughing. He’d remembered me.
I had to face that this was the last time I could play with Sandy. I picked up a stuffed rabbit and wiggled it. Immediately Sandy pounced on it, grabbing a long ear. This was our favorite game. I made a soft growling noise. Sandy did, too, as we played tug-of-war.
A few minutes later Mrs. Davidson came into the room. “Miller?”
I turned my head to look over my shoulder. Sandy was chewing the toy contentedly with a victor’s expression. I dreaded this moment. “Yes?”
“Honey, your mother’s here. She wants you to come out to the car.”
I looked back down at the puppy and drew him back in my lap for the last time. “I hope you get nice owners,” I told him. “Maybe a kid who will love you as much as I do.” I shook my head and sniffed. “No, that’s not possible. Nobody could love you more than me.” I bent low to press my face a
gainst his fur one last time. “Good-bye, Sandy.” I gave him a kiss. I felt the tears coming, but Dill had come into the room with his mother and I couldn’t let him see me cry. I gently moved the puppy from my lap and found my way around the other fur balls out the gate.
Mrs. Davidson was holding my coat. She looked near ready to cry.
“Thank you, Mrs. Davidson.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.” She bent to kiss me.
I ducked my head and walked sullenly to the front door. My mother was standing there, looking as sad as I felt. “Come on, honey.” She held out her arm to me.
I didn’t want her touching me. Did she think I’d forgiven her so easily? I scowled and walked past her out the door.
“Thanks for calling me,” Mama said to Mrs. Davidson.
“Call me later, Jenny,” Mrs. Davidson said to Mama in an urgent tone.
I sat in the dark car in the front passenger seat. It was just above freezing, and Mama had kept the car running with the heater on. It was getting dark again and it was barely four o’clock. It seemed to me it was dark all the time lately. Mama came walking swiftly down the path to the car and slid in beside me. I looked out the window, giving her the cold shoulder.
“So we’re back there again?”
I didn’t reply. I was learning from Taylor.
Without another word, Mama put the car in gear and backed out the driveway. We drove in dark silence down the narrow road. The headlights shone like twin flashlights. I looked up and saw the bare branches of the trees overhead. They looked like the ribs of a great whale. On Pinckney Street, Mama slowed, then came to a stop in front of T.W. Graham’s. Even in the winter the restaurant had the sandwich-board sign with the large hand-painted word EAT on top.
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