by Lynn Plourde
When I woke up, there was …
ABBY!
I jumped up, wiped the drool off my face, and said, “Who let you in?”
“Your mom. Nice to see you too, Timminy.”
“It’s just I’m sick, Abby. You don’t want to catch my germs.”
“You’re not sick. You’re embarrassed about what happened at lunch. It can feel like it, but you won’t actually die from embarrassment.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure. Of course, there’s always the chance you’re special and belong to the one percent who will die.”
She was right … if I was part of the 0.001 percentile for height, then I probably was part of the one percent who’d die of embarrassment. But I wasn’t going to tell Abby that—she’d think I was making it all about me again.
When I didn’t answer, Abby said, “Maybe you are sick. Your funny bone seems to be broken.”
Then she slid her cane along the floor until it bumped Maxi. Maxi woke up, saw Abby, wagged her tail ninety miles an hour, then jumped up and smothered her with slobbery kisses.
“Well, at least someone’s glad to see me. And I’m glad to see you too, girl. Are you okay?” Maxi kept up the kisses. “I’ll take that as a yes. Is she really okay, Timminy?”
“Yeah.”
“When I got home from school today, my dad told me about your call last night and what happened to Maxi. I told him he was a day too late filling me in. Parents!” Abby sighed. “He should have known I’d want him to bring me over last night to be sure Maxi was all right.”
This time I smiled. Forks don’t lie. I knew Abby would want to know.
Maxi kept kissing Abby, but she paused at her eyes, gently sniffed, and gave them “love licks” (or, at least, that’s what it looked like to me).
I smiled. “She knows something’s wrong with your eyes.”
“Yeah,” said Abby, “she gives them the softest kisses, like she wants to heal them or something.”
“Why aren’t you wearing your dark glasses?” I realized something was missing.
Abby coughed. “I thought if you saw my eyes, maybe you’d remember I’m blind and can’t read notes.”
“Not funny, Abby. I know you’re blind. The note wasn’t for you to read—it was for your ed tech to read to you, to let you know about Maxi’s run-in with the porcupine.”
Abby burst out laughing. “I would have given anything to have seen the food shower you gave Mrs. Russell.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, but still, I wish I could have seen it.” Abby laughed again.
The echo of everyone laughing at me during the lunch fiasco filled my brain. It made me embarrassed all over again.
“If all you want to do is laugh at me,” I said, “you can leave.”
“Actually, I can’t go until I call my dad to come get me. He dropped me off, and I refuse to play dodge car because you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”
“I’m not feeling sorry! Jeez! You make me so angry!”
“Good! I’m glad. Anger is better than self-pity.”
“Actually, I wish I were the one who was blind so you’d just disappear!”
Abby jumped in, “Well, I wish I were deaf like Maxi so I couldn’t hear all your whining!”
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Maxi started barking like crazy.
First at me.
Then at Abby.
Me.
Abby.
Back and forth.
As if she were scolding us. It worked—we shut up.
“Sorry, girl,” we said.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Maxi wouldn’t let it go.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Mom opened the den door. “What’s wrong with Maxi? I’m trying to get some work done and it’s hard with this noise. Does she need to go outside?”
“Sorry, Mom. I’ll take her out.”
“Keep her out of trouble this time and don’t let her off her leash. Understand?”
“Yeah, Mom. No more porcupine adventures.”
“Good,” said Mom, heading back into the den.
I grabbed Maxi’s leash and asked Abby, “Wanna come?”
“To finish our argument? Sure.” But as she stood and followed, sliding her cane side to side, she hit one of Maxi’s toys and it bounced in front of her foot.
“Watch …” But before I got “out” out of my mouth, Abby tripped, lost her balance, and fell.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“Just my pride.” Abby grinned.
“I would say I know how that feels, but I won’t before you whack me with your cane and accuse me of whining again.”
I reached out. “My hand is in front of your left hand. Hang on and I’ll help you up.” But before I could, Maxi decided it was time for a pig pile. She jumped on Abby and started wrestling with her.
“Maxi, NO!” I said.
“It’s okay,” said Abby as she play-wrestled with Maxi. I got down on the floor and joined the fun. I was starting to realize Abby Winslow wasn’t exactly breakable.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! Maxi was getting rowdy.
Mom opened the door again. “Out! All of you!” She pointed toward the sliding doors.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Me too,” Abby said.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! Maxi said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
• • •
SECRET #21
Some things aren’t as fragile as they seem.
CHAPTER 22
“HANG ON TO my arm,” I said to Abby as she, Maxi, and I all made our way outside. “Three steps down,” I continued. “There’s a railing on your left or you can hold on to my arm.”
Abby hung on to me until we were standing on the lawn.
“Phew! We made it!” she said. “The short one led the deaf and blind ones. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, right,” I said.
“No, really. Most people won’t jump in and start leading me without being asked. Plus you were dealing with Maxi too. That’s a lot to juggle.”
I looked closer at Abby’s facial expression to see if she was teasing me. It’s trickier reading a face without eye clues—I’d never realized how much eyes show our feelings. Abby wasn’t smirking, and her nose wasn’t scrunched, so I didn’t think she was teasing me. I took a chance and said, “So, I really did okay?”
“Really good for the first time—you gave clear directions, were sure of yourself, but …”
“I knew there was going to be a but. What’d I do wrong?”
“Nothing wrong,” said Abby. “Just some things you could do to be more helpful. I’ll show you.”
“Wait a minute. Let me walk Maxi around to do her business first.”
“Then you can help me with my blind business.” Abby smiled and sat on the bottom step to wait.
It didn’t take Maxi long to sniff out a perfect spot for her business.
“Let me scoop this poop before you teach me how to be a better guide dog.”
Abby stood up. “No, wait. Leave it there. It’ll be a real obstacle you can guide me around. No doggie doo-doo on the shoes, please!” Abby laughed.
I hooked Maxi’s leash to the rail, and she was happy to lie on the cool grass while Abby stood up and reached for my arm.
“Don’t you want your cane too?” I asked, seeing she’d left it on the steps.
“No, either someone leads me or I use my cane. It would be too confusing to process information from your movements plus my cane. Walk beside me, but a half step ahead too, so I can follow your lead.” Abby held on to my elbow and said, “Get moving.”
“Aye-aye.” I laughed, but then shut up and concentrated. I didn’t want to mess up. I’d already messed up too many things with Abby.
I walked slowly, around obstacles—trees, bushes, Maxi’s outside toys—does every puppy have that many toys?—and her poop pile.
“How am I doing?” I asked.
> “Not bad. I haven’t stepped in anything gross yet. But you can go faster—we’re not slugs.”
I picked up my pace and confidence. “Better?”
“Yeah, now let’s try some ninety-degree turns. Before turning, stop moving, and say ‘right’ or ‘left,’ then turn and I’ll follow. Try to lead me through some trickier places too—where I have to duck my head or follow directly behind you.”
I laughed. “You’re one brave girl, Abby Winslow. You realize I’ve never had to duck my head, not once in my whole life.”
“You’d better tell me to duck or tree branches will poke my eyes out.”
“Ewww! That’s gross.”
“I know,” said Abby, smiling proudly.
I shook my head and said, “Okay. Hang on for your life.” And she did.
I guided Abby through ninety-degree turns and then into the woods, under branches—“Duck, Abby, duck!” Between close-together trees, moving my guiding arm behind my back, as Abby directed me, so she’d know it was narrow and would have to walk behind me instead of beside me. Things were fine until she stumbled on a tree root and scraped her arm on another tree. “I’m bleeding,” she said, then giggled.
“That makes you happy because?”
“Because I love being out in these woods. It makes me feel alive. And losing a little blood is no big deal.”
“If you say so.”
“Timminy, get my cane.”
“Why?”
“Because now I want to make my way out of the woods without your help—only using my cane.”
“You’re talking crazy again.”
“Just get it—please.”
“I don’t feel good about this,” I told Abby. “I couldn’t protect my deaf dog from a porcupine last night. I don’t want to be responsible for a skunk spraying or a moose charging my blind friend.”
Abby smiled. “Glad you realize we’re friends. And, um, friends do friends favors, like bringing your poor helpless blind friend her cane.”
“Oh, Abby, you may not see with your eyes, but, boy oh boy, you clearly see how to get what you want. Stay put until I get back.”
When I gave her cane to her, she said, “Thanks. You can leave now.”
I sighed and said, “Bye.” I made a big show of stomping away, and then ducked behind a tree to be nearby in case Abby needed me.
Abby still didn’t move. “I’m not taking a single step until you get out of here and back on the steps with Maxi.”
“Abby, I can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”
“Right! And don’t forget that. Now go!”
I came out of the woods and sat on the bottom step, hugging Maxi as I listened for Abby. I could hear her cane stirring up dried leaves on the ground, and it sounded like she stumbled once. But as I listened carefully and waited to hear her fall (then I’d have to go help her no matter what she’d said), there was no crashing sound. Wait! What if I couldn’t hear her because she was walking the wrong way, away from our yard, deeper into the woods?
Just as I’d convinced myself I needed to go rescue Abby, she came walking out of the woods with the biggest smile on her face.
She made it back to the steps, leaned down to pat Maxi, got some puppy kisses, and said, “I’ve lived here since I was a baby, and this is the first time I’ve ever walked in these woods alone. I did it!”
“You did.”
“Now you do it!” Abby said.
“What do you mean?”
Abby bit her bottom lip and her voice grew quieter. “Walk with my cane and close your eyes.”
“I’m not sure …”
“Oh, never mind,” Abby said.
I grabbed the cane from her and said, “Why not? The worst that can happen is I’ll get myself into a messy situation. It won’t be the first time.”
Abby laughed.
I closed my eyes and started walking away. It didn’t take long to figure out I had to hold the cane below the top grip since I was shorter than Abby.
Slowly, so, so slowly, I moved the cane from side to side, shoulder distance width, with a sweeping motion, as Abby had done. When I felt something with the cane, I paused, trying to conjure up a mind map of my backyard, then steered my steps away from whatever I’d touched. I listened for Maxi’s panting, Abby’s breathing, as anchors to know where safe was. I was much slower than Abby. When I lost my balance, my eyes popped opened. I felt like a cheater as I shut them again (Abby didn’t have that option!).
When I finally felt Maxi with the cane, I leaned down for some puppy kisses. It was like she was congratulating me—“You did it, my boy.”
“Not bad,” said Abby. “At least it sounded like you did all right.”
“It took lots of concentration, and I felt nervous the whole time.”
Suddenly, Maxi whined.
“It’s okay, girl. We’re done with our adventures. Time to give you some attention.”
But as I went to get one of Maxi’s toys, Abby said, “She’s whining because she wants a turn.”
“Maxi is not walking with your cane.”
“That’s not what I meant, Timminy. Let me hold her leash and have her be my guide dog for a few minutes.”
“You’re talking a little crazy again. You want the deaf one to lead the blind one?”
“Better than the blind one leading the deaf one.” Abby laughed. “Between the two of us, we’ll have all five senses covered, won’t we, girl?” She leaned down to Maxi and got a couple of enthusiastic slurps.
“But she’s not trained as a guide dog, Abby. Obedience is not her strength, and I don’t think it’s only because she’s deaf. It’s a Great Pyrenees trait.”
“Don’t worry—you’ll be right here watching us. I won’t let go of her leash—no matter what. And we’ll stay on the lawn. No woods.”
“You really love pushing the limits, don’t you?”
“When your world’s small, you’ve gotta push or it’ll keep getting smaller and smaller.”
I didn’t have an answer to that, so I led Maxi by her leash with one hand and Abby by my other hand to the middle of the lawn. I put the leash in Abby’s hand, lifted Maxi’s snout to look her in the eyes, and pointed forward. “Go, girl. Be easy. It’s Abby.”
Maxi took three steps forward. Abby followed. Maxi looked back at me, then Abby, for permission to continue. I hesitated, but Abby shook the leash as if it were a rein for a horse and said, “Go, girl.”
Maxi did. She led Abby slowly, step by step, across the lawn. But when she approached the edge of the woods and the spot where the porcupine had quilled her, she whined and walked in a circle, around and around Abby, winding her up with the leash.
“Aaaaah!” screamed Abby. “She tied me up. It was working. What happened?”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Timminy, what’s going on?”
“She’s … trying to keep you from going into the woods and getting quilled. It’s her Great Pyrenees’s instincts. She circles us whenever she’s trying to keep us safe.”
I was still laughing as I unwound Maxi and her leash from Abby. Then I turned Maxi away from the woods and pointed her toward the house.
I told Abby I’d see her back at the steps and ran off. Usually whenever I’d run, Maxi would sprint after me—a game of chase. But this time, she didn’t run; instead she guided Abby ever so slowly back to the steps, back to me.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Abby’s big smile, which I had seen when she walked out of the woods alone, grew even bigger.
“You did it,” I said.
I swear Abby’s eyes were smiling, too, as she nodded and said, “We did it.”
• • •
SECRET #22
It’s better to focus on what you can do instead of what you can’t do.
CHAPTER 23
BEFORE ABBY LEFT, she made me promise to sit with her at lunch on Monday.
“But I didn’t think you wanted me around.”
“I don’t if you’re going to act like a whining toddler.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’re going to sit in time-out.” Abby smirked.
“But won’t your friends tease me about the note? And won’t your ed tech start screaming again when she sees me?”
“I’ll explain everything to them and warn Mrs. Russell to wear a poncho for protection when you’re around.”
“Abby!”
“Kidding—sort of. So my friends will tease you—that’s what friends do, just like I teased you now.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Abby ignored me and talked to Maxi. “Bark some sense into that boy of yours.”
On cue, Maxi barked.
I wanted to whine, “Two against one is not fair.”
• • •
Saturday was a big day for Maxi, because Mom was taking her to her first obedience class. I begged to go, but Mom said the instructor wanted only one person in charge of each puppy. At our house we all knew Mom was the Boss. She promised to teach Dad and me everything she learned in class. She also cautioned us: “Remember, it’s not an obedience class for deaf dogs—they don’t have one around here, not any in the state of Maine, I don’t think. It’s just for regular puppies—so don’t expect miracles. But I’ll combine what I learn there with some sign language I know.” We all agreed we had to try something, anything to get Maxi to understand us and follow our directions so she’d be safer. The porcupine run-in had scared us.
While Mom was gone, I looked for my own way to help Maxi. I shut myself in my room and searched the internet …
deaf dog obedience
deaf dog training
deaf dog safety
There were all kinds of ways to keep a deaf dog safe. Maybe a fence, like Abby’s, that could protect Maxi and stop prickly porcupines from wandering into our yard (and Big Jerks too). There were invisible electric fences that keep dogs within certain boundaries. Best of all, I learned about pager collars, which vibrate and send a signal to get your dog’s attention. This was exciting—the pager collars looked like they might be the answer to Maxi being a free puppy.
My stomach flip-flopped when I found a bunch of videos of deaf dogs. It helped seeing that Maxi wasn’t the only deaf dog in the world (maybe next I’d search short boy video—no one wants to be the only one).