“Oh, Marc. Don’t imagine problems before we’ve had any.”
“Okay—so did you meet the new teacher?”
“Her name is Marianne Winger and she seems great. She didn’t spend our whole first meeting talking about how to manage behaviors, which I loved. She asked a lot of questions about what Gus loves and what his passions are.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That was the problem. I almost said Thomas the Tank Engine, but he hasn’t played with those for years, has he? Her question got me thinking: We don’t really know what he cares about anymore, except staring out the window.”
Marc thinks about this. “He’s calmer these days, which must mean he’s happier, right? It’s hard for us to guess what’s going on in his head.”
“No, I know. I just wish he’d find something that he loves, that’s all. The way he used to love trains.”
I think about all the things I love: chew toys, mostly. Balls. Food. Penny, who I love and still miss. I know Gus well enough now to know balls aren’t his passion. Though I’ve seen him chew the collar of his shirt, I don’t think chew toys would be a good bet. This gives me something to work on at school, though. Maybe I can help him find something he loves.
Expectations
I’VE NOW HEARD THE WORDS “FIFTH grade” so many times, I thought maybe it was the name of Gus’s school.
“You’re going to have fun in fifth grade!” Sara says.
“Chester is going to love fifth grade and so are you, Gus!”
“In fifth grade, the subjects get really interesting! You’ll finally get to study American history! Remember how you loved our trip to Williamsburg? And the Freedom Trail in Boston with the man dressed up like Paul Revere?”
Sara says all this as Gus eats his breakfast on the first day of school. I try to tell her with a nudge of my nose into her knee, Too much talking for the morning. Better to be quiet and let Gus get himself ready. I don’t know if I’m right about this, though. I’m guessing, really.
Maybe she understands what I’m saying, because she stops talking.
Then Marc comes in and fills the silence. “Who’s excited for fifth grade?!” he says, clapping his hands. “I know I am! And Chester is, too!”
He touches Gus’s shoulder, which we all know is a mistake. Gus doesn’t like to be touched at all unless he’s in control of the touching, like when he gives someone else a hug. This doesn’t happen very often, but I’ve seen it a few times. He will hug his mother or father from behind and they’re always surprised. “Thank you for the hug!” they’ll say. He’s never done this to me. I think he’s still scared I’ll touch him accidentally.
Now even though Gus flinches because he doesn’t like to be touched, Marc leaves his hand there. I don’t know why Marc does this on a morning when everyone is already nervous enough. I worry that Gus might explode from too much touching, but he surprises me: He bends his head so his cheek touches his dad’s hand. He leaves it there for a few seconds.
That’s nice, I say. Letting your dad touch your shoulder.
I wish he could hear me. I wish he could know how doing this helps us all feel better. I remember when I thought Penny could understand what I said and I talked to her all the time because it seemed like she was listening, but of course she wasn’t. She loved me, I knew, but she could never hear me.
Which is why I can’t believe my ears when I hear Gus say, I know.
He hasn’t moved his lips, but I hear him say it anyway. It’s a simple, clear boy’s voice that I’ve never heard him actually use. When they come, his words are mostly high and squeaky and hard on the ears. Sara keeps a count of the words he uses, but I’m not sure why because I’ve never heard him say any words that mean anything.
Until now.
I scoot closer to his chair, though I’m careful not to touch any part of his body because I know he has to concentrate on letting his dad’s hand sit on his shoulder like that.
It’s nice of you letting him touch you this morning. He’s nervous, too. We all are. I’m saying too much, maybe. I can’t help it though. I feel anxious like a puppy again, with everything going on.
I said I know. I’m trying.
I watch him carefully. His eyes are closed and his lips haven’t moved. I don’t know how he just did that. I know he talked, though. I heard him. I know it was Gus because he sounded like he was tired of being the center of attention. Like he loves his parents but he wants to get this day over with.
I know how he feels because I feel the same way. I’m nervous too, even though I found out this morning I don’t have to stay the whole time today. I just have to walk inside so all the kids can meet me. Then Ms. Winger, the teacher, will tell us when I can start coming to school.
Gus doesn’t say any more to me for the rest of breakfast, which is okay. It was very exciting to talk to each other but I’m not going to push it or ask him a lot of questions about why he rocks or drones or likes sparkly pens so much.
Even though I’m not staying at school, Sara thinks it’s a good idea for me to wear my old blue service-dog-in-training vest. Last night she and Marc had an argument about it.
“This way there won’t be any questions. Everyone will understand he’s a working dog.”
“But his vest says ‘In-Training,’” Marc said.
“That’s okay. I’ve already explained all this and I promise no one will be reading what it says. The point is to have him look official.”
“Won’t people wonder why he’s still wearing a training vest a year from now?”
“No one will care because they’ll love him so much!” Sara said, hugging me.
Marc lowered his voice. “You don’t worry you’re setting your sights a little high for all this? He’s just a dog, after all. He’ll be a novelty for a week and then it’ll wear off and he’ll be like every other person who hovers around Gus and tries to get him to look up.”
Sara sat up. “Oh, don’t say it like that, Marc!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, laughing. “I’m kidding. I just think we do better when we go into things with low expectations.”
I think Marc is right, but I also think it’s too late. We’re all too nervous and Sara has told us too many times how great fifth grade is going to be.
How to Get a Sparkly Pen
IN THE CAR RIDE TO SCHOOL, Gus rocks so hard in his seat, Sara tells him to stop or he might hurt me. I’m sitting in the backseat, as far away from him as possible because Gus doesn’t like it when the car turns and my toenails accidentally slide into him. I’m trying to be ready for that and keep my toenails to myself.
He stops rocking for a second. You won’t hurt me, I say.
He shakes his head like he wants to say, I didn’t think so.
He doesn’t say it, though. Or I don’t hear it. He goes back to rocking, a little slower now.
“Chester’s coming into school with us, do you remember that, Gus? You don’t have to hold the leash but you can if you want.”
It’s raining a little, so we all listen to the squeak of windshield wipers.
“Do you think you want to do that? Do you want to hold Chester’s leash so other kids will know he belongs to you?”
It’s not a great idea, I say. Not on the first day. One step at a time is better, I think.
Maybe he hears me, because he says his version of no, which is “NIS! NIS! NIS!”
“Fine, Gus. It’s okay. Thanks for using your words and telling me.”
Gus is okay getting out of the car.
He’s also okay walking toward the building. He looks like maybe he’s forgotten where we’re going even though he’s wearing a new backpack and all new clothes. It’s like he doesn’t realize where he is until a little girl runs by fast and screams, “GIVE ME BACK MY PEN!” I can’t help feeling scared at how loud a little girl’s voice can be. Gus looks scared too. I know what he’s probably thinking: Pens aren’t safe here—people take them.
He stops walkin
g right there.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Sara says. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You remember all this. We’re going into school. We’re almost to the front door. We just have to get inside and then you’ll remember everything.”
Gus won’t move. Sara tries walking with me a few steps ahead to see if he’ll follow. He doesn’t.
“Come on, Gus! We don’t want to be late!”
Nothing.
Finally she walks back. “I need you to keep walking, Gus. I’m going to count to three.”
Gus hates it when she counts to three.
“One . . . two . . .”
Usually this gets him moving, but this time instead of taking a step, Gus closes his eyes and puts his fingers in his ears. I’m pretty sure this means he won’t move at all, even if his mom says three. I don’t know what’s going to happen, except right then, a woman walks out to us in the parking lot and says, “Hello. You must be Gus.”
She has curly brown hair and wears lots of bracelets that slide down her arm and make a funny noise. She kneels down in front of him, right where his eyes are looking so he has to see her. “Hello, Gus. My name is Ms. Winger and I’m very happy to meet you.”
He doesn’t say anything of course, but he also doesn’t look away. She stays very still so her jewelry doesn’t move or make a noise.
“I heard that you like sparkly pens. I just happen to have a few in my desk for you to earn today when you get your work done. Do you want to come with me and see what they look like?”
He does. I can tell by the way he’s holding his breath.
I wag my tail. She’s really nice! She knows about sparkly pens!
When she stands back up, Gus’s eyes go with her, which hardly ever happens. He doesn’t like looking at people, but she’s different. He likes looking at her bracelets, I think.
“First we have to walk into school. Are you ready to walk into school, Gus?”
Gus nods. I’m surprised. It’s like he’s answering her question. I’ve never seen him do that before.
She starts walking like she expects him to follow and he does. He walks faster than he was walking before. Sara looks at me and we both follow until we get to the front door and Ms. Winger turns around. “I’m sorry, Sara—I should have said this sooner. I’ve talked to the other fifth-grade teacher and we’d like to wait a week or so before we bring Chester into school.”
Sara looks at me. “But Gus is expecting this. You agreed—”
Ms. Winger holds up her hand. “I do want to have Chester in the classroom, but not on the first day. I have to make sure I’ve got everyone’s attention on me before I bring in a beautiful distraction like Chester. I’m sure he’s a wonderful dog, I just want to wait.”
I can tell Sara wants to say something more, but how can she when Ms. Winger seems magical and got Gus to walk from the parking lot to the front door?
“I’ll let you know when we’re ready to invite him in. Why don’t you say goodbye to your mom and Chester, Gus, and we’ll go inside and find those pens?”
Gus doesn’t say goodbye of course, but he lets his mom hug him and turns back to the door like he wants to go in now.
Good for you! I say, trying to sound upbeat. I hope you get a great pen!
A second later they’re gone.
For the rest of the morning, Sara has a hard time working at her computer and I have a hard time doing anything except watching Sara and worrying. At lunch, Marc comes home and sits down to the bowl of soup Sara has put out for him. “So tell me everything. How did it go?”
“I think she might be wonderful. She’s bought sparkly pens for him to earn.” Even though she’s saying nice things, she isn’t smiling. “I don’t know. I get so mad when he has a bad teacher who doesn’t make an effort or care about him, and then we get a nice one who does and I wonder if it’s going to make any difference. Oh, Marc, I just keep thinking—”
She’s sad, I can tell, which makes me go over and put my nose in her lap. “If he doesn’t have a better time this year, we may have to send him to that out-of-district placement. He’ll be three hours away and we won’t see him all week! It breaks my heart to imagine.” She takes a deep breath. “I just want this year to work out better.”
“I know,” Marc says. “I know.”
“Is he ever going to appreciate this new teacher and how hard people are working to connect with him?”
Marc comes over and hugs her. “I don’t know. But we’ll appreciate her, right? Just like we appreciate Chester here.”
All day long, I think about how Gus answered me this morning.
For so long I wished Penny could understand all the questions I wanted to ask her: What if I can’t do the job I’m given? What if I don’t love the person I’m matched with as much as I love you? After that terrible day on the farm, I wanted to tell her how sorry I was, and it wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t.
Now I wonder if maybe I imagined hearing Gus talk. I can’t wait for him to get home to test it out again.
After Sara brings him home, though, he’s tired. Sara reads a note written in a blue book she pulls out of his backpack. “Gus was a little nervous today and chose not to participate in art class or circle meeting or any of the other class activities. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
I know this makes Sara sad.
I want to follow Gus into his room and ask, What’s wrong with circle meeting? Why don’t you like art? But he pushes me out the door of his room. Apparently hearing each other talk doesn’t work through closed doors.
It also doesn’t work if he’s not in the mood.
At dinner I try again. What’s wrong with circle meeting? I ask. What’s art again?
Nothing.
I can’t help feeling sad. For so long, I’ve wanted someone to talk to. Sure, there are other dogs in the neighborhood, but you’d be surprised how little grown dogs have in common with each other. When we’re young, we play in a heap, hardly noticing our differences. As grown-ups, it’s different. We meet on walks, attached to leashes, and we don’t say anything. The closest we come to real communication is probably at night when we race outside for our last pee and activate the Neighborhood Emergency Alert System, where an emergency is any time one of us goes outside and it’s dark out. Then we bark to let the others know we’re outside and it’s dark. Maybe I started this, I’m not sure. Maybe the dark makes me nervous because loud noises could come from anywhere, so I bark to scare them away. Then the other dogs start and I have to admit, I feel a little better. But it’s not a real conversation and the truth is, it’s lonely. They aren’t real friends and I usually feel embarrassed when I see those dogs during the day.
I pretend to ignore them and keep moving so they won’t sniff my rump. I know it’s tempting and I’m tempted too, but the longer I live with Sara and Marc and Gus, the more aware I am of how important social interactions are.
I don’t think Penny was very good at these. I know Gus is terrible. On the street, in the grocery store, Sara is always reminding him, “Be polite, Gus. Say hello.” He says hello in a high-pitched, squeaky voice that’s hard for people to understand and then he never says anything else.
I’m working hard to be polite and not smell rumps because I don’t want Sara’s life to be any harder than it already is. I’m here to help, even if we haven’t figured out how I’ll do that.
How Not to Help
GUS HAS A BAD NIGHT. INSTEAD of eating his dinner, he stares off into the distance. After dinner, I’m hoping he’ll go to his window so we can check on the birds and their nest together, but even after I say, I think the mother bird is sitting on some eggs, he doesn’t go.
Instead, he walks upstairs to his room and lies down on his bed.
Sara looks in a little later, then comes down to say, “It’s six thirty and he’s fast asleep with all his clothes on. I’m not sure what to do.”
Marc isn’t either. They decide to let him sleep for a while, which might be a mistake becau
se when Sara wakes him up at eight to get his pajamas on, he cries louder than I’ve ever heard him cry. It makes my heart race and my legs shake. I run into the room to get it to stop.
Sara is sitting on the bed with him, but in the terrible confusion of screaming, I forget everything.
I forget that I should never touch him.
I forget that if I have to touch him, my nose is the worst thing to do it with.
I forget all of that and put my paws in his lap and lick his neck and his ears. The screaming gets worse and Gus shoves me, hard. I fly across the room and hit the bookshelf where they keep the few books Gus allows his parents to read to him.
Sara screams, “GUS, NO!”
I scramble out of the room as she starts to cry herself. “You mustn’t ever hurt Chester!” Both of them crying at once is too much and I limp away.
How to Get Ready
I DON’T GO BACK TO SCHOOL THE next day. Or the next. Or the day after that.
Finally Ms. Winger sends a note home saying, “Chester may join us at school for an hour on Thursday.”
The night before, I have a hard time sleeping. I try to imagine what this will be like. I’ve seen classrooms on TV, which are loud with children’s voices and chairs scraping. I’m most afraid of what will happen if something goes wrong. If Gus panics, it’s possible I’ll panic too. I don’t think Sara and Marc know what happened in the thunderstorm at the farm. They think of me as a smart dog who almost passed the service dog test but didn’t quite.
They trust me to do this job and I want to prove I can. I think about the birds building their nest. I can do this, I think. I can.
I wake up early in the morning and check the spot in the mudroom where my vest is laid out, along with my leash. I wait in the kitchen for hours, it seems like, for the others to wake up.
Two garbage trucks roll by and one recycling truck, but I don’t bark at all. I have to stay concentrated. Today is the first real day of my first real job. I’m a working dog now, even if I don’t have the same orange vest as my dog brothers.
Chester and Gus Page 4
