AP01 - Star Crossed
Page 2
Liz longed to return to bed.
She received email updates from the volunteers at the training facility over the next weeks which she shared with her students: Star was a great dog, willing and polite. Liz had done wonderful work with her. She was becoming everyone’s favorite.
Liz wondered if they said this to all the puppy raisers at the end.
They had to wait months before any chance of seeing Star again. If she graduated, Liz and Tom would be invited to the final ceremony with other raisers from the class. Then they would have the chance to see their babies in action. If.
If she didn’t graduate—if she failed the tests, dropped out of the program—Star would go into civilian placement. The first choice when this happened was for the grown dog to return to the puppy raiser. If your dog flunked, you had the chance to keep her.
Liz tried not to think of this. Tried to tell herself there could be nothing better for Star than fulfilling the destiny she was born for. Star was never meant to be a pet. Service was in her blood, her very genetic code, through the organization’s breeding program. This was her fate.
Yet, there was a spark, which grew to a flame, which shamed Liz into never saying it out loud—a desperate hope which she buried and denied even to herself.
The weeks and months passed. Liz received pictures of Star in emails which she could hardly look at. Perfect Star in harness with her trainer. The volunteers kept assuring Liz that she was doing wonderfully. Liz sank deeper and deeper with each word.
When the invitation came, Liz felt sick: a mixture of grief for the now unalterable loss of her dog and pride that Star really was going to be someone’s eyes.
Liz couldn’t go to graduation, of course. It had been hard enough the first time. She couldn’t say goodbye again. It was over. Star had a new life to get on with, a promise to fulfill. Liz had to let go.
“What?” Tom stared at her across the table. The same two spots they occupied the first time he mentioned getting a puppy. “How could you not go?”
“Easy. I’ll stay here. I have a lot of papers to grade.”
“Liz—”
“I can’t go. It’s not fair for her to have to see me and then go off with strangers another time.”
“Not fair to her, or too hard on you? Don’t you care what it would mean to her to see you? Don’t you want to meet the people she’ll be spending the rest of her life with? Is that how you’re going to feel about a child’s college graduation? Raise them, send them to school, then refuse to see them graduate because they’re officially moving out?”
“It’s not the same thing, Tom.” Liz sat rigidly in her seat, mouth like sandpaper.
“I’m going,” he said. “I think you should go too. In fact, I think it’s really, really important that you go, Liz. But do whatever you want.”
He stood and started clearing the table.
Ashamed, furious, longing to shout at him, Liz only sat in stony silence, stomach churning.
In the morning, feeling even more nauseated, she got up, showered, and dressed for the event, joining Tom in the car without a word.
Over an hour later, the anxious, camera-clutching puppy raisers and family members of the graduating humans filed into the large, open building with many rows of chairs facing a podium and projector screen.
Once settled, they were welcomed and thanked personally by the director of the organization.
Then she addressed the puppy raisers: “I could tell you what a difference each of you has made. I could tell you that without you we couldn’t change the lives we change. I could tell you each one of you is a hero for doing what you do. But I’d like to show you this instead.”
The director stepped aside and sat down as the room dimmed. A film started against the white screen with text over black: A message for our puppy raisers, from everyone at The Canine Service Academy and our new graduating class …
As the film started and the audience cooed and sighed or laughed, Liz knew it was their dogs. Their puppies they had loved, trained, taken everywhere with them. Learning to stop at curbs, avoiding trash cans on the sidewalk, standing while their harnesses were put on, running and playing with balls and disks.
When Star appeared on the screen, Liz could hardly breathe. Her baby girl walked to a row of cement steps, in harness with a trainer, stopped, and looked up at the woman gripping the handle. The trainer felt the step with her foot and, at a command, Star led her up. At the landing and door, Star stopped again. The woman bent to stroke and praise her.
There followed clips of the first meetings between some of the new human companions to these now working dogs. Liz saw a young man, not much over 20, sliding off his chair in a room at the facility to reach out with both hands and feel his way across Star’s blunt muzzle, her soft ears, down her neck, across her back—a huge, blissful smile on his face. Her tail waved as she stood close.
Liz watched as other dogs worked together with their new people and their old trainers. Out of the facility now, in the real world of the city ten minutes away. Traffic, pedestrians, dogs, birds, food, noise and smells everywhere.
She watched as Star led the young man, still smiling, onto a bus. Another clip showed Star lying at his feet in a restaurant among three other new human/canine teams. He reached down to find her head by his knee and rubbed her ears. Then the pair maneuvered a congested sidewalk to a street corner. No trainer or assistant now. Just Star and the smiling young man with his face slightly down-turned, as if watching his new dog.
Star stopped at the curb. She studied cars flying past with her head up, ears pricked. The light changed. The audio signal beeped. The man spoke to her. Star crossed the street, pulling against the harness. At the far side, she paused. He felt the curb with his foot. They walked on. Then he stopped her, though there was nothing else in their path. As Star stood, gazing up at him, he knelt and hugged her, pressing his face into her neck. Star remained still, only her tail waving back and forth.
The picture faded to black once more and the original text concluded with: … thank you.
The lights came up. Everyone applauded. Tears ran down Liz’s cheeks. Tom put his arm around her shoulders.
More people from the organization stood and talked. Trainers and managers of the programs. Then, when everyone had just about pulled themselves together in the audience, the graduates were announced and started filing in, two by two.
“James and Lucy. Tanner and Sunny. Jessica and Hunter. Nancy and Bella. Cameron and Storm.”
Liz knew that Sunny and Storm were two of Star’s litter-mates and she held her breath. When she finally heard, “Jacob and Star,” Liz closed her eyes for a moment, tried to fill her lungs, gave up, opened her eyes.
Star walked calmly to the podium to line up with the others. She looked so old, so mature. Strong, perfectly in shape. She had grown into those big paws and silly, floppy ears at last. She was a picture. A full-grown, sleek, pale gold Labrador—beautiful.
The young man at her side walked upright and tall, head still tilted a bit down, a vast smile still on his face. When they reached their places, Star sat by his side. Jacob rested his hand on her smooth head.
Liz hardly heard the rest. Golden bells and trumpets filled her ears. White lights like angels’ wings blinded her. A brass band played just for her.
When the ceremony ended and everyone was allowed to greet the human/canine teams, hug and congratulate, Liz and Tom stayed back. They watched what looked like Jacob’s mother and a couple of younger siblings hugging him. His mother held his face and kissed him while Jacob laughed. Then she bent to grab the head of the dog by his side and kiss her too.
Star lashed her tail as she looked around at the family.
Gently, Tom took Liz’s arm and stepped forward. Star looked around. Her head shot up, her nose twitched, her eyes widened. Her whole body trembled by Jacob’s side.
Jacob’s mother glanced around. “Her puppy raisers are here. Why don’t you let her go?”
&
nbsp; “Okay, Star,” Jacob said. “Release.”
Star bounded into Liz’s arms. She licked and whined and thrashed her whole body back and forth in wild, joyful wags. She cried and rolled on her back, then jumped up again to greet Tom, licking his face as he knelt down. She threw herself at Liz once more, then sprang back to her new family, gazing up at them, wagging, mouth open and panting, eyes dancing, then back to Liz and Tom. As if she was telling all of them, Look! Can you believe who’s here? Look at this!
Liz laughed and cried—“I’m so, so proud of you, Star.”—and hugged her dog—Jacob’s dog—as if she would never let go.
But she would, she realized. Now she could. She already had.
Epilogue
Somehow, the car ride home is far shorter than the previous ones. The nausea continues, though Liz can’t recall ever being motion sick in her life. And why should she still feel sick now? She is light as air after the long visit with Star and her new family at the academy.
Yet.… Ten minutes from home, she asks Tom to stop at the drugstore. Does he need anything? No. He sits in the car, smiling over pictures on the little screen of their camera as she goes in.
At home, Liz doesn’t wait around. She has to know. Now.
Out of the bathroom, feeling lightheaded, out of breath, she finds Tom uploading the photos to his laptop.
“Look at this,” he says, turning. “Our baby girl all grown up.”
“How about another one?”
Tom stares at her. “What? I don’t know about another puppy right away, Liz.”
“This one won’t have floppy ears and a tail.”
There’s a second, perhaps two or three, when they stare at one another—his mouth open, her smile as broad as Jacob’s at the ceremony. Then they’re both shouting as he jumps from his chair to hug her.
A Note On Puppy Raising
The organization, people, and dogs in this story are fictitious. However, puppy raising is very real and of vital importance to service dog programs all over the world.
If you, or someone you know, are thinking of becoming one of the behind the scenes heroes of the service dog world, here are links to help get you started:
Canine Companions for Independence http://www.cci.org/site/c.cdKGIRNqEmG/b.4011029/k.6CF1/Puppy_Raising_Program.htm/
The Seeing Eye http://www.seeingeye.org/raise/
Guide Dogs for the Blind http://www.guidedogs.com/site/PageServer?pagename=help_volunteer_puppy
Leader Dogs for the Blind http://www.leaderdog.org/volunteer/puppyraiser/
Guide Dogs of America http://www.guidedogsofamerica.org/1/programs/puppy-raising/
KSDS, Inc. Assistance Dogs http://www.ksds.org/KSDS_dogs_puppyraisers.htm
NEADS http://www.neads.org/puppyraisers
Can Do Canines http://can-do-canines.org/puppy-raiser/
Or Google service dog puppy raiser with your home state or country to find an organization near you.
About the Author
Jordan Taylor has been a professional dog trainer for over ten years, working in a variety of areas from private consultations to agility and entertainment—training dogs for film, advertising, and live theater. Her first book, Wonder Dogs: 101 German Shepherd Dog Films, traces the history of German Shepherd Dogs in movies from the 1920s to modern times. Jordan continues to merge her love for writing and dogs at home in the Pacific Northwest.
Stories in the Angel Paws series celebrate the unique bond between canines and humans with heartfelt, moving, and insightful tales for anyone who has ever loved a dog.
If you enjoyed Star Crossed, please leave a review on Amazon and find more Angel Paws stories on Jordan’s author page: https://amazon.com/author/jordantaylor.
You can find Jordan tweeting on twitter.com/JordanTaylorLit, updating her website at www.jordantaylorbooks.com, and being delighted to hear from readers through jordantaylorbooks@gmail.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Start
Epilogue
A Note on Puppy Raising
About the Author
Table of Contents
Title Page
Start
Epilogue
A Note on Puppy Raising
About the Author