When I was 15 months old, I graduated from Guide Dog school. I couldn’t believe I had finished five months of intense training and passed an endless week of exams. It hadn’t been easy to ignore food smells from sidewalk cafés, overlook feline provocation along the route and keep my composure when a Jack Russell sniffed my butt while we waited at the traffic light.
I overheard the trainers talking about my new family. She was vision-impaired and had a small boy-child. He’d better not pull my fur with his sticky fingers. Paws crossed, let’s hope he’s as welltrained as me. He’s three years old and hasn’t even started school— can you believe that?
I knew it was a special morning because my trainer groomed me from head to tail.
“Hey, laddy, you’re going to a new home. Got to make you look smart for your new lady friend.”