Together (11 page)

The woman
laughed, taking it well. "Yeah, but he was a great old boy, my Leonard, a
great old boy."

"So,
Brenden, what do you want?" Jimmy asked. "They've got goldens, black
Labs, yellow Labs, a few shepherds, and then this new breed, the Labradoodle.
That's a combination Lab and poodle. I've heard they're really smart, but what
do I know? I'm blind."

Laughter
again rang out around the table. Brenden found himself wondering how they could
all be so cavalier about their disability. Hadn't some of them lost their sight
along the way because of an accident, just like him?

Jimmy asked
again, "So what do you want, pal?"

"I don't
know," Brenden said tentatively. "I guess I'll just take whatever
they give me."

"Well,"
Jimmy said, "you're in Harold Smith's class—Smitty, we call him. That
means you'll get a great dog no matter what it is. Smitty's the best. The only
problem is he likes dogs more than he likes people."

Lorraine
jumped in again. "That's not true, Jimmy. He just likes dogs more than he
likes an old pain-in-the-rear like you." This time the laughter was even
louder.

Brenden
realized that most of these people had been down this road before and were both
extremely excited and comfortable. He couldn't understand it. He was here
largely because his mother had pressured him and because he knew without a
doubt that if he didn't regain his independence, he wouldn't be worth anything
to Lindsey. He understood perfectly that he had to become her equal in all
things or their love would die. All this optimism about dogs was just too much.

Just then, a
sliding glass door at the far end of the room opened, and Brenden heard someone
stride in with confident steps. Enthusiastic applause broke out. Smitty had
arrived.

"Good
evening, ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "Welcome to Guide Dogs.
You have the distinct honor and pleasure of being members of my class."

A smattering
of good-natured booing followed this comment.

"Oh, you
people are just sorry you're not bald and handsome like I am." Smitty
laughed. "That's right, ladies, handsome and bald and getting older."

"Not as
old as me," Jimmy piped in.

"No,
Jimmy, that's true. No one is as old as you."

Again,
laughter.

"All
right, everyone. You know the rules, but if you're new and you've read your
material, you've learned that your dogs will not be presented for the first
three days. You'll be working Juno."

Jimmy
groaned. "That means me too, Smitty?"

"Yes, it
does, Jimmy. Your technique has probably become too sloppy over the years.
You're likely taking too many shortcuts. It's about time we straightened you
out."

Brenden
didn't know exactly what Juno was, but he had heard that it related somehow to
simulating what the dogs did with their instructor.

"It's going
to be a long day tomorrow," Smitty went on, "with a lot of walking.
Breakfast is promptly at seven. The work begins at eight, We'll start with a
general lecture on the work and then go out into the beautiful streets of San
Rafael to begin our training. Take some time and get to know each other. Some
of you already know where your rooms are, but we'll be around to help any of
you who aren't sure. Just let us know whenever you're ready to go to bed."

After more
applause, Brenden noticed that most of the students immediately fell into
excited conversations. They were extremely enthusiastic about meeting the dogs,
while all Brenden wanted to do was go home.

Smitty
watched all this, observing the young man sinking further and further into
himself. He thought about McCarthy's application, how it spoke of his love of
sports and outdoor activities, of his graduation from medical school and his
desire to live in downtown Denver. Smitty had actually been thinking about
Nelson for this young man, but now as he watched him, he wasn't sure. Maybe
Nelson would have to wait for the next class; that is, if nobody caught on to
his deception.

He crossed
the room and introduced himself. "I'm Harold Smith," he said.
"You're Brenden McCarthy, right?"

The handshake
told Brenden that this guy had worked hard throughout his life. His hand was
gnarled and strong, but there was also friendship and warmth in the shake.
Brenden had noticed over the months since he lost his sight that he could learn
a lot from a handshake, and it was clear to him that this one said, "Glad
to meet you. I hope I can help." Right now, Brenden didn't want any help.
He wanted to go to bed.

"Excuse
me," he said, without engaging in conversation. "Could you show me my
room, please? I think I'd like to call it a night."

"Oh
sure," Smitty said. "Take my arm. Right this way."

They moved
down the corridor, and Smitty refamiliarized Brenden with his bedroom and bath.

"Well,
good night," Brenden said, sitting down on his bed.

"Listen,
McCarthy," Smitty said, sensing the young man's disconnect, "I want
you to know I'm here for you; I mean, any extra attention you need, any special
work with the dog that we'll pick for you. I know from your application that
you had a tough break with your accident, and I'm sure it's not easy to begin
living as a blind person. But if you're willing to try, these incredible
animals can make a big difference in your life."

Brenden
didn't even nod, and Smitty was forced to go on. "Like I said, we'll begin
tomorrow morning after breakfast, and actually I'll be working with you for the
first couple of days. I very much look forward to sharing a partnership, so get
a good night's sleep, okay?"

Again,
Brenden sat mute, and Smitty quietly closed the door.

For a long
time after the trainer left, Brenden just sat on his bed, not moving, deep in
thought. He hated his circumstance. He hated the idea that he was thought of as
one of these people. They were blind, handicapped, disabled, and yet they
seemed happy in their pathetic state. Didn't they know what the world was
really like? How much they had lost or would never understand? The changing of
the seasons? A rainbow? A beautiful smile? They were blind.

And then it
hit him like a crippling blow in the stomach. So was he: Brenden McCarthy,
doctor, mountain climber, fiancé to Lindsey. He was just like them. No better,
no worse. He was blind. And tomorrow he would begin to learn to use a dog, an
unmistakable symbol of his disability.

He put his
head in his hands, overcome by the emotion of the moment, overcome as his
reality enveloped him. Not for the first time, the tears began to flow. The
sobs were gut-wrenching, and they came from a place of utter desolation. There
was no catharsis in his crying, no easing of the pain, no opening of the doors
to therapeutic understanding. Brenden was bereft of self-worth, a shattered
spirit broken in heart, soul, mind, and body.

Eventually,
when the crying subsided, he rolled onto his bed and mercifully slept, still in
his clothes.

chapter twelve

At breakfast
the next morning, Brenden felt the buzz in the room. He sensed the excitement
all the students were feeling as they began the process toward relationships
with new dogs and the independence that meant.

Their
enthusiasm annoyed Brenden. Didn't they know? Didn't they understand that their
dogs would brand them as—the word
handicapped
caught in his throat. Just the
thought of it was almost impossible for him to take.

Smitty came
in just as everyone finished breakfast. "Okay, boys and girls," he
said, "your chariot is outside. We'll drive to the student lounge and pair
you up with your instructors. Everybody have good walking shoes on? Wonderful.
Because you're going to need them. By the time you're finished, your feet will
be telling you you've covered a lot of miles. So let's go."

Everyone was
loaded onto a bus, and when they arrived at the staging lounge—a school-owned
building where people could take breaks and have soft drinks—Smitty was as good
as his word. He put his hand on Brenden's shoulder.

"Are you
ready to begin?" he asked.

The young man
just nodded.

"Oh
dear," Smitty said, "you're probably a night person—one of those guys
who just doesn't like the morning. That's too bad." The trainer placed a
leash and harness in Brenden's hands. "Here's your equipment—the second
most important link to your dog and independence."

Despite
himself, Brenden was curious. "The second most important link?" he
queried.

"That's
right. The most important one is love—the love the animal will feel for you and
the love you'll feel for him. Trust goes along with that, but you can gain
trust only if the love between you is so deep nothing can destroy it. You see,
Brenden, the dogs are pure. Oh sure, they make mistakes, and sometimes they can
behave in annoying ways, but it's never because they're being malicious or
trying to hurt you, or even trying to gain an upper hand in the work. They're
dogs—perfect in the way they love us, imperfect sometimes in the way they
behave."

"You
sound as if you like the dogs more than you like people," Brenden
suggested.

Smitty
laughed. "You got that right, bud. People disappoint you, but dogs never
do. Come over here."

Smitty led
Brenden to an area of the lounge along a wall and put his hands on—what?
"What is this?" Brenden asked.

"What do
you think it is?" Smitty said.

"It's—it's—it's
a make-believe dog?"

"You got
it, and what I want you to do is practice putting on the harness and leash.
Feel how it fits. The harness slides right over his head and then buckles
around his chest. The leash attaches right there to the choke chain on his
neck. Go ahead. Try it."

Once Brenden
buckled the harness in place, Smitty went on.

"Now,
check out the handle of your harness. That's your rudder. That's the way you're
going to read every input, every nuance of your animal. The secret to guide
work, along with establishing love and trust, is to be able to interpret each
other, and Brenden, my boy, you'll be amazed at how much these animals
understand. Frankly, they know much more than we ever give them credit for. They
can feel when you're nervous or apprehensive. They can feel when you're happy
or sad. They know whether you're having a good day or a bad one. And all of
that will be reflected in the way they work for you.

"For
today, I'm going to be your dog. We're going to take a walk, and I'm going to
hold the end of the harness, keeping forward pressure so that you get the idea
of interpreting my motion. Now, I admit it's not the same as working with a dog
because I'm standing upright on two legs, and the dog is moving along on four,
with the signals all coming from the way he moves and angles his shoulders. But
after thirty years I've become pretty good at approximation. So let's take a
walk."

They moved
out of the building, Smitty exerting constant pressure on the harness, with
Brenden tentatively following.

"I can
feel you're a little nervous, Brenden," Smitty said. "If I can get
that feeling from the harness, you can bet the dog will know right away, so
don't be afraid. Step right out. Neither the dog nor I will ever let anything
happen to you."

Smitty came
to a stop at the corner. "Okay," he said, "let's talk about the
environment you're going to be working in. We are very fortunate here in San
Rafael because the lettered streets A through E run east and west, and the
numbered streets one through five run north and south. So it's easy for us to
design routes for you to train on. Over the next few weeks, you'll hear me say
things like, 'Go to Third and B.' What would that mean to you?"

"Well, I
suppose it would mean I'd walk three blocks east, cross to the left or south,
and then walk four blocks."

"Well,"
Smitty said, allowing a smile, "I got a smart one. That's right, Brenden.
It's very important as you adjust to your dog and your blindness that you learn
to picture the environments in which you work. The dog will remember a lot, but
an animal is only as good as the capacity of his master to have a picture in
his head. Do you get it?"

Brenden
nodded.

Smitty went
on. "That's an advantage you have over somebody who has always been blind.
Now let's practice walking up to a curb. The dogs are trained to move forward
smartly, keeping pressure on the harness until they come right up to the edge.
Then they're to stop with your lead foot lined up so that your toes are square
to the line we're going to walk when we step off to cross. Do you
understand?"