“Ask me if I care,” I dared Rex.
“Don’t have to ask, I know you do,” Rex replied.
It no longer felt strange that we were talking, but we were taking a risk by doing it during a training session. When Rex was chattering away, everyone else heard dog noises—barks, yelps, whines, a low growl sometimes. But a girl having a full-out conversation with a dog looks like what it is: crazy-time.
Our dogs were perched atop their workstation blocks while we affixed harnesses on them. The harnesses were fitted with high, rectangular handles like the ones used on rolling suitcases. This is so the dog can accompany a blind person or someone with balance issues. Fastening the leather straps wasn’t easy, especially on a dog who’s arguing with you.
“You don’t know anything,” I said, buckling a thick leather strap across his chest.
“Dogs know more than you think. We can sense our humans’ feelings,” Rex asserted. “You’re terrified of flunking out.”
“Am not,” I insisted while fastening the strap beneath his stomach just a little too tightly.
“Hey! Couldja loosen that? A dog’s tummy needs room to expand, especially when treats are in the offing.”
“That gravy train is coming to an end,” I informed him, loosening the buckle beneath his bristly belly. “Soon all you get is praise and affection when you follow commands.”
“But I always perform better when munchies are involved. Besides, at my age, who cares about having six-bone abs?”
“Chowhound,” I muttered.
“Feelings-denier,” Rex retorted.
“It’s so nice that you talk to your dog like he’s human,” LuLu, our instructor, commented, inspecting the harness to make sure it was secure.
“He’s so not—human,” I said, but more to Rex than her.
Today was a big day. We were going on a field trip to teach our dogs how to lead a blind person, stop at curbs, and to wait for the green traffic light before crossing. Which, since dogs are color-blind, was a puzzler.
We trooped to a quiet neighborhood so there was no danger of a dog rushing into fast-moving traffic—or a Regan-like driver, I hoped.
The first part of the exercise was tedious, but uncomplicated. Grasping the harness handles, we gave the command “forward” and led the dogs straight ahead. Each time the dog did it exactly right, didn’t veer off course, we clicked a handheld castanet-like gadget. The drill was simple: the dog obeys the command exactly, we click, and a treat is delivered at the sound of the click.
Soon most of the dogs had to only hear the word “forward”—even as we were standing still—to respond properly. It’s surprising how motivating a liver-flavored Treat-Um can be! I couldn’t help wondering what kind of treat it would take to motivate me to deal with the school debacle. Only one I could think of. But that would require a life rewind, where what happened, hadn’t.
Next was teaching the dogs to stop at the curb. As soon as their paws landed on an upgrade or elevation in the sidewalk—a curb—we’d say, “Wait.” If the dog stopped, he/she heard a click, followed immediately by a treat. The pattern, “forward,” “stay,” click-and-treat, was repeated until the dog did it right every time.
None of this was difficult for Rex and me, or for Daffodil, Maria’s yellow Lab, who was nearly as receptive to training as Rex. Too bad I couldn’t say the same for the others.
Romeo, the chocolate Lab, was turning out to be the poster boy for the “beautiful but dumb” stereotype. He couldn’t seem to understand “forward.” He kept circling and sniffing at Megan’s knee. Which frustrated her to no end. She tugged at him repeatedly, but that only got him to stand still, not move forward.
Trey’s corgi, the diminutive Clark Kent, was relentless in his pursuit of Daffodil. No amount of clicking, Pup-Peroni, Snausages, or even Yummy Chummy Bacon Bits could trump his single-mindedness. Trey was worse than Megan as a trainer. He kept scolding the poor pup, “Clark Kent, no! Stop it!” while yanking the leash. LuLu was forced to give them all her attention, to show Trey how to gently correct the dog, not scold him. Dogs learn by praise, not punishment.
They certainly don’t learn if you’re not teaching them. That was the situation with the fearsome foursome: Lissa and Chainsaw, JJ and Otis. They trailed behind us, at least half a block away. It took a moment to see why. They’d stopped to stare at one of the houses.
Really? They are going to break into this one? In the middle of a class? Besides, the house—a small, one-story beige stucco with a postage-stamp-sized lawn—was not exactly a burglar’s dream house. To me the house didn’t look like much, but maybe to Lissa it was a palace.
Rex and I did a U-turn and jogged back toward Lissa and JJ. I was still too far away to hear much when they began to argue. It didn’t matter. Their body language spoke volumes—set on high.
Lissa had tossed Chainsaw’s leash on the ground and started down the driveway, furiously motioning for JJ to follow.
JJ wasn’t into it. He strode after her, trying to grab her arm and, it looked like, pull her away. Lissa was resisting, holding her ground.
By now Rex and I were just a few yards away. Did I yell out to them? Let them know I was watching? If you suspect a crime’s about to be committed and don’t say anything, isn’t that withholding information? Isn’t that exactly what JJ was doing with my dad’s case?
But were they really planning to break in? I should have either interfered—or walked away.
Instead, I just stood there like an idiot. Any minute, they could turn and see me.
“There’s a time to be brave and a time to cave.” That wasn’t Rex; it was my dad’s voice in my head. “If you know something is the right thing to do, even if you’re scared, do it anyway. But if doing it puts you in immediate danger, run away, fast. I trust you to know the difference.”
I didn’t.
“What do you want to do?” This time, it was Rex.
“Not sure. What do you think?” I actually asked this of a dog.
“Your call, Detective Abernathy.”
In the end, JJ made the call. He yanked Lissa around, put Chainsaw’s leash in her hand, and marched her back toward the group. Too bad. I would’ve liked to catch him in a crime. I’d have been on the phone to the cops in a blink of an eye.
Rex, reading my mind, said, “He stopped her from breaking into someone’s house. Maybe he’s not as bad as you want to think.”
I countered, “Or maybe he’s not stupid enough to do it in broad daylight. Maybe they’ll both go back tonight.” Even as I said it, however, my instinct told me no—whatever Lissa was going to do, it wasn’t going to involve JJ.
When Lissa and JJ rejoined the group, I laser-focused on them. The two were quick studies and had their dogs moving forward in a straight line and stopping at curbs in a lot less time than it took, say, Romeo or Clark Kent.
They apparently had not hugged it out, though. The tension between JJ and Lissa was thick as layered cheesecake. Every time she looked at him, she scowled.
LuLu was now ready to teach us how the dogs lead a blind person across the street. I stole nervous glances at Lissa and JJ as we walked a few blocks farther until we came to a wide, busy avenue and gathered at the nearest intersection. The light was red.
“Don’t look at what color the light is,” LuLu instructed. “I want you to listen—and think. A blind person can’t see the colors. Neither can a dog. How does a guiding-eyes dog know when it’s safe to cross the street?”
The light was now green. The “Walk” sign lit up, but we stayed put. The light changed back to red, then after a while, green again. Suddenly, it hit me and I blurted, “When the light facing us is green, the traffic in front of us stops and it’s quiet. When it’s red, there’s the noise of the traffic flow. It has nothing to do with the colors of the light.”
A broad smile brought out crinkles around LuLu’s eyes. “That’s exactly it! Well done, Grace!”
I looked at Rex. He was beaming, his eyes actually twinkled, and his tail waved like a palm tree in a wild windstorm.
“But what if they come to an intersection and it’s quiet?” asked Megan. “How do they know how much longer they have until the light’s going to change?”
“Good question,” LuLu said.
“They just wait,” Maria guessed. “They wait until they hear the traffic surge, and as soon as the sound stops, and they’ve checked that no cars are coming, they know they’ve got enough time to cross.”
“They wait through an entire traffic cycle before crossing. It takes a little longer, but it’s the safest way,” LuLu recited. “When in doubt, wait it out.”