It was the last Sunday in June. I was in the Jupiter High School auditorium, sweltering one minute, chilled the next—uncomfortable in every way possible. But there was nowhere else in the world I belonged at the moment. The place was packed, the seats filled with friends and relatives of the kids about to get their new dogs. Their buzzy excitement and continuous camera clicks created an exhilarating vibe that echoed off the walls like surround sound in the movies.
We trainers were in the first row center, left to right, Megan, Maria, Lissa, JJ, Trey. And me. We all wore identical rust-colored Canine Connections T-shirts—“No one can really rock rust,” as Regan so charmingly pointed out—but the message printed on the back overcame that less-than-attractive color: I SUPPORT COLD NOSES, WARM HEARTS, HAPPY TAILS.
Six examples of the best of those sat obediently at our feet. The dapper dogs had that just-shampooed look, fluffy, soft, clean. Their attire was even less flattering than ours, but the message did, in fact, rock. They wore sage-green reflective vests identifying them as service dogs. Each one—Romeo, Daffodil, Chainsaw, Otis, Clark Kent, and Rex—was highly skilled, obedient, intelligent, loyal. Each was a symbol of hope and unconditional love.
On stage were the winners of a life-changing lottery. Through other eyes, they might have represented a ragtag roundup of kids usually referred to as disabled, handicapped, wheelchair-bound, visually challenged. They appeared broken.
Not to this audience, not in this space, not now. Today, they radiated hope and unshakable belief. This was partly because of us, because of what we had accomplished with our dogs over the past months. Their lives were about to change; they’d soon become more independent, less pitied. More normal.
My heart hurt.
I did not want to be there.
Of course I was proud of Rex—and of myself. I’d even admit to a tinge of excitement. Still, a black cloud hung over me. I couldn’t have been more terrified, and that terror threatened to take me down. Knowing I was doing the right thing did not quell the voice in my head that was wailing, How will I live without Rex?
The staticky buzz of the switched-on microphone signaled that the ceremony was about to begin. LuLu took the stage. As opposed to her usual dusty jeans, sneakers, and “let’s get to work” attitude, she was wearing beige linen pants, pretty pumps, and an ear-to-ear grin. “Welcome, everyone, to graduation day!”
An enthusiastic round of applause greeted her.
“Today,” she said, “one journey has ended and another is about to begin. For our trainers”—she paused to acknowledge us—“this is the finish line of a long, sometimes bumpy, but always thrilling road. You had a goal, and now you’ve reached it. We are all very proud of you, and offer you our deepest thanks.”
The applause was heartfelt—and loud. Someone whistled. Please don’t ask us to stand, I prayed. I slunk down a little in my chair, only to have Mom, sitting directly behind me, tap me on the shoulder. She whispered, “Don’t slouch. Be proud of what you did. We are.”
Regan, perched next to Mom, was busy taking pictures. Not for any family scrapbooks, nor for me, but to attach to her essay. I had to hand it to the girl—she’d always been on point.
“For our clients, the brave, adventurous group behind me”—LuLu swiveled her neck and smiled at them—“today marks the first day of the rest of your new, independent, and, we believe, happier lives.”
Unsurprisingly, the shout-out to the kids got the biggest applause, rollicking cheers, a standing ovation.
“There’s still a lot of work to do,” LuLu cautioned. “Starting tomorrow, our recipients and the dogs they’ve been paired with begin their customized training. You’ve been through orientation and the learning process. Now, your dogs will come live with you in our dorm. Together, you and your new best friend will learn how to do exactly what you need him or her to. The next week will be intense, but it’s the time for you to bond.”
Was it also the time for me and Rex to “unbond”? Was that possible to do? The boulder in my throat blocked my airway and a tear spilled over my lower eyelid. For the longest time, I couldn’t cry. Now, I couldn’t stop.
Of course my snap-happy sister picked that exact moment to materialize in front of me and take a picture.
“Delete it!” I whispered angrily.
“No,” she assured me, “it’s going to be amazing—it’ll show how hard it is to give the dog up. It’s the perfect narrative to go with my essay. You taught me that!”
Great.
“Let’s get this party started!” LuLu exclaimed. “When I call your name, please join me at the microphone. Then I’ll call the trainer of your new dog to hand the leash over to you.”
For some reason, right then, I remembered my cousin’s wedding, the moment when her parents “handed her off,” gave the daughter they’d raised over to her new husband. At the time, I’d seen one family expanding, another shrinking.
It felt very similar.
The ceremony began. The pairings were going as I’d predicted. Megan was the picture of pride and perfection as she regally climbed the few steps to the stage. She handed Romeo over to Hailey, the girl who needed crutches to get around, who wanted to chase boys at recess. Hailey blushed when the handsome chocolate Lab stood next to her.
Daffodil, the yellow Lab, was paired with the wheelchair-bound Kaitlyn. The dog immediately placed her head in Kaitlyn’s lap. The girl shrieked with joy. “Mom!” she called. “Look! She already loves me!”
Chainsaw would help Joss, the blind teen, find his way around a new, unfamiliar college campus. They were both beaming.
Otis looked ready to lift the spirits of the sad boy with a respiratory disorder. The kid looked anything but sad right now.
And little Clark Kent, a hoot as usual, bounded up the steps to meet Daniel, the autistic child. Daniel instantly wraped his bird-like arms around the dog’s neck.
There was only one pairing left. Rex had been assigned to Kim, the girl with cerebral palsy. I stood … and froze. I could not go through with this.
The room became quiet. I heard my mom’s sharp intake of breath and Regan stage-whisper, “Go!” I ignored them. Instead of leading Rex to the stage, I kneeled next to him—this angel who’d seen me through the darkest of days.
And yet somehow I knew. This moment was not for caving in to selfish needs. This was my moment to be brave. Dad trusted I’d know the difference. Somewhere, he still does. I pressed my cheek to Rex’s bristly muzzle and whispered, “If you need me, I’m always here.”
The tear made it only halfway down my cheek. Rex raised his padded paw and—maybe he’d meant to, maybe it was an accident—wiped it away. I led Rex up to the stage, and that’s when I heard it. I would never know if the dog said it or I’d imagined it.
“Say good night, Gracie.”
The next moment, Rex was at Kim’s feet, her angel now.