“Where there is light, there is shadow.”
Lawrence English
Jennifer was down to her last dollar for Patrick’s therapy, scrambling to figure out how she would pay for his next visit, let alone anything beyond that. It was time to focus on fund-raising. I compiled a fund-raising video and sent an email to all of my contacts asking them to watch the video and donate to Patrick’s cause. By joining Facebook, with a few clicks of a button, I watched as people began spreading the word of Patrick’s goal to walk across the stage at his graduation, posting the links on their own Facebook pages, Web sites, and message boards. Just as when you throw one small stone into the water and it ripples outward, affecting the surface of the lake, so, too, does one good deed beget another. One friend knew someone who knew somebody else, and the story spread from one person to the next.
While the donations were not flooding in, the positive energy of the people supporting our cause was contagious to all, young and old alike. Everyone who saw the fund-raising video had beautiful things to say about Ricochet and Patrick, and I knew we were on the right path. My five-year-old niece, Andrea, was so inspired that she made her first-ever donation of fifty dollars. “Can we get him a doggie, Mom?” she asked after watching it. I savored the goodness that was coming from our efforts, even if it was not a steady stream of dollar signs.
Since Ricochet had done so well in the Purina contest, I entered her in a couple more surf dog contests that summer that benefited animal charities. Yet regardless of how she fared, participating would raise more awareness.
Our first competition was the Loews Coronado Bay Resort Surf Dog Contest. Sporting an orange “Sur-fur Girl” vest and matching lei, Ricochet found her spot in the sand with the Golden SurFURS, a local golden retriever meet-up group. She was one of the last dogs to surf, and by the time her turn rolled around, in true Ricochet style, she had to give a good chase to the nearby shorebirds first.
Thankfully, this event offered helpers in the water to assist the dogs, so I didn’t have to worry about trying to position her into the deeper water and onto her board by myself. She didn’t place in any of the heats and I wondered if her performance at the Purina contest was beginner’s luck. As I chatted with the other participants, I learned that I’d need help handling Ricochet in the upcoming contests since neither event offered assistance.
I began my search for a water handler by contacting surf schools, Craigs-list, and friends, but it turned up nothing. Where was a water helper when you needed one in a surfing mecca of the world? I knew people were busy, and this was purely volunteer, but even so, with time running out, I needed to find someone. I didn’t want my disability to hold Ricochet back from her purpose or hurt Patrick’s fund-raiser.
With just weeks to go until the next contest, I got a call from my friend Sarah who had some good news to share. I didn’t dare hope. Her friend Brian was willing to help Ricochet, and not only was he a surfer, but he recruited some friends to help, too.
On September 13, Ricochet entered the Helen Woodward Animal Center Surf Dog Surf-a-thon at Del Mar Dog Beach. There were close to a hundred dogs in the contest vying for the top spot in their heat, which would take them to the finals. It was crazy and chaotic with dogs in the water, dogs playing on the sand, and people milling about filming, watching, or waiting for their turn to surf.
My heart raced as Brian brought Ricochet out to take her first waves.
Calm down, Judy, Ricochet knows what she’s doing, I told myself.
The sounds of dogs barking and people cheering ceased as I watched Ricochet doing what she loved. Suddenly I could only hear the waves flowing in, and as they curled around her, Ricochet was calm and completely in control of her board. She surfed many long rides, standing tall on the board, looking like a pro gliding in—sometimes facing forward, then turning around backward, then forward again. I winced when she almost collided with a big black Labrador on a yellow board, but she shifted her weight just in time and the board veered to safety. In the short time she’d been surfing, she’d improved so much. Apparently the judges agreed: she was the first-place winner in the large-dog category, second heat, which qualified her for the finals.
“You did it, Ric!” I cheered, as she sat on her board with a lei around her neck. But the excitement was short lived because Brian’s friends had to leave before the finals.
How would we pull off surfing with just one person helping Ricochet?
Luckily, just before the finals started, Patrick’s surf coach, Robbie, showed up to help. He’d heard that we might need a hand, and he volunteered out of the goodness of his heart.
The final competition was fast and furious as the dogs and their handlers rushed to get in as many waves as they could in twenty minutes. Dogs were scored on the length of the ride, the size of the wave, and any tricks they performed on the board, such as turning around or riding backward.
Ricochet and Buddy, a Jack Russell terrier, rode one of the last waves of the heat side by side, with their boards nearly touching the whole way. It was a race to the finish! Yet in the last seconds, Buddy edged ahead to take first place, with Ricochet coming in second place overall. Not a bad day’s work for a competition with more than one hundred dogs! And since Buddy was an awesome surfer who typically won every contest, coming in second to him was a huge accomplishment and helped confirm that Ricochet was on a mission—and perhaps had been on one from birth. I was thrilled, not only because the event raised money for homeless animals at the Helen Woodward Animal Center, but also because Ricochet was able to surf to her full potential with Brian’s and Robbie’s help. Winning this contest gave us the momentum we needed—it meant more awareness, which meant more money and potential sponsors for Patrick.
Yet despite all of the positivity, a black cloud was looming. Someone in the surfing community had started a rumor insinuating that Robbie, our helper at the last event, was a professional surfer and that I had sought him out with the sole intention to help Ricochet win. Robbie’s random act of kindness was being completely misconstrued by someone’s warped view of a helping hand. While I knew some people could be spiteful, it was hard to understand how someone could be so negative about such a positive cause.
For my own peace of mind, I knew I had to ignore the rumors. Yet as hard as I tried, the deluge of drama was weighing on me. I felt like I had an albatross around my neck with the familiar sick feeling gnawing at my stomach. The energy and excitement I had over fund-raising was hampered by naysayers. I was being told by the person who started the rumor that other people agreed. I couldn’t let Ricochet’s goodness or mission be tainted by turmoil. While I knew there was some lesson to be learned, I couldn’t find it.
I decided to contact the event officials and ask if they had any problems with Ricochet’s win. They assured me that the contest had been a goodwill fund-raiser. Not only were they happy that Ricochet had taken second place, we hadn’t broken any rules. Despite the backing from the officials, the negativity remained amplified in my head.
With the thoughts still ruminating, I received an email from a reporter at the Associated Press, who had been hoping to write a surf dog story for a while. She noticed the buzz building about Patrick and Ricochet and loved the angle that Ricochet was a service dog in the making and then became a “dropout.” The Associated Press boasted a huge audience, and an article would spread the word of Patrick’s fund-raiser on a much larger scale. I crossed my fingers when the reporter met us at the beach.
“Ricki and I have only surfed a couple times,” Patrick told him. “It worked the first time, which kind of surprised me. I didn’t expect it would go as well as it did.”
“Patrick and Ricochet instantly connected,” Jennifer agreed. “The first time they ever met, there was this instant bond. They clicked right away.”
The reporter nodded, smiling as Ricochet looked up at Patrick, and Patrick stroked her head. “Ricochet will leap up right into his lap. I can tell Ricki loves to surf, and I know Patrick does. So when you put the two together, it’s truly amazing,” Jennifer said.
“She really knows how to balance,” Patrick explained. “It’s kind of crazy, but once when we were about to fall over, she just stepped on the other side of the board and evened us out.”
The reporter wanted to round out the article by filming some live action at the next surfing event. We thought that if the contest officials agreed, perhaps we could even do a live demonstration with Patrick and Ricochet surfing together.
I contacted the Surf City Surf Dog event team, and they graciously agreed to team up with us to make Patrick an official beneficiary of the event; what’s more, they gave us the green light to perform a tandem surfing demonstration for the media. Through our Surfin’ for Paws-abilities program, any money raised would go directly to help fund Patrick’s therapy and get him a service dog.
While this was wonderful news, I didn’t have a chance to savor it. I heard there were more rumors brewing and even a plan of action in motion. Someone was contacting surf contest organizers, urging them to change the rules so that “only owners can be in the water with their dogs.” I felt this suggestion was outrageous. I figured it was directed at Ricochet and me, and I couldn’t believe someone would actually go to these lengths to keep us from our cause. I worried that if the rules changed, we’d be shut out of any competitions because I physically couldn’t go into the deeper, rougher water.
Even though my disability isn’t obvious to the naked eye, it’s a ghost that’s haunted me my entire life. While I’ve accepted my limitations as a normal part of my life, I didn’t want Ricochet to be confined by my limitations. She’d finally found her purpose, and she was doing good work. And once again, just as things were looking up, it seemed that I was being told, “Sorry, Judy, good things don’t happen to you.”
The light that filtered into my world from Ricochet’s triumphant surf with Patrick was dimming, snuffed out by one or two detractors. Something momentous was happening, but I couldn’t enjoy it because my thoughts were consumed with negativity. Goodness abounded around me, but my mind kept going back to the badness. It was like I was standing in the most beautiful, sunny meadow and all I could see was one small, dark, menacing cloud hovering above.
Days later, Ricochet and I went to the beach to unwind with some friends. I was relaying the situation to Dave, a fellow surfer and a longtime member of Patrick’s team of handlers. He graciously listened to me vent—probably longer than necessary—and then said gently, “Judy, goodness always prevails.”
Was he crazy? What world did Dave live in? But he was so kind and sincere that I didn’t want to burst his bubble of optimism. “You’ll see, Judy,” Dave said, as he looked out into the waves. “Ricochet’s legacy won’t be about winning contests. Ricochet’s true legacy will be in how many lives she transforms.”
I felt a tingle ripple down my arms. Dave had been involved with adaptive surfing all his life, and it had obviously taught him what really mattered. We were trying to change Patrick’s life, not just win surfing competitions. I wanted to think we were making a difference, however small.
“Don’t worry, Judy,” he repeated louder. “Goodness will prevail.”
I nodded to be polite, but I didn’t believe him.
As the sun moved across the sky, casting a shadow on the beach, Dave came back to say good-bye. He said that, since he lived close to the next surfing event, he could help us if we needed him. Boy, did I need him. For the past decade, I had lived my life alone, closed off from people and afraid to reach out. But now Dave was reaching out to me, and even though it was difficult for me to accept help, I was ready to receive it for Patrick and Ricochet.
With all of the goodness that had washed over me quite literally in the waves the day that Ricochet and Patrick first surfed together, I wasn’t going to let anyone keep Ricochet from surfing. I couldn’t. What Ricochet was doing wasn’t for me; it was for Patrick, and if she couldn’t surf, Patrick might not get the money he needed for therapy. Then I thought of Ricochet, standing up for who she was, resisting for months, and I thought, Don’t give in.
I accepted Dave’s offer regardless of how it would be perceived by the one or two bullies who preferred to interfere in something they knew nothing about. I had found the first member of Ricochet’s team—her first water handler who was to become a constant in Ricochet’s life.
When I returned home, I received a phone call that lifted my spirits to incredible heights. I actually let out a squeal when I heard the news that would change Patrick and Jennifer’s lives. Apparently, word of our fund-raiser had circulated and a charitable organization wanted to help. Things were looking up.
The day before the contest, I took Ricochet to the beach to let off some steam. She surfed a bit but kept jumping off her board, which was something she hadn’t done in a long time. As the waves rolled in and out and the clouds drifted across the sky, I heard a strange sound. It was Ricochet whining.
“Ricochet, what is it?” I asked, looking into her eyes. She was limping. I examined her legs and they were fine, but when I looked on the underside of each paw, I found a pea-sized tear in her pad.
“Oh, Ricochet,” I said, inspecting the wound, which was red, moist, and raw. “You poor thing.”
She must have cut it on a shell when she was running, and my mind turned to what it knew best: It figures this would happen. Something bad always happens.
While the vet said the wound was minor, it was painful. He wrapped Ricochet’s foot in a latex bootie and cautioned that we would have to wait to see if she’d be able to surf.
What would I tell Patrick? All of the media attention to help garner funds could unravel if we couldn’t do the demo. But with the sand and saltwater, I didn’t think Ricochet could surf without irritating her paw, and I couldn’t imagine she’d want to surf.
I didn’t dare call Jennifer and Patrick to tell them. I’d wait until the morning and see how Ricochet was feeling.
The next day Ricochet and I met them at the beach. Patrick took one look at Ricochet’s latex boot. “We shouldn’t surf,” he said without any hesitation.
I was moved by his compassion. Instead of thinking of his own recovery and the money he and his mother needed for his therapy, he was only concerned for Ricochet’s welfare. For weeks we had someone trying to prevent us from surfing due to their own agenda, and here was this boy who would selflessly give it up out of love for my dog.
“Let’s see what she tells us later,” I offered. “She may want to surf with you,” I added, trying to sound hopeful.
Just then we saw a familiar face.
“Hey, Ricki!” Dave said as he walked toward us. Ricochet’s tail wagged furiously and she moved in to lick his face as he crouched down to pat her. “What happened to your paw?”
“She had a run-in with a shell yesterday and the shell won; she cut her paw pad. We’ll need to see if she’s up to surfing,” I explained.
“Hang in there, Ric,” he said. “Those waves can get pretty rough even if you don’t have a bum paw. But don’t worry, Judy, I’ve got her back out there if she’s able to surf.”
Dave’s reverence for the ocean was obvious, and his concern for Ricochet touched me deeply.
Knowing Ricochet was in good hands, I went to find Jennifer who was talking to Denise, a Paws’itive Teams assistant trainer. As I got closer, squinting through the sun, I noticed she was crying.
“Hey, Jennifer,” I said, touching her arm while trying to contain my smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Judy!” she exclaimed. “Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is all right—so incredibly right!”
Jennifer’s chest heaved, and although words were starting to come, she couldn’t get them out. Suddenly she burst into hysterics—what she would later refer to as “ugly crying”—and she couldn’t catch her breath. Then she told me the momentous news. Denise was able to coordinate the efforts of the Rose Foundation, a charitable organization that had become aware of Patrick’s plight and his dream to walk at his graduation because of our fund-raiser. Not only did they want to help, they wanted to contribute in a major way. They had most generously offered a grant that would cover approximately three years of Patrick’s therapy!
With tears streaming down her face, Jennifer was finally able to articulate how this wonderful reality would impact their lives. “We didn’t know where we would get the money to pay for therapy for next week. Now I don’t have to worry for several years?” She jumped up and down, and then embraced me in the warmest hug I can remember. “I can’t believe, it Judy!” she gushed. “This is so amazing! You are so amazing. We are so grateful to everyone.”
The enormity of her relief and appreciation was palpable, and bringing joy of this magnitude to someone else was an incredible feeling.
“Patrick is going to get all the therapy he needs—for three entire years!” Jennifer was laughing and crying, her mouth agape. Patrick’s dream to walk at his graduation was now a financial possibility.
She and I remained in shock, smiling, giggling uncontrollably, and at times snorting, shaking our heads at the generosity of this organization.
Still giddy, we laughed our way back to find Dave and Ricochet. When Dave saw our faces, he asked, “Who won the lottery?”
“You don’t know how right you are!” we kidded and conveyed the wonderful turn of events. While we continued to bask in the glow of the news, Ricochet’s heat was approaching.
“What do you say, Ricochet?” I asked. “Are you ready to surf?”
Dave grabbed the board and followed the rest of the team toward the water. Ricochet jumped up, her tail swishing back and forth. She was off in a flash. When we put the board down, she jumped right on with complete abandon.
“Well, I guess we have our answer,” I said. “She wants to surf!”
It didn’t matter how she placed in the contest, but we could still put on a good show for the media to help raise more funds. We still had Patrick’s service dog to pay for. I watched as Dave set her up for each wave, whispering words of encouragement into her ear before each one. “Ready, Ricochet?”
Ricochet surfed every wave with focus and determination. I watched as she coasted into shore at least a half dozen times, never losing her focus. She was a bit subdued, but that was to be expected with her paw. She came in first in her heat, surfed in the finals, and then she and Patrick performed their demo in perfect harmony, just as they had the first day together. When the judges announced Ricochet as a winner, I turned to Patrick and asked him to go up and accept the award with her. No one was more deserving of the spotlight than this selfless soul. He and Ricochet reached the staging area to cheers, whistles, and clapping.
I stared at Ricochet, unable to really comprehend what she’d done with her injured foot. It was a lot to ask of her, and yet I felt she’d known her role in it all along . . . and she persevered. I couldn’t believe how powerful one dog could be . . . when I just let her be. I felt more goodness encircling us, eclipsing the darkness and making our struggles seem worth it. I finally understood the lesson in the trial: When you finally allow yourself to let go and rise above the adversity, you can see virtue and hope on the horizon. Keep believing in yourself and what you know is right, no matter what.
The following week the Associated Press story was released to 1,800 newspapers, radio and TV stations, and Internet news sites. Soon Patrick and Ricochet were surfing together all over the virtual world, and Ricochet had a big, beautiful paw behind all of it. I turned on my computer one day to discover that AOL featured the AP story with the top stories of the day. “Paralyzed Boy Is Surfing Star.”
Jennifer called me, bubbling with excitement. “This is so unreal!” she exclaimed. “The amount of awareness this is raising is incredible!”
I could feel her joy and positive energy through the phone.
We continued fund-raising until the end of October. When our campaign was done, a group of us took Patrick and Jennifer out to dinner to officially present Patrick with the $10,000 Ricochet had raised and to celebrate the grant. Our crew included Carol, Denise, Charli, and Art, the executive director from Paws’itive Teams. Although the restaurant didn’t allow dogs inside other than service dogs, the owner of the restaurant quickly invited Ricochet in when he heard she was outside. Also among us was Patrick’s new service dog, Kona, a gorgeous yellow Labrador retriever/golden retriever mix that we funded with the donations.
I was thrilled that Ricochet could join us as we celebrated and replayed the amazing events of the past months, because she was the one who had done most of the work. When it was time for Patrick’s picture with Kona, everyone wanted Ricochet in the photograph, too. Kona sat on one side of Patrick and Ricochet sat on the other side, and in between Patrick grinned out to the camera. Then, with Patrick proudly holding up his check, we took pictures of just Patrick and Ricochet. As the flashes flickered, Patrick turned to me and, with a nod toward Ricochet, said, “Kona is my service dog. But Ricochet is my SURFice dog!”
I laughed, realizing how true it was. Ricochet leaped up and licked Patrick’s cheek. I knew she understood.
Back at the table a brief while later, I turned to Jennifer and asked, “How are we ever going to top this?” I peeked under the tablecloth and saw Ricochet looking up at me. She was listening to everything we said.
“Here’s to Ricochet!” Patrick said.
“And to Kona,” I cheered.
Jennifer looked like she was ready to burst into tears. “I can’t believe how much we raised! Ricochet gave Patrick the gift of independence and the gift of recovery, and you can’t put a price tag on that. I can’t thank you . . .”
I stopped her from going on. “I didn’t do anything,” I said with a smile.
“To Ricochet!” Patrick repeated.
Yes, I thought to myself, to Ricochet—and to staying true to who you are.
As we clinked glasses, I realized with a shudder how close Ricochet had come to having her mission thwarted. If I’d backed down from the rumors, or if the surf dog contest rules had been changed, none of this would be happening.
My little dog was still teaching me and, like her, I remained true to my heart and her mission. Most people have been bullied at some point in their lives, and some, unfortunately, buckle under the pressure, conforming to other people’s standards. They lose sight of what makes them unique. Sometimes they even lose sight of who they are. Ricochet showed me how to honor and celebrate individuality no matter what anyone’s expectations of you are or what obstacles they throw in front of you.
I realized that there will always be darkness in our lives—and that sometimes light actually attracts dark—but if we persevere, we will eventually find the beacon of light. Fortunately, I had found light: people like Dave, Patrick, and Jennifer, who were making dreams come true despite adversity. There’s always darkness, but it’s what you do with it that matters most. With that one difficult, yet valuable, lesson under my belt, I felt the good surrounding us again, blanketing us with powerful energy.
Feeling incredibly blessed by all that had transpired, I created another video called From Service Dog to SURFice Dog. I had always made videos of my dogs—mostly puppy training videos and some silly, goofy ones that I knew nobody but me would care about or watch. Now that I was on Facebook, I was able to post them to share with other dog-lovers. Since most of the people already knew Patrick’s story, I wanted to share Ricochet’s background before she met Patrick. In the video I revealed not only her strengths but also her perceived weaknesses, such as chasing after birds. I showed her birth and how she had been a puppy prodigy, but then I shared how distracted she became and how frustrated I was. I didn’t sugarcoat anything. The footage was honest and real. Since I was surrounded by so much positive energy from the surf session, I’m sure the video captured that sentiment, but I had no expectations about whether anyone would even bother to watch it when I hit “upload.”
When I logged on to my computer a few days later, I had to double-check the number: My video had reached 10,000 views in three days! I was stunned. In less than a week, the number climbed to 50,000 views. I couldn’t believe my little homemade video was reaching so many people. Then it went completely viral. People sent comments from all over the world—Hong Kong, the United Kingdom, Argentina, and the Netherlands. Each person who watched the video found an individual message that touched them on many different levels, bringing them to tears while inspiring them to let go of their own expectations. The love Ricochet awakened when she first jumped on that board with Patrick was continuing, flowing ever outward, affecting lives far and wide.
But it was not only the dog-lovers who were sharing the video; it was parents and kids, therapists and life coaches, and even a group of biker guys who posted it on their motorcycle page! So many different walks of life were affected by Ricochet’s message to stay true to yourself. It was such a simple mantra but not always easy.
She was like a spark that ignites and inspires others to focus on the can-do’s in life. To teach people to let go of expectations, to accept others for who they are, to stay true to themselves, and to follow their hearts with the belief that anything is possible. She chose this unique way of reaching people through her surfing, but it was more than that; she was teaching life lessons.
When the leaders of “Pay It Forward Day,” an initiative based on the novel of the same name, saw the video, they asked if Ricochet could be their ambassador. Of course I said yes, setting up a Paw It Forward movement on Ricochet’s Web site, hoping to inspire many others to get active in their communities and “paw it forward” with their own unique talents.
As I powered up my computer each day, I was so uplifted by the positive messages that I almost didn’t notice that the holidays were upon us. The most dreaded time of year for me. When my mother left the world on Christmas Eve, I discarded Christmas and all it represented. But this year, Ricochet was teaching me to turn my focus away from what I didn’t have and focus instead on what I did have. I realized that I was blessed with good people in my life and that many people around the world had it far worse than I did.
On New Year’s Eve, I turned on my computer, and once again, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before me was not five, but six zeros! Ricochet’s video had hit the one million views mark! One million?! It was hard to fathom. Never in my life did I think Ricochet would make that much of an impact. In forty days, Ricochet’s video had touched a million souls. It didn’t seem possible, but there it was. I flinched involuntarily as I realized how close I’d come to finding her another home. Her life could have ended up very differently if I hadn’t allowed her to be who she truly was. I wanted Ricochet to make a difference in one person’s life as a service dog for a person with a disability, but Ricochet had other plans. She wanted to make a difference in the lives of millions. She took me on a completely different path than I’d set out on when I started Puppy Prodigies.
I knew then that I was only the driver; Ricochet was the navigator. For once in a very long time, I was actually hopeful as the new year dawned, knowing in my heart that Dave was right after all: Goodness always prevails.
Three Years Later—Pawing It Forward
In 2012 amid cheers, tears, whistles, and the deafening sound of applause, the announcer called out the name, “Patrick James Ivison” in the large school auditorium filled with graduating seniors, parents, siblings, and friends. Under normal conditions dogs would have been forbidden, but Ricochet was invited to this momentous event, where she lay on the floor by my feet. Then, as the cheering reached a crescendo, Patrick was wheeled to the stage. I knew how much work it had taken to get him here. Six hours of grueling therapy a week for the past three years, countless hours of stretching, and training at home. Yet each time he saw an improvement, however small, it encouraged him to work harder.
Now here onstage, in his white cap and gown, Patrick hoisted himself from his wheelchair with a look of strength and determination. Supported by a custom-built walker, and urged on by the trainer in front of him, each measured movement was his own as he stepped willfully across the stage. As his mother and sister looked on with pride, he reached for his diploma while standing on his own two feet.
The little blond-haired boy was suddenly grown up—the same boy whose sister had asked Santa if he could walk again had made his own dream come true with unwavering tenacity and a supportive group of family and friends—one of whom just happened to have fur. The crowd erupted into a standing ovation. Ricochet hopped up to her feet. I stood beside her, clapping and cheering, recalling that day in the water when Ricochet jumped on Patrick’s board and their spirits merged, forever free.