By Connie Greenshields
Maybe part of loving is learning to let go.
~From the television show The Wonder Years
"I could never give him up" is the most common phrase all puppy raisers hear, and I heard it from friends, family, and total strangers. I responded with the same answer that Puppy Raising Supervisor Donna Luchak gave me two years earlier when she first interviewed us: "We wouldn't want our puppies going to anyone who could easily give them up."
Maybe part of loving is learning to let go.
~From the television show The Wonder Years
"I could never give him up" is the most common phrase all puppy raisers hear, and I heard it from friends, family, and total strangers. I responded with the same answer that Puppy Raising Supervisor Donna Luchak gave me two years earlier when she first interviewed us: "We wouldn't want our puppies going to anyone who could easily give them up."
With that in mind, my family and I dove into our first puppy-raising experience with Alberta Guide Dog Services. Dudley was the cutest little Golden Retriever puppy we had ever seen. Over the next seventeen months, we poured our hearts and souls into helping Dudley prepare to become a full-fledged seeing-eye dog.
Dudley was a typical puppy. Despite our constant supervision, he managed to swallow washcloths and socks in a matter of seconds, leading to sleepless nights and many trips outside to "Get Busy," the command that encourages him to go to the bathroom. At our neighborhood block party Dudley took advantage of me talking to everyone about him and snuck a beer bottle cap into his mouth. Of course, I didn't notice until it was too late and watched it glow menacingly at me on an X-ray. While Dudley had emergency surgery that night, I should have capitalized on my first chance to sleep through the night in months. Instead, I lay awake, worrying that I would be the first puppy raiser to ever kill a puppy in training.
As part of his training, Dudley and I were constant companions. He came to the dentist, grocery store, sporting events, dance lessons, and many visits to my kids' school. Everywhere we went people would say "Hi Dudley!" Dudley learned to stop and sit at every door, curb, and stairway — important lessons for a future guide dog. He learned to ignore sudden noises, like a dentist's drill, car horns, or electric guitar riffs, and to stay focused on his "work." Of course, when his training cape came off, Dudley had lots of fun, and especially loved romping at the local off-leash park with our Golden Retriever, Bogey. As Dudley had to come everywhere with us, he sometimes cramped our lifestyle, and parts of me yearned for the freedom I had before committing to this 24/7 volunteer position.
After seventeen months, Dudley was ready for advanced training with a Guide Dog Mobility Instructor in Vancouver, British Columbia. Once I got "the call" that Dudley was leaving my family, I realized that none of us, including me, could be there when he left. Dudley was very attached to me and became upset every time someone tried to take him from me. He never allowed anyone else at puppy class to be his handler. I knew that seeing Dudley try and fight his way back to me would be heartbreaking. So I came up with a plan. I got everyone out of the house while Donna, the trainer, who Dudley knew and trusted the most, came and got him. Dudley was happy to go with her, and we did not have to endure a painful goodbye. We came home to an empty house and newfound freedom.
Everything went according to plan. My job was done and Dudley was settling nicely into his new home. After a few weeks though, something came over us. My children began to miss him, and I had to admit that I did too. Was he going to come back to us? Some puppies don't make the cut and are allowed to return to their puppy raiser as a pet. Would we ever see him again? I knew that if Dudley was successful, I would be given the opportunity to conduct a blindfolded walk with him to see firsthand how well he turned out. So for the next three months, my goal became to see Dudley one last time. I realized that I needed that closure, that chance to say goodbye that I denied both of us.
After four months, I received an e-mail that Dudley was about to graduate as a full-fledged guide dog. Before he went to his new home though, I was invited to do the blindfolded walk. I quickly responded that I would love to come, much to the surprise of the trainers. I was the first puppy raiser in Alberta to have ever done this. Alberta Guide Dog Services' puppy raising program had only started two years earlier, with Dudley being one of their first dogs.
Jaime Arnup, the head trainer at British Columbia Guide Dog Services, met me at the airport. Dudley obediently sat so I could greet him. He didn't realize at first who I was, but once I got down to hug him, he knew me. In fact, when I stood up, he heeled right around beside me as if to say, "Where've you been? Let's go!" Jaime attempted to take over Dudley's leash, but since she wasn't his usual trainer, he wanted me to be the one holding his leash — just like it always had been.
I spent about twenty minutes in a blindfold, with Dudley in his special harness expertly leading me on sidewalks, through crosswalks, up and down curbs, up stairs, through doorways, around parked cars, through a busy mall, and ultimately to a chair at the coffee shop, a place he's apparently quite familiar with. Jaime provided commentary so I knew what Dudley was doing, and thankfully, was able to video this encounter so I could share it back home.
Soon, it was time to go. Even though it had only been a few hours, the past four months had been erased. We were a team again, and I knew that the trip back home would be emotional. As Jaime pulled away at the airport, I could see Dudley jostling for position with the other training dogs in the back of the van so he could see me. The look in his eyes said "Why are you leaving me again?" but I think deep down he knew why I had to go. After all that planning so I could avoid this final goodbye, it happened anyway.
My tears fell fast and furious, to the point where a security officer at the airport asked me if I was okay. "Yes," I replied. I was more than okay. I was beyond proud. I had finally seen what all those months of hard work had led to. I could finally imagine what he was going to mean to his future owner, even though I only experienced twenty minutes of blindness. And I finally had proper closure. Good luck Dudley. We'll miss you.
Dudley was a typical puppy. Despite our constant supervision, he managed to swallow washcloths and socks in a matter of seconds, leading to sleepless nights and many trips outside to "Get Busy," the command that encourages him to go to the bathroom. At our neighborhood block party Dudley took advantage of me talking to everyone about him and snuck a beer bottle cap into his mouth. Of course, I didn't notice until it was too late and watched it glow menacingly at me on an X-ray. While Dudley had emergency surgery that night, I should have capitalized on my first chance to sleep through the night in months. Instead, I lay awake, worrying that I would be the first puppy raiser to ever kill a puppy in training.
As part of his training, Dudley and I were constant companions. He came to the dentist, grocery store, sporting events, dance lessons, and many visits to my kids' school. Everywhere we went people would say "Hi Dudley!" Dudley learned to stop and sit at every door, curb, and stairway — important lessons for a future guide dog. He learned to ignore sudden noises, like a dentist's drill, car horns, or electric guitar riffs, and to stay focused on his "work." Of course, when his training cape came off, Dudley had lots of fun, and especially loved romping at the local off-leash park with our Golden Retriever, Bogey. As Dudley had to come everywhere with us, he sometimes cramped our lifestyle, and parts of me yearned for the freedom I had before committing to this 24/7 volunteer position.
After seventeen months, Dudley was ready for advanced training with a Guide Dog Mobility Instructor in Vancouver, British Columbia. Once I got "the call" that Dudley was leaving my family, I realized that none of us, including me, could be there when he left. Dudley was very attached to me and became upset every time someone tried to take him from me. He never allowed anyone else at puppy class to be his handler. I knew that seeing Dudley try and fight his way back to me would be heartbreaking. So I came up with a plan. I got everyone out of the house while Donna, the trainer, who Dudley knew and trusted the most, came and got him. Dudley was happy to go with her, and we did not have to endure a painful goodbye. We came home to an empty house and newfound freedom.
Everything went according to plan. My job was done and Dudley was settling nicely into his new home. After a few weeks though, something came over us. My children began to miss him, and I had to admit that I did too. Was he going to come back to us? Some puppies don't make the cut and are allowed to return to their puppy raiser as a pet. Would we ever see him again? I knew that if Dudley was successful, I would be given the opportunity to conduct a blindfolded walk with him to see firsthand how well he turned out. So for the next three months, my goal became to see Dudley one last time. I realized that I needed that closure, that chance to say goodbye that I denied both of us.
After four months, I received an e-mail that Dudley was about to graduate as a full-fledged guide dog. Before he went to his new home though, I was invited to do the blindfolded walk. I quickly responded that I would love to come, much to the surprise of the trainers. I was the first puppy raiser in Alberta to have ever done this. Alberta Guide Dog Services' puppy raising program had only started two years earlier, with Dudley being one of their first dogs.
Jaime Arnup, the head trainer at British Columbia Guide Dog Services, met me at the airport. Dudley obediently sat so I could greet him. He didn't realize at first who I was, but once I got down to hug him, he knew me. In fact, when I stood up, he heeled right around beside me as if to say, "Where've you been? Let's go!" Jaime attempted to take over Dudley's leash, but since she wasn't his usual trainer, he wanted me to be the one holding his leash — just like it always had been.
I spent about twenty minutes in a blindfold, with Dudley in his special harness expertly leading me on sidewalks, through crosswalks, up and down curbs, up stairs, through doorways, around parked cars, through a busy mall, and ultimately to a chair at the coffee shop, a place he's apparently quite familiar with. Jaime provided commentary so I knew what Dudley was doing, and thankfully, was able to video this encounter so I could share it back home.
Soon, it was time to go. Even though it had only been a few hours, the past four months had been erased. We were a team again, and I knew that the trip back home would be emotional. As Jaime pulled away at the airport, I could see Dudley jostling for position with the other training dogs in the back of the van so he could see me. The look in his eyes said "Why are you leaving me again?" but I think deep down he knew why I had to go. After all that planning so I could avoid this final goodbye, it happened anyway.
My tears fell fast and furious, to the point where a security officer at the airport asked me if I was okay. "Yes," I replied. I was more than okay. I was beyond proud. I had finally seen what all those months of hard work had led to. I could finally imagine what he was going to mean to his future owner, even though I only experienced twenty minutes of blindness. And I finally had proper closure. Good luck Dudley. We'll miss you.
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