Canine TLC

Chapter 1 Vallecito, NM Late spring Gary Sanchez limped down the long aisle between rows of cages, looking at the dogs. He wished he could take them all, but that wasn’t possible. Some wagged their tails and looked at him with pleading eyes. Others lay listlessly, as if they were sure no one was ever going to reach out to them. That especially broke his heart, but right now he could take just one. Maybe, if his plan worked out, he’d come back for more or arrange their adoptions before too long. Meanwhile, he could only pray most of the rest would find forever homes. Even though he knew that was probably not possible, he could hope. A sharp bark caught his attention, as it was clearly meant to do. He turned toward the sound. The dog scratched at the latch on its cage with an impatient paw. It barked again. The meaning could not have been much clearer if it had spoken in English instead of canine. “Get me out of here! You know I’m the one you’re supposed to take.” He couldn’t restrain a grin. The mid-sized dog had a coat mixing black and white, floppy ears and an abbreviated plume of a tail. The feathery appendage wagged furiously as he approached the cage. The dog dropped to sit, poised and alert, looking at him with keen amber eyes. One compelling stare saying, You’re going to take me. You know you are. Although Gary wasn’t yet sure the s*x of the dog, it didn’t matter. He’d been chosen and that was all there was to it. He noted the number on the cage before he turned around and headed back to the desk in the front office. Less than an hour later, he clipped a leash on the dog and led it out to his old pickup. “Okay, pup, you and I are going home. In a few days, we’re going to start school. You’ve got a lot to learn and so do I, but it’s for a good cause and it’s gonna be fun.” The dog turned out to be female. The shelter worker had told him she was a mixed spaniel, probably springer and cocker. She’d been spayed, weighed thirty-nine pounds, and was about five years old. Gary decided to call her Angie, short for Angel of Mercy. Maybe the name sounded a little pretentious, but it fit with his plan. That night Angie jumped up and slept on his bed, snuggled against his bad leg. The warmth and gentle pressure of her furry body eased his chronic pain better than any pill. For the first time in weeks, he slept through the night. Angie lost no time in training him to her routine, or at least the one she decided would work best for both of them. She never messed in the house, although she woke him up at the crack of dawn to make a trip into the back yard. He saw at once his run-down little house was going to need a dog door. He’d get one as soon as he could afford it. Two daily walks were also part of the agenda. Angie didn’t mind if Gary walked very slowly. He just had to go. His speed gave her more time to snoop and sniff, so that was fine. Still, each day they went a little farther and every day his bad leg got a little stronger, a little less painful. True, he’d never be an athlete again. He’d left that dream with the fragmented flesh of his left leg, the result of a roadside explosive device in Afghanistan. For a time he’d been convinced life was over. Then Iona Wilcox and Princess came into his life. He’d been back stateside and in the army hospital for about a month, supposedly going through therapy to regain some use of his damaged leg. Although he went through the motions, his heart wasn’t in it. Then one day he looked up to see a diminutive elderly lady with an unbelievable flower-decked hat and a dog almost as big as she was. They came marching down the ward between the rows of beds. The dog seemed to decide where it would stop. As a kid, he’d always loved dogs. When he was in the military, of course, he couldn’t have pets, but once he could make it on his own, he intended to get one. This dog looked to be a mixture of German shepherd, some kind of Husky or even wolf and maybe a bit of Rottweiler. All at once, it made a beeline for his bunk, towing the old lady along. She stopped when the dog did, one age-spotted hand clenching the ridiculous pink sparkling leash that matched her rose bouquet hat. “This is Princess,” she said. “She chooses the people she wants to visit. Today she seems to have chosen you.” The lady introduced herself as Ms. Wilcox, but told him to call her Iona. Then she listened as intently as her dog did. She finally admitted to having lost a son in Vietnam and said she’d been visiting veterans’ hospitals ever since. She started bringing a dog along as soon as she was able to get permission. There had been many dogs now. She thought Princess was the eighth or ninth. Somewhere she might have lost count. Before Iona and Princess left, Gary found himself sharing his life story, such as it was. He rediscovered the wonderfully therapeutic feeling of stroking a dog’s silky fur, the delicate touch of a warm pink tongue on his hand and the steady gaze of two clear amber eyes that seemed to radiate love and understanding. A frozen spot in his chest began to thaw as an emotion too dim yet to be called hope put up its first frail shoots. From that fateful day on, Gary found a purpose. He started to work at his therapy with his whole heart and soul, not just going through the motions. The effort paid off. No, he’d never be the athlete he’d once dreamed of becoming, but he had something more important to do. As soon as the doctor approved his release from the hospital, he took his savings and bought a rundown little adobe house in a two-century-old village south of Albuquerque, not too far from where he’d grown up. Then, as soon as he had the place livable, he went to the local animal shelter to find his dog. He spent about a month letting Angie get used to him, while he got used to her. The next step was to locate a trainer, one who could appreciate his purpose and help him develop Angie to earn her Canine Good Citizen certificate, the first step in becoming a therapy dog. She’d clearly had basic obedience and knew all the normal commands, which she obeyed perfectly. Well, most of the time, at least. A fast refresher fixed that, even though he soon found Angie had a mind of her own and the sweet but arrogant ego most spaniels possessed. She was also eager to learn and mostly anxious to please. She advanced very quickly. Gary was ready to pop with pride. While they worked on the more advanced program to get the CGC, the trainer suggested they attend a few Rally-O meets to fine-tune Angie’s obedience and give her something fun to do while she learned. They went, made some new friends, and had a good time almost every weekend. There Gary met a 4-H leader who worked with kids and dogs, and he timidly made a suggestion about his dream. Mary Cotter jumped on it and invited him to start working with her club and put him in touch with a local Therapy Dog group as well. Since several of the youngsters wanted to get a new dog to train, a few more of the shelter animals found new homes. These projects kept Gary and Angie busy for three months. Finally her graduation day arrived. There were no canine caps and gowns, but no parent at a high school commencement could have been more proud than Gary was of his fur-girl that day. He made sure she got a new collar and leash and some favorite treats to celebrate. Now he could move on to the next part of his personal goals, which really had several aspects. He met with the Therapy Dog group and soon had himself and Angie certified. A couple of the members agreed to work with the 4-H group, too. Then he needed to find a couple of hospitals within an hour’s drive or so where he could start taking Angie to visit. Once he was established, he’d see if he could get some of the kids and their dogs involved, too. He especially wanted to focus on children and teenagers who had become ill or been badly injured and on wounded warriors like himself who’d come home with dreams and plans shattered beyond repair. That required letters, phone calls, some visits, and every bit of diplomacy and persuasion he could muster. He’d never thought himself a salesman, but with a product he believed in, it wasn’t so hard. Soon he had three hospitals lined up and a schedule to visit each one every week.