pet connection

I cried at goodbye.

Normally I can put up a proverbial Great Wall of China between my inner emotions and my outward self, only to hours later let the rush of sadness wash over me.  But my Labrador friend broke open the barriers of my heart, and left me vulnerable to the fullness of what goodbye really means.

For the first two weeks  at the San Francisco SPCA’s Academy for Dog Trainers I’ve been working for three hours a day with my yellow Lab shelter dog, Tyler, as we trained and prepped for a test where both of us would be graded on how well we performed, with me knowing full well we would have to part at the end.  Two weeks seemed like a long way off at the start; besides, I already knew Tyler would be going to a forever home with new adopters who were waiting to take him home as soon as he graduated from training school.  So as much as I cared for Tyler, I thought that our parting would be simple, with just a transfer of a dog from trainer to new owners.

I thought wrong.  What some experts call “transference of The Bond” proved to be equal parts trauma and touching.

All the feelings I had for Tyler poured out today as I got him out to get ready for our final test.  I came in as usual in the morning to put on his leash for his daily walk and run in the park with his toys.  He greeted me with his usual flying-in-the-air jumps and panting tongue flopped out the side to expose his grinning teeth.  When Tyler jumps, I have to do a back turn until he sits back down, but today I couldn’t help but smile at Tyler’s endearing personality quirk that I’d grown to love.

Out at the park I threw the ball and Tyler would bound after them with exaggerated pounces, reminding me of a baby lion learning to run for the first time.  With each ball thrown, I realized I was closer to not being together anymore.  Each morning  for the last couple of weeks I’d started my day looking forward to watching Tyler playing keep-away as he’d taunt me to chase him, racing circles around me in the enclosed dog run like a greyhound at the racetrack.  When it came time to put the leash back on and lead him to the training room, Tyler was panting tired with slobber dripping out of his mouth, but with a sense of satisfaction in his eyes that he had just completed something spectacular.

We had only 45 minutes before our test, and Tyler sat with me in the training room.  I thought I would be nervous and anxious as I sat in apprehension for the test, but I was flooded with memories of our time together and feelings of nostalgia at the journey Tyler and I walked together.  When my wire-haired fox terrier, Scooter, died of liver cancer when I was in college, I wished I could have known before it happened so that I could have had the time to say goodbye and hold her to tell her I loved her.  Today I had that chance, as I knew Tyler and I would be parting in only a matter of a couple hours.

Our test began, and I felt like a proud parent watching Tyler completing all of his trained behaviors.  I couldn’t help but remember the bright-eyed energetic lab who greeted me the first day with no training at all, and not even knowing what training meant, now being able to do what was asked of him, including long-sit and down-stays and long periods lying down in an enclosed crate.  I was proud as I watched him, as if I was watching my child perform his first leading role in the school play.

My favorite part of the test was absolutely the asking Tyler to “come.”  Tyler pulled and strained, not for one moment wanting to take his eyes away from me as the instructor held him at the other end of the room.  The test required our dog be interested in something else when called, but Tyler was interested only in me.   The instructor grading me tried to hold Tyler at the other end of the room, distracting him with toys and attention, but Tyler kept spinning and straining towards me as I just stood there waiting for him to calm down, but it wouldn’t happen.  Finally, my inseparable Velcro dog — my loyal Lab shadow — had to be brought into an interesting new room he’d never been loose in before, complete with dogs in pens and new smells.

I was anxious that Tyler may not  want to come  when I called him.  But he popped his head up immediately, frantically turning left and right to find me.  As soon as he caught sight of me, he came bounding over to me in a leaping run, waiting expectantly for treats and praise.

Let’s just say he wasn’t disappointed.

Our test was finished, Tyler oblivious to the how anxious I’d been.  He kept looking up at me with his pendulum tail whipping back and forth with such a ferocious joy that each swing almost lifted alternate legs off the ground. I took him to an outdoor run for a victory lap.  He ran down to the other end of the pen and spotted another dog, but he sprinted back towards me, waiting for treats and “his loves,” as I call it, including hugs, pets and him rubbing his body up against me like a kitty cat.  We sat there for a few minutes as I tried to hold onto every moment in my memory banks and store his love in my heart.

I trudged back at turtle speed to the kennel, wanting the final parting to be put off as long as possible.  We stopped by the treat room where I stuffed rawhides, dog food and treats into my pocket, wanting a bit of consolation for him on our parting.  We got into the kennel, and Tyler settled down immediately, just as he was trained, with widened pupils awaiting the arrival of his treats.  I realized then that one of the greatest things about dogs is their overall joy and innocence, taking each moment as it comes, and not absorbed in dwelling on the past or the future.  Tyler didn’t understand as I did that we had come to the point of goodbye.

I left Tyler with a final pet, and he jumped up to peer out the kennel bars for a final look at me, before he leapt back down to devour his goodies spread around the kennel floor.  I phoned my soft-hearted mom for comfort, and we both broke into tears together as I shared the story of his triumphant performance and our last good-bye.  Through her tears, Mom reminded me of the important difference I am making in dogs’ lives by helping them. It may be challenging as a trainer to see so many dogs come and go,  but they will go better than they came to me. Ultimately, I am in a position to save many pets’ lives.

After this trip to the LABoratory, I’ve discovered that I’ll never be the same as a lifetime pet lover and hopefully a future trainer.

Of course, Tyler was only one paw print on my journey to becoming a dog trainer, and for the next two weeks of the last four of the academy, I’ve been assigned a new dog who will also leave his paw print on my path, though it may be a much tinier print indeed.

The new assignment shelter dog is Roscoe, a year-old Chihuahua. He weighs in at trembling five pounds, but he is full of affection and feistiness.  I’m ready to see what the energetic and bubbly Lab has taught me as I begin my baby steps of training a dog at the opposite end from what I’ve experienced thus far.

Already from Roscoe’s five pound body straining and growling with all his strength on the end of a tug toy,  I can tell his little package is overflowing with wisdom and lessons for me to learn in the coming days.

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