C.A.L.E.

Having spent considerable time with this dog, and staring lovingly into his eyes (okay but he’s a puppy so really I only get a glimpse of his color-changing irises between chaotic sprints across the room), I have come to the conclusion that his name is not merely Cale, but C.A.L.E. 

C.A.L.E., an acronym for “Crooked And Lopsided Ears,” is as adorably clumsy and awkward as he could get.  Slippery tiled floors seem to pose the biggest problem for one with so many legs to coordinate, or rather, attempt to coordinate.  Admittedly, even my 11 month old Golden Retriever has traction issues on the tile, but she seems to be in better, if not more graceful, control.

He doesn’t seem to realize that he is not a super-hero whose special power is the ability to move through solid objects.  He is always shocked and dismayed when, in mid-chase, he tries to run through the dining room chairs, and is blocked, delayed by having to go either over or under the rungs.  (It has never occurred to him that he is one third the size of his foster sister, and wouldn’t be able to catch her even if he could run through solid objects.)

His favorite word is “dinner,” but “treat” is a close second.  One could take one look at his enormous belly and jiggly fat rolls and know this to be true.  As predicted, shoes are his favorite chew toy, and we all need remedial training to pick up after ourselves with a puppy in the house.

 And, as predicted, my love for him supercedes the abundant amount of poop, both inside and outside, that I am forced to scoop.  His brief-but –lovely snuggles redeem the surprise of needle-sharp teeth sinking into my foot from below the table, and even my children are quick to forgive the theft of stuffies. 

As babies do, he is growing too fast, and soon when I call him he will run to me with agility and speed and grace.  For now, though, his clumsy run just makes me giggle!  He’s gonna be a great dog.

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Last Sunday, a tiny-but-pudgy ball of puppy fat and soft white fur was brought to my house.  As I held him, my fingers got lost in his velvety fat rolls, and I knew it was the kind of love that would endure all violations of house rules, messes on the carpet, sleepless nights, and chewed shoes. And when his green-brown eyes met mine, I knew that this was the kind of love that would last forever, even knowing this four-legged angel would only be with me for one year.

Cale, named for JJ Cale, a musician born in Oklahoma City, has been chosen for an extraordinary life.  Dogs are extraordinary in any case, giving unconditionally, forgiving immediately, listening and understanding without judgment.  But this dog, this baby dog, will become someone’s link to independence.  He will become someone’s truest friend and his or her bridge to freedom.  He will, if I do my job right, wear the cape that says, “I am special.”

I am a Puppy Raiser, and though it is true this is not a title that means I elevate puppies onto pedestals of Roman God worthiness.  My “job,” a misnomer that implies work for pay, is to care for and teach this baby dog until he becomes a mature, calm, socialized, and well-mannered adult, at which time he will learn his trade: that of a service dog.  My reward for having done this well is that this dog will be taken away from me.

Heartbreaking, right?  Yes I’m sure it will be heartbreaking, and I will meet his departure with tears (okay sobs).  Why would I do this?  Why would I subject my heart to such certain pain and suffering?  Why would I put in the time, the money, the endless effort required to house a weeks-old, unhousetrained puppy?  And why, on this great earth, would I do this voluntarily, knowing at the end I will be hopelessly attached and heartbroken when he goes? 

The answer is simple: he is destined for much greater things than to protect me from emotional pain!  He might be someone’s hands some day, or their legs, or their lifeline.  How can I be so selfish as to hoard him for myself, knowing his gifts were meant for another?  The truth is, after my heart breaks, it will grow back even bigger.  This is the most selfish reason of all to do what I do: it makes me feel good.

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