"It's time to park our dogs," Jimmy said. "This is when you find out if you really want one, when you have to clean up after them."

"What are you talking about?" Brenden said. "You mean we actually have to-"

"That's right," another student's voice chimed in. "You have to get right down there and pick it up."

"Actually," Smitty said, "there's a technique, but you won't be learning that today. We have a common area for parking. These guys are just giving you a hard time, Brenden."

"Parking?" Brenden said. "That sounds like a pretty good word for what happens."

"You'll find out how good it is," Jimmy told him. "That's a word you really want your dog to know."

Everybody talked about the dogs during breakfast, giving first impressions and sharing how special each already thought his or her new friend to be. They all expressed feelings except Brenden. At this point, he had no feelings about Nelson. They were just there together, not bonded.

All the students crowded into vans, and at a little after eight, they arrived at the lounge to begin the first day's interaction with their new working partners.

As Brenden would quickly learn, every day began with obedience. Those basic commands of come, down, sit, stay, and heel reminded the dog he now worked for a new master and gave the student the confidence to believe that he could handle his animal.

This work went on through the morning, and after lunch Brenden was surprised when Smitty told him that they were actually going to be harness training with their dogs right away. He hadn't realized it would happen that fast.

They stood outside the lounge on the corner of First Street, an area that Smitty said was a long block of just straight walking.

"Don't worry," he told Brenden, "all you're going to do is walk up and down here, maybe a hundred and fifty yards, to get used to the feeling of a real animal pulling on the harness. Okay? I have to warn you, Nelson is a particularly strong dog. When you give him the command, 'Nelson, forward,' you're really going to get a response, so be ready to feel some real torque in the harness. The key to good work is not in how hard the dog pulls but in how steady the pull is. If it's steady, you can read it and understand the subtleties, and I can tell you from my work with Nelson, his pull is wonderful. Are you ready? Okay, give him the command, and then follow your dog."

The b.u.t.terflies were back in his stomach as Brenden took a deep breath. My maiden voyage, he thought. It'll probably be like the t.i.tanic.

"Okay," he said. "Nelson, forward."

The animal turned his head to look at Smitty, first questioning and then taking on an expression of profound sadness.

I know, boy, Smitty thought. You've been through this twice before, but it has to work out this time, Nelson. It has to work with this guy.

"Again, Brenden," Smitty said, determined. "Tell him forward again."

Brenden repeated the command. "Nelson, forward."

Again the big dog's eyes found his trainer, forcing Smitty to look away. Knowing what he had to do, the trainer reached out and gave the animal a sharp tap on the shoulder.

"Tell him again, Brenden," Smitty said. "This time be even firmer."

Brenden did as he was told. "Nelson, forward."

With one more look of resignation to his trainer, the dog moved out smartly, and for the first time Brenden felt the excitement of moving through s.p.a.ce with the animal tracking in a perfectly straight line.

Smitty dropped back a few steps, and when he did, the dog's head turned to follow him, still hoping, even though he kept moving down the street.

"Brenden," Smitty told the new handler, "correct your dog and say, 'No, straight.'"

The big dog understood he had been corrected. He still wanted to work for Trainer. That's who he loved. But the man held the leash and the harness, and the animal had been conditioned to always obey the harness. Discipline took over. Nelson settled down and began to show Brenden why Smitty believed that this dog was the best he had ever trained.

Over the next hour they moved up and down the straight street, gaining confidence with every pa.s.s. For the first time, Brenden was in a good mood as they joined the others for dinner that evening. He actually engaged in conversation and found that some of the students were people he really enjoyed.

People, he thought. These are real people. They're blind, but their hopes and dreams and feelings are just like everyone else's. The conversations ranged from sports to politics, music to good books, but inevitably came back to the commonality of disability and dogs. Brenden was surprised to learn how many different jobs were represented in this cla.s.s.

There was Alberto, a Puerto Rican American who lost his sight through retinitis pigmentosa and was now living in Boston working as a computer programmer for a major software company.

Lorraine was a social worker, spending her life making a difference for senior citizens struggling to adjust to disability.

Jimmy had been a schoolteacher. "Imagine that," he told Brenden. "I taught public school for thirty-five years, most of it with a dog in the cla.s.sroom. You think I was popular?"

Suzanne was a homemaker with three children. Eddie Harrison was a piano tuner who made his rounds using public transportation, taxis, and, most importantly, his dog to make a good living. There were a couple of musicians and a fascinating guy named Mark West, who was a trial attorney.

As Brenden listened, he wondered what he would do with his life. It was much too soon to know, but after the terrific day he'd just had with Nelson, he began to look at the possibilities with new eyes. My life could be worthwhile, he thought. Maybe he would find a reason to believe living could be worth it.

Nelson had been through all of this before. In the beginning there had been a family with two little kids he loved to play with when he was a puppy. Then Smitty had been his master. He loved Smitty. Then he had been given to another man and after that to Man and Lady. He did the job, but he had been with none of them long enough to care about them. And now he took commands from this new guy, who smelled different from the others, who felt different when he held the harness, who commanded him differently and patted him differently.

The confusion and sadness showed in his eyes and in the way he always tried to search out Smitty whenever everyone was together. He couldn't understand. Why was he going through all this again? He was an unhappy black Lab, and what he wanted was to be with Smitty.

Another day ended with the man going to sleep and the big dog staying awake long into the night.

He knew it was wrong, but he decided to chew on the socks Brenden had left on the floor. His anxiety, along with his sense of frustration, made him restless and uneasy, and he just had to have something to bite on.

After the socks came the soft patent leather of Brenden's expensive loafers and then a flannel shirt that was one of the man's favorites. A warm breeze blew through the open window, and Nelson registered the sound of a car pa.s.sing by on the main road just outside the campus. His animal brain connected car with go. But where? It registered. To Smitty. He needed to go to Smitty, and the need was impossible to fight. Placing his paws on the windowsill and looking out, he made a dog's uncanny a.s.sessment that if he jumped he could land on some bushes and then continue with a leap to the ground.

Okay, go! The screen crashed, and the big dog landed perfectly on the bushes and then on the ground. Shaking once, he trotted off-a black dog on a dark night in search of his master, in search of Smitty.

chapter fourteen.

The crash of the screen jolted Brenden awake. Struggling to understand the sound, he remained still for a moment, waiting to see if some other kind of catastrophe would follow.

Soon he decided he was safe and remembered that he wasn't alone. "Hey, fur ball, are you okay?" he called.

There was no response anywhere in the room. Brenden tried again.

"Nelson. Come here, Nelson. Are you all right?"

Again there was no response, and Brenden climbed out of bed, not really worried but certainly curious. Not knowing his room very well and being newly blind, he moved slowly, his hands groping in front of him as he widened his circle. After finding no dog, his feet kicked-what was it? Reaching down, he was surprised to discover-what? The heel of. . .

"Oh no," he said out loud. "The heel of my shoe. My loafers."

Now crawling along the floor, it didn't take him long to discover the rest of the damage-his shirt, socks, and his shoes all chewed into pieces.

Feeling the air moving through his window and following the breeze, he came to the window, felt the broken frame of the screen, and figured it out. Nelson was gone, probably to Smitty, he reasoned.

"Well, good riddance," muttered Brenden, pitching the ruined shoe across the room. "I can't tell anybody about this until morning anyway, so I'm going back to bed. Good riddance, you destructive fur ball."

Dawn was breaking in the east, and Smitty was dreaming-something about Tahiti, swaying palms, and hula girls- when his sleep was disturbed by a sound that he recognized immediately. An animal scratched at his door, and not just scratching but demanding to be let in.

He stepped into his slippers, turned on the light, and crossed his living room and opened the door. He was almost knocked flat as Nelson burst in crying and yipping to express the joy, relief, and love that poured from his heart. He had found Smitty.

"Okay, Nelson, okay," the trainer said. "How did you get here, boy, and what kind of trouble are we in now?"

After giving the dog some water, Harold Smith showered and dressed, even though he didn't have to be up for another couple of hours. It was only thirty minutes later when the dog and trainer arrived at the school. None of the other trainers had shown up, and people were just beginning to stir as Smitty pulled his car into the parking lot and got out. He and Nelson went right to Brenden's room and knocked softly. When there was no response, he tried again more firmly.

"Go away," the voice said from inside, "and take Mr. Destruction with you."

"Come on, Brenden," Smitty said. "Open the door. Let me see if I can help."

"Go away," Brenden said again. "I'm not interested in you or your dog."

"Open up, man," Smitty said more forcefully, "or I'll get a master key. We have a responsibility to every student and animal to keep you safe, and I need to know what went on in there."

Slowly, the door opened, and Smitty saw the damage.

"Oh brother," he said. "You've really done it this time, Nelson."

The trainer crossed the room in three long strides, placing his hand on Brenden's shoulder. "First of all, pal-"

"Don't call me pal," Brenden interrupted. "We're not pals. We don't even know each other."

"All right," Smitty said, taking a deep breath while Nelson settled on the floor, not even considering that he had done anything wrong. "Okay, Mr. McCarthy, you should know that the school will replace anything that's damaged. It happens sometimes when our animals are going through withdrawal. The changeover isn't easy." Smitty couldn't help himself. "Especially when the dogs sense that the new person doesn't want them."

"Well, isn't he bright?" Brenden said sarcastically. "To figure that out?"

Smitty pulled on his memory. "Look, you told me that the reason you are here is to get back your independence. Is that right?"

Brenden considered and then answered grudgingly, "Yeah, that's right. I want to be independent."

"Then let me tell you something," Smitty said. "This dog can give that to you faster than any other method available. You've already experienced what it feels like when you're working together. I think you ought to give it a little time before you make any snap decisions. You know, the easy way out is just to feel sorry for yourself and figure that it's another bad break on the rocky road to living. If you want to get back to freedom and to normal life, this dog will give you the best chance."

Brenden sat quietly, thinking about what he'd just heard, thinking about Lindsey and independence.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's see what happens, but get the screen fixed, and get me some money for the stuff your fur ball destroyed."

"Yes, sir, Mr. McCarthy," Smitty said, a touch of sarcasm in his own voice.

Over the next three days, Brenden and Nelson worked on curbs and turns. Nelson performed perfectly. The dog was matchless in his ability to move Brenden smartly up to a curb with the man's feet set squarely on the line that would take them across the street with accuracy and safety. When they reached the other side, Nelson consistently stopped with his front feet on the up curb until Brenden gave the signal to step up. Smitty explained that later, when they went out into the real world, it would be easy for Brenden to teach the animal not to stop, but just to pause on the up curb.

This actually happened on the second day because, unlike the other dogs, Nelson had already been out in the field. An instinct took over. Smitty couldn't help but be proud of the animal, and because Brenden was athletic he chose to let this particular discipline slide.

They also worked on left and right turns, with the young man learning to follow his dog closely. When it came to stairs, the dog had to learn not to move down the steps too quickly. It was important that the pace be steady, with the harness pressure not too extreme, which would cause the master to lose his balance. This was hard for all the dogs because it meant they had to maintain their own balance without resorting to sort of jumping down the steps.

Up to this point, all the trainers worked in close proximity to student and dog, sometimes moving a couple of steps ahead to encourage the animal's work, sometimes walking on the outside of the dog to help the animal maintain a straight line, and sometimes dropping back a few steps when the work was going well. In general, Nelson maintained the quality of his work without looking to Smitty for support.

Sunday came around at the end of the first week, and the students had a day off. Smitty was pleased to write in his training report that Nelson seemed to be accepting Brenden as a handler. The concern was that Brenden did not yet seem committed to accepting his new life with the animal.

"I hope," Smitty wrote, "that this will correct itself during week two. If it doesn't, I believe this candidate may not qualify as a graduate of the program."

Now the cla.s.s moved into the next stage of training. During this period, the trainers introduced independent travel. Students and their dogs were trained to accomplish various outings around San Rafael.

First, in a planned environment, the team walked the same route a number of times, with the trainer expanding the distance at his discretion. The instructors encouraged independent travel, and they gave the new dog/person teams a set of destinations to reach on their own.

This was where the team had to begin to trust each other, and it was that element that worried Smitty very much when he considered the readiness of Nelson and McCarthy.

As he noted in the report, in the early stages they seemed to do okay because the route was simple. After leaving the lounge they would turn left on Fourth Street and follow it one block to D, where they would cross and make a right turn to the curb so that they would be, once again, facing Fourth Street.

When the traffic was clear, they'd cross and continue south to Third. Turning left, they would then walk down Third Street to C, and depending on how the team felt, they would continue two more blocks to A, where they would turn left, cross, and return to Fourth-basically walking a square grid.

Brenden had a distinct advantage over many of the other students because, though he didn't know it, he worked with a dog that had done this many times before. Like all the animals, Nelson's memory was photographic, and patterning was an element that all good guide dogs brought to the job.

Consequently, Brenden found himself feeling a sense of accomplishment during this elementary period of training. He also found himself having conversations with many of the other students about coping with blindness. He became interested as he learned that the group seemed to be divided when it came to the basic discussion of who had it tougher: people who were born blind and had grown up that way or those who lost their sight through illness or an accident.

He was sure that people like him must find it more difficult, but he was surprised when he found out that both groups believed they were the lucky ones. The people who had been born blind talked about how they had grown up learning to cope with the disability, while the people who had lost their sight in later years talked about how much it meant to have visual concepts in their heads.

Old Jimmy made a real impression on him when he said he hated the fact that over the years, he had lost his perception of some colors.

"I just can't remember purple," he told Brenden. "I can't pull in the picture anymore, and I don't remember my daughter's beautiful eyes. It's just been too many years. I can't keep the image in my head."

Brenden wondered if that's how it would be for him. How long would he be able to remember the gold of the aspens in the fall? How long would he remember Lindsey's exquisite face and form? The idea of forgetting those glories made him sad and angry. And yet, something inside him-something fundamental to his character-made him remember old Jimmy and how much he had lost.

Casually, the young man dropped an arm over the old man's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jimmy," he said. "I really am sorry. It's gotta be tough when you lose the colors, but think about how many people you've touched over the years. I mean, as a teacher and a husband and a father."

Jimmy smiled. "Now, don't go soft on me, kid. I figured you for a tough guy."

"Not that tough." Brenden shrugged. "Not that tough at all, Jimmy."

By the middle of the second week, Smitty allowed more and more s.p.a.ce between Brenden, Nelson, and himself. He dropped back farther and farther when Brenden walked the route and hid in doorways to keep himself out of Nelson's sight line. No matter how hard he tried, however, the big black Lab always seemed to know where he was. He chuckled, remembering how keen the animal's senses were. You just can't hide from a dog that wants to find you, Smitty reminded himself.

Brenden had begun to freelance on the routes, being given the opportunity to enter stores, make purchases, and develop a sense of early independence.

All in all, Smitty thought, things do seem to be going well. But I still feel there's something missing, and I think it's love.

The route was one they had walked before. Certainly, they were in an area that Nelson knew very well. Smitty moved across the street to take up a position in the doorway of a hardware store. As he watched, he saw the problem coming at about the same time the big dog did.

Ahead was a new construction area that the team would have to pa.s.s, and the street was torn up to install new sewer lines. Men were working in hard hats with jackhammers, making it impossible to hear anything else. Smitty made one of those instinctive decisions based on his years of training. He decided to let the young man and the dog work out the problem. Frankly, he wasn't sure about Brenden, but he trusted the seasoning that Nelson had been given in the field, and predictably the dog made exactly the correct choice.

As he and Brenden moved closer to the sound, the animal slowed, maintaining harness pressure but easing his master away from the building to the outside of the sidewalk.

Smitty couldn't see exactly what was ahead of them, but Nelson did. A gaping hole in the concrete made it almost impossible to get through the area, and so the dog came to a stop, looking up at Brenden as if to say, "We need help."

Brenden felt c.o.c.ky. Things had gone very well over the last few days, and he hated the sound of the jackhammers. Should he turn around and retrace his steps or try to carry out the a.s.signment? He made an aggressive decision.

"Nelson, forward," he said. The dog didn't move. "Nelson, forward," he commanded in a much firmer voice. Again the dog refused. There are moments in life when the human psyche is strung as tight as a bowstring-any vibration, any jarring, and the tension must be released.