[NAGDU] FW: [GDUI Chat] FW: [angelsonges] A Miracle Named George, chicken soup for the soul stories

Wed Aug 14 02:08:27 UTC 2019

-----Original Message-----
From: Eric Calhoun [mailto:eric at pmpmail.com] 
Sent: August-13-19 6:28 PM
To: chat at guidedogusersinc.org
Subject: [GDUI Chat] FW: [angelsonges] A Miracle Named George, chicken soup for the soul stories

Guide-dog related.

Original Message: 
From: "Arlene" <arlenes71154 at earthlink.net>
To: <angelsonges at groups.io>
Subject: [angelsonges] A Miracle Named George, chicken soup for the soul stories
Date: 
Sun, 11 Aug 2019 21:38:27 -0500

84. A Miracle Named George
From
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Life Lessons from the Dog By S.J. Wells book/227409/life-lessons-from-the-dog
A Miracle Named George
Faithful friends are gifts from heaven: Whoever finds one has found a treasure.
Author Unknown
It was Monday, July 20, 1998, about 1:00 p.m. I was standing in the doorway of my room at The Seeing Eye in Morristown, New Jersey, anxiously waiting to hear my instructor call my name. All sorts of questions ran through my mind, and in the forefront was the fear that I was making an awful mistake. A guide dog when I had been afraid of dogs all my life? Crazy!
Each time a name was called, a few seconds would go by, and then I would hear a person and a dog walk quietly past my door. I wanted to bite my nails. I probably cracked my knuckles a time or two. I shifted from one foot to the other and sighed so many times I could have filled a balloon with all that hot air. Finally, shocking me out of my own thoughts, I heard my instructor say, "Shannon!"
I don't remember responding, but in seconds I was seated in a chair in the lounge, my instructor standing beside me.
"Shannon," she said, "this is George."
Two huge paws touched my knees.
"Down, George," my instructor said, and the dog obeyed immediately.
We were taken back to my room where the door was closed, leaving us alone. I petted him, he put up his paw to shake, and he sat so nicely, as if to say, "I'm a good boy, I promise."
However, after several minutes, George got bored with me and went to the door. He whined, crying out for the lady who had trained him.
I was at a complete loss as to what to do next. "Okay, God, you got me here. Now, what am I supposed to do?"
Sometime later, my instructor took George and me on a walk outside.
George wore the
harness and leash, as well as a second leash that my instructor held in her competent grip. It felt like I stumbled around that path instead of walked, and I kept stepping on poor George's feet, but he never stopped and neither did I. Still, I was worried.
If this stumbling around was what I could expect, maybe this guide dog thing wasn't for me.
>From the beginning, we were taught to feed, water and care for our dogs without any sighted assistance. We were also taught how to use a plastic bag in order to pick up after our dogs when they left their droppings at our feet. Cleaning ears, brushing teeth, grooming, feeding, watering, and giving pills were all things we had to master before we left the school. Sometimes, it was easy, and sometimes it was not, but there was always a can-do atmosphere.
One day stands out in my memory. My confidence was still shaken and I was still thinking this was a mistake. Our instructions were simple: Take the handle of your dog's harness and walk down the sidewalk. The instructor would be right behind us, watching our every step. No need to worry.
I stood there at the corner and took a deep breath. Quite literally, my instructor was asking me to put my life into the hands - ahem, paws - of a dog.
Could I do it?
I hooked George's leash around my wrist, lifted the leather handle and took another bracing breath. "George, forward."
Suddenly, this seventy-eight-pound dog started pulling me down an unfamiliar sidewalk.
Several times, I cracked my toes on the uneven surface and protruding tree roots.
"Toes up, Shannon!" came the voice of my instructor.
"Oh, Lord," I whispered, frantically. "What on earth am I doing?"
Swerving around
trees and overhanging branches, George and I flew down that Maple Street sidewalk. I had never walked that fast in my entire life. I was barreling along, and my feelings were ranging between terror, amazement and joy. And then.
Without warning, George stopped, and for a moment I just stood there in awe. I heard the traffic in front of me and my instructor's words, "You did it!"
I did it! I had walked down an unfamiliar sidewalk at a pace that most sighted folks would call running, and I was still alive to tell the tale. I had. Wait!
I was forgetting
something. someone. Right then and there, I knelt down on that hot sidewalk and hugged that big Labrador/Golden Retriever mix. I, who had never hugged a dog in all my nineteen years, threw every reservation aside and wrapped my arms around him. "We did it, George! You did it!
For the next eight years, I was covered in dog hair. I did not feel like a disabled person. George and I went to school and work; walked in ten-degree weather; trudged through snow; splashed through rain and mud; went to grocery stores, concerts, and restaurants; visited elementary schools; took a plane to visit a friend in Savannah, Georgia; slept side by side on the floor to the sound of audiobooks; shared pizza after a long week of church camp; and spent many happy hours just enjoying each other's company. Many times, George led me up a church's aisle to the piano, where he lay quietly while I played and sang.
Looking back, I know I could have done some things differently. Not all my decisions back then were the best ones, but George never stopped loving me, and I never stopped loving him. Some said that having a guide dog wasn't worth the clean-up, but they never knew how much we meant to each other. George retired as a guide dog in August 2006, but he lives on in my memory, reminding me every day to give up my own control and trust in God no matter how rough the sidewalks get.
S.J. Wells -
https://www.chickensoup.com/newsletter/230041/a-miracle-named-george

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