to make a decision. And fast.
Dr. Payne waited, as he always did. He rarely appeared to push, but in his own devious way, that was exactly what happened.
“Maybe I’ll give the cabin a try,” she said reluctantly.
“What about the dog?” Dr. Payne said.
She hesitated, just as she hesitated at any move forward these days. Inertia had taken over her life. Decisions were difficult if not impossible. That was entirely new for her. She had been making decisions since she was little older than a toddler. When set on a course she could be rarely be deterred. But that was before. Now...nothing was important.
“Andy,” Dr. Payne said, changing from his usual formal “Lieutenant.” “Give it a try. At least talk to the trainer. See the dog. You don’t have to make a decision this minute.”
There was that reason again. Sometimes she hated it.
She nodded her head.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, she drove with Dr. Payne to meet the dog. She braced herself for meeting someone new and having to make a decision.
Dr. Payne had warned her that the trainer wouldn’t let the dog go with just anyone. There had to be “a fit.” She swallowed as Dr. Payne turned the car onto a well-rutted dirt road. What if the dog rejected her? She didn’t know whether that was what she wanted or not. She had decided that if it did work she was going to keep an emotional distance from the animal.
Why had she let Dr. Payne talk her into this?
“You’re second-guessing yourself again,” Dr. Payne said.
“You didn’t trust me to get here on my own,” she accused him.
She’d been surprised when he’d offered to drive her down on his day off. Probably because he feared she would back out, or not make it in the Bucket, her ancient Volkswagen.
If the introduction went well, she would be expected to stay at the trainer’s ranch for several days for intense training and to ensure the match would be successful.
Maybe it wouldn’t be. In the past few days, she’d read enough about the program to know there had to be trust on the part of both the veteran and the dog. She didn’t know if she could give that.
Dr. Payne turned onto a dirt road that led to a small ranch house. There were also stables, an oblong building with a chimney, kennels and a fenced-in area. Several dogs came to the fence and barked as Dr. Payne parked the car.
A wiry woman came to the car as Andy stepped out. “Lieutenant,” she said. “I’m Karen Conway. Call me Karen. Everyone does.” She held out a weathered hand, and Andy took it.
“We won’t waste time,” Karen said. “I know Richard...Dr. Payne...hasn’t much of that.”
The way she said Richard startled Andy. There was a warmth in it, as if they were more than simply acquaintances. Dr. Payne never talked about his private life.
Before any more thoughts flickered through her mind, she was herded into the ranch house. A dog was at the window, watching. He didn’t move until they were all inside and Karen said, “Joseph, say hello.”
The dog approached obediently. He was medium size where she had expected a larger animal. Maybe a German shepherd. But this dog more resembled a small Lassie; his coat appeared woven of shades of tan and black and gray. He had blue eyes that regarded her as cautiously as she expected hers were.
“Joseph?” Karen said again.
The dog held up his paw.
Andy took it gingerly. The fur was soft, and the dog’s gaze seemed to reach inside her and ask questions she couldn’t answer. Then his tongue flicked out and licked her hand.
“He likes you,” Karen said. “It took much longer for Adam to win a kiss.”
Andy found herself petting the dog.
“Try behind his ears,” Karen said. “That and his stomach are his favorite places.”
Andy followed the advice and with her good hand rubbed behind the dog’s ears. Joseph turned on his back and bared his stomach. She rubbed it, stopped when she heard a rumbling noise.
“That’s a groan of pleasure,” Karen said with a smile.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
Andy went back to rubbing his stomach before straightening up.
“You think he will do?” Karen asked.
Andy stood and Joseph sat in front of her. She hesitated. Joseph lifted the same paw that he had before and looked expectant.
“He’s accepted you. Now it’s up to you,” Karen said. “He’s a smart dog, one of the smartest I’ve trained, and that says a lot. He had to be to survive. If you feel through the fur, you’ll find scars. He’s had some rough times. Some hikers found him badly hurt in the mountains. They assumed he’d been dumped by someone and had a run-in with wild animals. One of the hikers, a donor to this program, took him home, but he already had several dogs.
“He called me,” Karen continued. “Said Joseph had a natural empathy that makes him ideal for our purposes. If you have a nightmare, he knows to wake you up. He will remind you when it’s time to go to bed. Panic attack? He will physically interrupt you and redirect the panic.”
Andy was stunned. She had read about dogs and vets but hadn’t realized exactly what they did. “All of that?” she asked dubiously.
“And more. He can find and locate objects, like your shoes, or your phone or keys. In other words, he can pretty much do anything you want to teach him to do.”
Andy found it hard to believe he could do all that. But if he just interrupted the nightmares, she would be grateful.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Karen said, “but it’s really remarkable what these dogs can do.”
“Dr. Payne said they are free. How can you do that?”
“I have sponsors. Dr. Payne is one of them. But there’s others, including area veterinarians who donate their services. I do it because my son had PTSD, only it wasn’t recognized like it is now.” She paused, then added, “He committed suicide.”
“I’m sorry,” Andy said.
Karen simply nodded. “If you decide you want to come into the program, you’ll stay in the bunkhouse with the dog until I think the two of you are ready. But I want to know for sure that you’re committed, that you will stick with it. I don’t want Joseph disappointed again.”
“What happened?”
“Adam took Joseph home and then discovered his wife was extremely allergic to dog hair. It was either her or Joseph.” She looked sternly into Andy’s eyes. “You don’t have anyone allergic, do you?”
“No.”
