Category Archives: Stories

Letter to Lizard

Dear Lizard,

Imagine my surprise to come out of Ella’s room to find you staring back at me. I thought you were a snake at first, so I hope you didn’t take offense when I wished that you’d slither back to your hole. I called my husband to complain about you only to find out he was a few minutes from home. I had to work quickly to catch you so sorry about the numerous cups, paper funnels and other fashioned devices I had to use for my purposes. I know now that you are much speedier than I first estimated. I will be ready for you next time.

Isaac enjoyed me running into his room at full battle cry when you scampered under his door. By the way, that was the first nap he had taken in a week, so I don’t appreciate you tricking me into waking him. I refuse to believe that Isaac was frightened by me letting out scared little screams as I tried to capture you, so I blame you for any psychological damage that will result from the attempts. Running under his bed was a nice move. Bet you didn’t know I could call upon super human strength to hurl the bed across the room to get to you, did you?

The past 24 hours that have passed since I discovered you have been interesting. I live in constant fear, thanks to you. Every light switch for which I reach, blanket I pick up, and step I take is riddled with anxiety that you will be lurking underneath. Isaac however, seems invigorated with our random “lizard hunting.” He wields the flashlight with all the skill of a college student on a weekend bender. He excitedly insists that lizards “could be anywhere!” Ella’s diapers, the neighbor’s drive way, and up his nose are the most highly suspected lizard hideouts. Ella slept better last night and if you had anything to do with it then, congratulations, you are finally earning your keep.

Some people have joked you will become our pet. I have no clue how to take care of a lizard. I just learned how to take care of children and you can ask them how that’s been working out. Unless you want to become a Seeing Eye Lizard for the Blind I suggest you stay clear of me. You will have to take care of yourself, but listen up Lizard, there will be no sharing of resources in this house. That Ben and Jerry’s S’more ice cream in the freezer is mine! Just ask my husband what happens to those who try to force me to share… Oh wait, never mind, I just read on Google you eat spiders and other bugs. You can help yourself to as many of those you wish to consume. We have plenty. I also read that you like dry climates and so excuse me a minute while I go remove the trap I have set for you in the bathtub.

Let’s cut to the chase, lizard. I want you gone. I realize that you have little opportunity to accomplish this goal, so I will make you a deal. I will agree to leave the sliding glass door open for a small amount of time in the mornings. Don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out. Please do not abuse my generosity by inviting in all your other free-loading lazy lizard friends. I hope you realize I could just as easily order your execution without trial.

Now who’s afraid?

Take care,


P.S. I have friends that believe “take care” at the end of a letter is the equivalent of saying “I hope I don’t see you again” but nicer. It is pretty much the literary version of a middle finger. I’ll let you ponder that one when you are a safe distance doing your lizard tongue thing on some rock, miles away from my home.

From the Diary of Potty Training Nightmares – Part Three

After one and a half months potty training was a bust for me. Everything I was doing was yielding little results. I would have one success only to be followed by more and more failures. All parties involved where frustrated. It was time to research again. I needed more graphs. I needed more data. I needed more ideas. I needed Google.

Google and I are great friends. I knew her when she was a newborn. Tyler introduced me to her fancy search engine and although he referred to her as a “thing” I knew immediately she was a female, because who else can keep all that information straight and organized?

Google provided me with the fresh restart I needed. If anything it was nice to see what other parents were doing and that I was not the only one. I did get a bit angry at some naive parents’ suggestions. It seems when some people have an easy time with it they feel that everyone else with problems must be doing it wrong. They also have a tendency to rub in their accomplishments. One parent insisted that all she did was tell her daughter to “now pee on the potty” and the next day she was out of diapers. She was chastising another parent that was having trouble telling her, “You’re making this all too complicated. Potty training is so easy!” I wanted to invite her to my home and prove it to me. I also wanted to crush her spirit.

I have never wished harm on another human, so I knew I was stressed on the subject when I had these thoughts. I also knew I was getting delirious when I was willing to spend unimaginable amounts of money to help me get the potty job done. I am extremely frugal and when I was looking up flights to the other side of the United States for a potty training boot camp I knew I was hitting my breaking point.

I did stumble on some interesting information during all my research and decided to completely change my attitude about the whole thing. I decided to make the process more fun and inviting. It needed to fit both my personality and Isaac’s.

First of all I needed to teach Isaac a few skills to help him feel successful. He needed to know what wet and dry meant. He needed to be more of a pro at pulling his own pants down. He also needed to be clearer on what was expected of him. He also needed more motivation than just pleasing his parents.

For the next few weeks I worked on these skills with him. I would point out wet items and dry items in the house. He wore mostly cotton underwear at home so I could continue to show him wet and dry and say, “hey you are going pee pee.” When I would notice he was going, I would say “now you are wet. We like to stay dry.” I would try to make this as non-threatening and casual as possible. I then would comment, “someday you will put your pee in the potty. That will be awesome!”

I had him watching every potty video I could find that I felt was of high quality. The fact that Elmo used the potty too was a huge eye opener for him. We talked a lot about the potty and how we all use the potty. I got a ton of children’s potty books and read them to him often. We would talk about the characters and point to the pictures. We would take field trips to our own potty and talk about the things we read about. Our toys used the potty often and we would wipe their bottoms. He had a set of bath cars that would fill with water in a small hole out the bottom and we would hold them over the toilet and they would “pee” into the toilet. Isaac would dutifully wipe them clean and flush. He was very encouraging to them and would exclaim “Good job, red car! Good job Lighting McQueen!”

I also tried using this same technique for poop. When he would poop in a diaper we would hold the diaper over the toilet and let it fall in and then explain, “Poop’s home is in the potty. Poop belongs in the potty. When we poop we will try to poop into the potty like mommy and daddy.” For a teaching session I got one of his toys and it would grunt and strain over his potty chair and poop out a Hersey’s chocolate square. It was all I had in my cupboard. The first time I tried this Isaac’s eyes were huge and he squealed in delight. He then dove straight in after the candy and quickly plunked it in his mouth. Thankfully the potty hadn’t been used yet. He then yanked the toy from my hand and shook and squeezed the thing all the while excitedly questioning, “Where is the chocolate? Where did it go? More poo poo chocolate, please!” I learned my lesson not to use anything as easily recognizable as Hersey’s chocolate again.

Isaac was also still weary to sit on the potty. So I had to make that more inviting. I ditched the potty chair for a while, since I felt too many negative feelings were attached to its use. I went and got a potty chair that fit over our toilet seat and a stool. I then decorated up the toilet with paper and put waxed paper over the tank area. I put play dough and some toy cars up there as well. I faced him backwards on the toilet and let him color pages I ripped out of a coloring book and taped to the back of the seat. I chose car characters since he was really into that at the time. I would give him water and after an hour I would take him in there to play.

I did all this for about a month and really only got him to pee on the potty a few times. I was happy with the results, because at this point I was just happy he was sitting there without fuss or major melt down. The real miracle came on a day when I least expected it. He had been sitting on the potty coloring and decided he was done after twenty minutes. He climbed off and we both went into the living room. I noticed I had an email, so I started to reply as he was playing with some toys. We hadn’t gotten around to putting his pants back on.

After a few moments he wandered back into the bathroom and I quickly tried to finish up my email in case he tried to get into some trouble in there. Quiet is never good when it comes from a two-year-old boy.

Suddenly he came running back into the living room exclaiming a bunch of incoherent toddler speak of which I could only understand the words “potty” and “fell in.” He also looked extremely worried. I immediately begin to panic over the number of Tyler’s fancy techno gadgetry that could have been dropped in the toilet. I rushed into the room as if I could save the doomed device or catch it lest it be hanging on a precipice. Upon my arrival I peered into the toilet hesitantly expecting to find an iPod only to discover a child-sized turd. I had never been so happy to find a floater in my life. I knew that it was not in there before and only Isaac and I were in the house. I really hoped I didn’t have a toddler-sized intruder using our toilet that was going to spoil my fun. I jumped up and down and screamed happily and Isaac’s expression changed from worry to glee as he realized what was happening. I immediately took a picture with my phone and sent a picture and text to my husband. I then called him to relay the newest achievement. Tyler awkwardly spoke with Isaac and I while trying to avoid using the words ‘pee’ ‘poop’ and ‘potty’ and not alarm his co-workers to the strange client he might be working with that would require him to use such vocabulary.

My pessimistic side was trying to convince me that this was a freak accident and he probably pooped on the floor and shoveled it into the potty. But my optimistic side was winning out and I was assured that all of our hard work for the last two months was finally paying off. After this point I knew it was all a matter of practice and continue doing what I was doing, since it was finally working.

Isaac randomly used the potty for the next few weeks and I was comfortable with the way things were going. He was not a master of the potty domain yet, but I felt he was getting there.

Just before the beginning of the spring season my brother came to live with us until the baby was due. It was a nice arrangement: he did lots of chores around our house and yard and got free rent until school was out. I slightly fretted over this big change in our household and how it would affect our potty training progress. My brother provided little intrusion in the matter as it turned out and Isaac continued to do well with expected set backs here and there. My brother also provided another cheerleader for Isaac and Isaac didn’t seem to notice that my brother was horrified and grossed out by the situation.

Only after a week of living with us and watching Isaac learn to go on the potty my brother summed up everything about potty training it took me months to learn. He said when talking with a toddler about going to the potty it is best not to ask “do you have to use the potty?” because he will tell you “no.” It is better to tell him “it is time to use the potty.” And then trick him into it and wear him down when he says “no.”

Most importantly, he confided to me “no means yes and yes means it’s too late.”

From the Diary of Potty Training Nightmares – Part Two

Three weeks into “potty training” and I thought I was going to have a mental break. One of the worst things about being a psychologist is that you can diagnose your own mental shortcomings on a moment-to-moment basis. And then check the DSM-IV for accuracy in your self-diagnosis.

It was the middle of winter and I had realized three things. One: most people potty train in the summer so they can run their naked toddler around outside and not worry about the mess. Two: it is recommended not to potty train with an end date in mind. My end date was six months from when I started, because I was going to have a baby. And that brings me to my third point: don’t potty train when a stressful event is inevitable (example: moving, changing schools, HAVING A BABY!). But like all good overachievers when I hear the words “you can’t…” I immediately want to prove I can. It seemed none of the books I read agreed on anything except those points. I was 0 for 3.

I had given up on my end date. I would be happy if I could get Isaac to even speak friendly about the potty. I was also clueless on how to even start the process of getting him to actually sit on the potty. At first I went with what I knew. I had raised dogs and when a dog looks like it’s about to go you rush it outside. After a while they get the idea. When Isaac would fidget or squirm I would immediately rush him over to his potty chair. He would scream and freak, because I think the first few times I was a bit too eager and scared him. Since I am a good little behaviorist I know when something doesn’t work you have to change what you are doing. I figured if taking him to the potty didn’t work I would bring the potty to him. A few times of him peeing and me rushing his potty chair to catch the pee was exhausting. I also hardly ever got the timing right. Most of the time I was following him around with the potty chair. He would sneeze or pause in playing and I would fumble excitedly with the chair and slide it under him like a baseball runner trying to get past home plate. He would give me a look of confusion and concern that I am sure I will see again when I am old and senile.

I continued to take data on his fluid intake and urine output with baffling results. I never took physics, but even I know what is outside the realm of possibility. If anyone can explain to me how you can pump over 8oz of fluid into a little body and not have any pee come out the other end for over 3 hours I would love to hear the mathematical and anatomical theories on that.

It was evident that Isaac was overwhelmed as well. One night I decided to test my rusting child counseling skills to see how he felt about all this potty training business. Each of his toys used the potty and we clapped and cheered for them. Isaac’s enthusiasm for each successful toy I could tell was lack luster. I could even detect a bit of envy. I then took his favorite stuffed animal. A yellow duck we named Brahms, because when you pull his tail Brahms’ lullaby tune plays out of his butt. I told Brahms he had to use the potty and Brahms said he didn’t want to and kept exclaiming “No!” I then walked Brahms over the potty chair and had him sit on it. I puppeted Brahms yelling and screaming to be left alone in the same fashion I had witnessed a certain toddler doing the last few weeks. Isaac clapped and squealed in delight, gleefully encouraging his toy’s rebellious outbursts. I then had a long talk with Brahms that it was time to use the potty and that we all use it at some point. After much discussion Brahms decided to give the potty one more try and sat on it with pride as he peed lemonade I had hidden in a syringe behind his back. Isaac’s face crumpled and the look of betrayal would have been almost comical if it hadn’t been so revealing of his true feelings. He marched over to the offending toy and yanked him from the potty. He then screamed a loud “No, Brahms, NO!” and promptly ran over the kitchen cupboards and thrust the toy inside and slammed the door.

My husband’s eyes lit up and with his eyebrows raised higher than I have ever seen them whispered to me in his best psychoanalysis impression, “So, Isaac, tell us how you really feel.”

I then tried to smooth things over only to get pulled into a rousing game of “no.”

“Isaac do you want to take a break?”
“Isaac, do you want a snack?”
“Isaac, let’s go for a bike ride.”

I tried to soak up as much comfort and joy from the game as I could, but I let out a big sigh. I was frustrated too. Neither of us were happy and I rhetorically stated, “You are probably as frustrated with this potty training as I am.”

There was a short pause.

“Uh…yes?” he answered as if trying the word out for the first time. I was hoping the day that word magically appeared in his vocabulary would be cause for celebration after months of hearing its counterpart, but instead I felt empty.

From the Diary of Potty Training Nightmares – Part One

A few months before my second child was to be born I decided it was time to potty train my first. I pretty much fretted and stressed over the day that I would have to confidently begin this process. When he was younger I tried to implement some “pre-potty training” activities with failing results. I still shuddered at the memory of the day his first potty arrived in the mail. He eyed the little chair with a hole in it with concern. He couldn’t really talk at this point, but if he could I am sure he would have asked me how someone could sit on something they might fall through. The potty was very obviously a doorway into hell as far as he was concerned. I promptly took off his pants and tried to get him to sit on it with no success. I then tried to get him to sit on it with his clothes on and still, no go. I put the potty in the bathroom and tried to coax him on each time we would go in there. It took a long time before he felt confident to use this seat. I wondered how I was supposed to potty train him when he would refuse to sit on the potty.

Up to this point my potty training experience only applied to the three Guide Dogs for the Blind puppies I had trained. I figured a child was smarter than a dog so he should catch on at some point. I had visions of my son in High School using the lawn to go the bathroom and me following behind him with a black plastic bag to tie and keep in my pocket until I could find a place to throw it away.

I began my initial training experience armed with knowledge I had gathered off of the Internet. It was confusing and strange trying to gather information I could use. One professional insisted that children should not be trained until they are at least 3, while another provided statistics that waiting too long would only make the process harder and create bladder and bowel problems. Already I had conflicting information from two different schools of thought on the subject. Some moms insisted that boys were harder than girls to train and other moms boasted their children were trained over night or in a week after some light coaxing from them or another family member. I longed for such a miracle to happen with my experience. I took one look at my stubborn son and decided that this was going to be awful.

Like most parents I looked to this day with fear. I wanted to just get it over with. I wanted the miracle child who woke up one day and said “Mummy, I want to use the potty!” I wanted someone to do it for me. And I wanted it done yesterday.

To make matters worse Isaac was just entering that horrible “no” stage. Children are smart about the use of the word at first, so it sort of sneaks up on the parents. At first we were amused at his use of the word. I would hold out a favorite cracker and ask, “Isaac do you want a cracker?” and he would mumble “no” as he grabbed and devoured the offering. Tyler and I would chuckle and muse over the cute interaction. We were also proud. After all, that counted as one of his first words next to “mommy” and “daddy.”

The next trial of “no’s” Isaac began to have more meaning behind the word. He would say no to just about everything. There is a certain kind of comfort and joy knowing what the answer to every question will be. Predictability I came to expect and look forward to hearing. I would tell Isaac, “It is time to wash your hands.” Isaac would put forth his inevitable ‘no’ and look distressed for a moment. To most watchers it may seem he might put up a fight, but once I picked him up and started the task he would calm and do it anyway.

As time went on the ‘no’ was still a staple answer and although I began to tire of hearing it I still felt comforted knowing it was coming. Even if at this point he was beginning to shout it out and adding more venom behind the word. I even started to have a bit of fun.

“Isaac, do you want a BMW?”
“Isaac, do you want a foot rub?”
“Isaac, would you like a personal chef to create a confectionary masterpiece in which Gregorian Monks of the Swiss Alps grow the ingredients?”

Isn’t this a fun little game? See what I mean by the ‘no’ providing predictability bringing comfort and joy? “Soak up the comfort and joy,” I would tell myself.

Just the other day I was in the store and saw a weary mother pushing her toddler in the grocery basket. The toddler was in a feisty mood and was exclaiming ‘no’ to just about anything the mother offered. She finally asked in a huff: “Do you want me to buy you a private island?” The little girl screamed out a “NOOOO!” and the mother gave a little smile to herself and mumbled, “I thought you would say that.” I could practically taste the comfort and joy dripping off her. Other parents were playing the same game. It must have been universal. I wondered if I visited the poorest villages of indigenous countries if the parents there were having as much fun.

The key is to ask for something the child doesn’t quite understand yet. Otherwise it backfires.

So I began potty training. I started out when Isaac was a year and a half, just making him sit on the potty when I would go to the bathroom. Six months later Isaac was still refusing to sit there. He also became more deliriously angry to follow me in there as time went by. I decided that the easing into potty training method was not working for either of us. I started to do some more research. And by research I mean I read just about every book available by a creditable author on potty training. I also took notes and created a behavior plan. Don’t judge me, I have a Master’s in child psychology and after seven years of school they practically bore the natural mother instinct out of me. I have to read to fill in those instinctual gaps. And create behavior plans.

With charts.

And graphs.

(and ok I admit…the occasional statistical data. BUT you have to admit the charts and graphs are meaningless if you don’t have the means and averages to back them up!)
I measured Isaac’s fluid intake and noted the average time it took for him to urinate. I filled in the data on my chart and began to draw predictions on when his next urination session would occur. The graph was color-coded.

I decided a blind study was not conducive to my experiment, so I decided to explain to my test subject the nature of study.

“Isaac,” I started “We are going to begin potty training.”
“No,” he replied dutifully.

I love it when my test subjects are as excited as I am.

“You will use the potty to pee and poop.”

I felt the stirrings of comfort.

“You will no longer wear a diaper. You will only wear cotton underwear or nothing at all when we are at home. I haven’t decided what we will do when we need to go out.”

I felt joy.

Loving and Leaving: Raising a Guide Dog

It is hard to describe a miracle when you have lived it. Even harder trying to write an emotion that doesn’t exist except in what we cannot see or touch. And while I am stumbling in the dark with explanations I will start from the beginning. Maybe I will find my way as I write.

When I was twelve I wanted one thing more than anything. It wasn’t a brand name pair of jeans. I had no need for material things. It wasn’t to be able to wear make-up. I had no use for vanity. It wasn’t to be popular. I had no desire for others to determine my worth.

I wanted to raise a Guide Dog puppy.

I saw a clipping in a magazine about raising Guide Dog puppies in 4-H and I was like a torpedo in my pursuit to achieve this goal. My sixth grade teacher was the local leader and I think I annoyed her with my million questions a day about the project. My parents took a while to convince, but they eventually caved.

I raised two German Shepherds and would have raised more if college wasn’t looming so closely in the distance. I always promised myself that before I had kids I would raise at least one more. Something didn’t feel complete. An unfinished puzzle with an important piece missing: the one that reveals the picture.

My husband and I got Balina soon after the ink was dry on our mortgage to our first house. I had just finished graduate school and was about to embark in an exciting career in school psychology and counseling. The school I was set to work for had agreed to allow Balina to come to work with me; in fact, they were ecstatic about the idea.

Balina started out as an amazing puppy. She was house trained in a week and learned the majority of her commands early. She did have one weakness, and that was other dogs. If ever a dog could have ADHD one minute and be the model citizen the next, it was she. And I think most people in our Guide Dog group were convinced my husband and I were crazy when we insisted she was the perfect dog outside of our club meetings. In all other ways she was seemingly ordinary.

Except she wasn’t simply ordinary.

I had a secret wish that Balina would fail out of Guide Dog school and Tyler and I could keep her. Most guide dog puppy raisers have this secret wish in the back of their mind. I remember the day I realized she was meant for something bigger than being our devoted pet. It was the day I realized she was special.

I went up to visit my parents and see my cousin’s new baby. Balina was only a few months old. Things started out calm and Balina was doing her normal puppy thing until she started to become agitated. I took her outside because I thought maybe she needed to go “do her business.” Balina didn’t need to go, but seemed to calm a bit while outside. I brought her back in and after a while she started to become frantic. She was jumping up at me. Something she hadn’t done before. She was pulling on her leash whining to get away from me.

I picked her up to take her home and make my speedy exit. As I was making my apologies and trying to sooth a wiggling and squirming dog she jumped straight out of my arms and over to my younger cousin who was laying on the floor. My younger cousin has cerebral palsy; a condition that confines her to a wheel chair and prevents her from verbally communicating. Balina began to lick her face and paw near her. My cousin looked shocked and I quickly jumped in to grab my dog only to have Balina squiggle her way back. I was falling all over myself to apologize. After all this is the Guide Dog puppy raisers equivalent to having your child screaming in a crowded store for candy. My aunt and uncle were extremely understanding about my dog’s misbehavior. Balina was more catlike in her ability to squirm out of my grasp. Each attempt I made only left me more annoyed. I couldn’t get her under control. Suddenly my cousin started to have a seizure, a large and serious grand mal seizure. My cousin had been having trouble with seizures in the last few years and they had become increasing in the frequency and duration. Balina just lay next to her and kept her head close by as my aunt uncle and my other cousin rushed to get my younger cousin’s medicine and make the necessary calls. When the seizure was over Balina was suddenly calm.

I drove home and cried, because I knew then that Balina was too special to keep. She could help people with her gift and I was selfish to try and keep her with me. People always ask: “how can you raise a dog, love it, and then give it up?” I don’t have an answer other than I don’t think I can love something so completely and ever really give it up. Each dog I have raised is a part of me and I have followed each of my dogs to their new owners like a parent would follow a child. Do we expect our children live with us forever? Or do we raise them in hopes they will start a family of their own and achieve the things we have only dreamed of?

The second thing I always hear from questioners is not really a question, but a statement: “I could never give up one of my pets.” My answer to that: I don’t believe it. I think each of us has the ability in us to give up something we love to better the life of someone else. If we didn’t have this ability I wouldn’t want to raise children in a world where this type of altruism didn’t exist. Someday my children or someone I know will be affected by a gift given by someone who gave up a part of herself. It may have been hard for her, emotional, or inconvenient, but she did it and it made a difference even if she didn’t see it.

As the months with Balina moved on she continued to astound me. I worked in a school and my chief duty was to counsel junior high students. Balina always stayed in her corner of my office curled up on her bed until a student would come in that was in extreme need. Usually these were the worst cases I ever had to deal with. Students who had been abused, students who were emotionally lost, and students who turned to drugs or abused their bodies to cope with stress….over and over again Balina would come out of the corner, only for these students, and rest her head on the couch next to him or her. If the student would look over to her without fear she would nudge the students hand and place her head on his or her lap. The student would usually cry and in that moment I knew that he or she was safe.

Balina was an emotional catharsis for not only the students, but parents too. I had a number of concerned parents in my office over the year I worked with Balina at my side. One set of parents I remember well. Their son had just tried to commit suicide the night before. They sat in my office in silence. I usually like to wait for the person in my office to speak first after the introductions are made. This silence was awful and my heart broke for them, because I knew that I didn’t have the words to comfort them and I didn’t have the rapport to reach out and offer a hug or touch: which is what I wanted to do. Balina didn’t have that awkward space people hold between them. She uncurled herself from her mat and trotted calmly over to the mother and father and managed to lay her head in both of their laps. The look in her eyes soaked up all their sadness and I had to look away while both mother and father cried and held Balina. I usually have to remind people to ask permission to pet her before they do. This one time I made an exception. I knew it was coming. This is what the people on the titanic must have felt when all the lifeboats ran out.

When the day came to take Balina in for her final training I was devastated. I didn’t think I could give her up, but she was never really mine. I didn’t know how I could proceed in this next step in my life without her. I had come to depend on her. My husband and I were a week away from having a baby and I needed her in my life. I needed her more right now than anyone else could. It wasn’t fair that she could show me what love was all about and then I had to give her back. We brought her inside and my movements felt wooden and fake as I tried to stay emotionally disconnected. The workers in the kennel offer raisers the option to take their dog to the kennel to say good-bye and I couldn’t do that extra step.

The idea of leaving her in a kennel and closing the door with the intention of never coming back was too hard to fathom. So we said our good-byes and rushed back to the car. I glanced back her direction only to see her confused expression as she jumped up from her kennel where she was placed. She watched me leave and I let out a gasp and clutched my chest as I held back racking sobs. My husband turned to me with red eyes and concern. At the time, I was nine months pregnant after all.

When we got back to the car my husband announced he had to pee before we went on our long ride home and I sat on the curb next to our car holding the empty leash. The leash was brand new when we first got it as a gift from Guide Dogs for the Blind. It was now worn and marked: the perfect symbol of our journey. In life I felt I had given up a lot. I had given up two other dogs and each time got harder. I don’t believe the raisers who say that it gets easier each time you say good-bye. It is only a way we explain the social awkwardness of what we do. After all, who can give up something they love so much?

I looked up and saw a little girl making her way to the office. She stumbled and swayed and felt around for the curb even though she had a person with her holding her hand. The person, her guide, left her for a moment at the door and walked in to the store. The girl stood there briefly and then attempted to enter the building. She walked to the door and felt around. She missed the door handle over and over and soon was way off from the door altogether. I could see the moment she gave up and just stood there in the bushes. She looked defeated.

I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. What could I offer her? I felt I would only embarrass us both if I revealed my presence. I could have done something and I sat there watching, waiting for her true guide to rescue her. After all what difference could I make in one life? I suddenly had a flash of memories with Balina. In all these little interactions Balina had had with people she didn’t have barriers. I needed to tear mine down.

I realized in that moment I was the blind one and Balina had led me. I had the power in me all along and I just needed to believe in it. I had the power to change lives and someday because of volunteers like me that girl would find the door and walk though. It is a humbling experience to realize the difference someone has made on a life. And I realized the difference Balina had made on mine. Every day people do amazing things, people achieve amazing feats, and I was standing by not noticing until now.

Balina became a breeder. Which is considered the highest honor among Guides. This means that she will breed more exemplary dogs like herself. People asked me if I was disappointed that she didn’t become a Guide Dog. I answer simply “If Guide Dogs finds one good dog then that dog becomes a guide. If they see the potential of hundreds of good guides they make that dog a breeder.” I will admit that I was jealous that someone would get to keep her as a pet near the Guide Dog campus (we were too far away to be considered a permanent home for her). I was happy that she was placed in a home with kids who loved and adored her. She is spoiled like we were never allowed to spoil her and her family thinks she is as special as we do.

Here is another awesome story about a working guide (not written by me). The story has appeared in a number of magazines and other media. It is the story of a how a Guide Dog saved the life of his owner during the World Trade Center bombing on September 11th.