Homecoming

I’m a nervous wreck. Seems silly, but I am. It feels like I’m auditioning for something. And I have no choice but to nail this role.

My field rep, Connie, is supposed to be here for only about an hour. Little does this wonderful woman know that I have a list of questions a mile long. I’m the third person she’s seen today, having already been to Indiana and now back to Michigan. She leaves the dog in her SUV and brings in a new crate and a bag full of supplies, which includes food, a new collar, a new leash, next month’s supply of flea and tick prevention and heartworm medication, his microchip info, and his assistance dog vest.

We talk through how we’re going to handle his toileting since the backyard is covered in almost a foot of snow. I can barely walk on a flat, dry surface, so taking him out in the winter is an impossibility for me. Even though we have a fenced in back yard, we can’t let G run around on his own yet for two reasons: 1) he doesn’t know us and may not come in when called, and 2) we have an in-ground pool we don’t want him falling into that’s hard to see with all the snow. (Even with a cover on it, he would sink to a point and have a heck of a time getting out.)

For now, we decide my son and husband will need to take G out to do his business. She suggests we try to get a long lead line that we can attach to something stable so that I can let him out when no one is available. We still need to figure all that out. 

She gives me G’s feeding schedule and explicit instructions. Turns out G is a 6 out of 10 on the body condition scale, so they’ve put him on weight management food to get him down to a perfect 5. Apparently, G likes to eat. He will fit right in with this family.

My son, Aidan, comes home from school and listens intently to everything Connie says, bringing up some great questions I hadn’t even thought of. I’m so glad he’s there because I know I won’t be able to remember everything.

Connie goes to bring in the dog and tells me to brace myself, literally, because he will be excited by the new surroundings, sights, and smells. After watching more than a hundred episodes of The Dog Whisperer, Aidan and I know “no touch, no talk, no eye contact” when meeting a dog for the first time. Connie is thrilled because this is what she tells all her clients. 

G is super excited when he comes in and is moving around all over the place. His pictures do not do him justice at all—he is simply beautiful with the friendliest disposition. My fears about not liking him are gone in an instant. He wanders throughout the house, sniffing everything, but always comes back and sits by me. This is a very good sign. Connie has me immediately start giving him treats so that he associates me with all things good.

In his excitement, he still doesn’t jump on me (which is not allowed), but he is bumping up against me every few seconds. It takes a mere moment of being off-balance for me to fall, so had I not been braced against the counter, I surely would have hit the floor. Connie is concerned that it will take a little time for him to learn how to walk by me without bumping into me, and so we decide for at least the next week, I need to walk everywhere in the house with a walker just to be safe. Fortunately, I have one, although I’ve never used it. Aidan brings it up from the basement, and she has me try using it. It feels awkward and unnatural, but I do it because it is an ordeal to try to get me up when I’ve fallen, and I don’t want to risk it.

We set up the crate, and she has me tell him to go into it, which he does with no issue. In fact, any time I tell him “Sit” or “Down,” he responds like a rock star. She has me feed him, and he finishes everything in his bowl in less than 45 seconds. No lie. I’ve never seen anything like it. She then has me play with him for a bit to show how we can give him some exercise indoors. The squeaky stuffed unicorn is a huge hit. So much, in fact, that he won’t give it back. This is not good, although it is adorable as hell. 

She’s worried he’s going to rip it into shreds and swallow the squeaker. She says that he should never be allowed to play with it unsupervised. He seriously won’t give this thing up, so we have to redirect him with a ball. 

She goes through all the paperwork with me. There are contractual documents to sign and medical information to review. Each week I will need to fill out a progress report on how he’s doing. It’s 5:30 pm now, and Connie has been here for more than two and half hours— God bless her. 

She’s coming back on Monday, and my only instructions are to give him tons of treats and love on him so that he can bond with me. That seems easy enough. I thought I would to have to practice a bunch of tasks with him, but that’s to come after we establish our bond. She assures me that I can call or text her at any point over the weekend if I have any more questions or concerns. Her last words to me are said with a chuckle, “just keep him alive until I’m back.”

And just like that—we are dog owners.