Golden Heart

In honor of all the service and therapy dogs out there, and my two wonderful golden retrievers from years past:

Vincent, a real gentleman

Golden Heart

He sat quietly, as he had been taught. As the hours went along he stretched out on the cool floor, but quickly rose to sit when people came over.

It was almost a routine in his life now. Every week they’d walk over an hour to arrive at the building, in time to see the people setting up the long tables. He’d watch people bring out big boxes and pull out stacks of papers to arrange upon the table tops. A few of the workers would stop briefly to speak to him, then quickly return to their tasks.

Soon the doors opened and the quieter people slowly walked in. They paused to get their bearings and a worker would come up to them, ask a question, then point or lead them to a table. It wasn’t usually just one person entering at a time but small groups of people who seemed to be from the same family. He watched them stay close together, arms touching one another.

As the morning turned to mid-day the lines of people grew longer and many had to stay still and wait. This was his busiest time, too. A few people came over to lightly touch his head or run their fingers along the feathery fur on his ears. Some children knelt on the floor in front of him and draped their arms around his neck. As the day wore on his neck, back and legs grew tired and sore, but his companion’s eyes and words kept him strong.

He knew it was time to leave when a sweet young thing came in to replace him. Although he gave his companion a pleading look, they headed for the door.

Walking along the crowded sidewalk he heard the familiar sounds of hard-heeled shoes marking the beat of business as usual, and traffic lights cycling. He could smell perfume and food, and the infinite number of human emotions.

When they passed the area where the dust had once been so strong, his companion slowed her pace. He could make out the scent of diesel fumes and men sweating. Flinching, he heard the sudden sound of metal; resisting, then shrieking as it was forced to move yet again.

Although his senses were distracted by all the man-made sights, smells and sounds coming from this place he could still feel the difference in the city. People passed one another on the sidewalks, stood side by side in elevators but now there were so few words. He and his companion would go for walks but there was so little laughter or loud talk filling the air. Communication had turned quiet, with humans just nodding to one another in greeting.

His companion stepped out of the sidewalk traffic to pause and look at the place of broken metal and grey dust. A policeman walked toward them but then continued on when he saw the tags he and his companion wore. A man stopped and asked to pet him, and his companion said yes. He felt the man’s hand gently cup his muzzle while kind eyes studied his own. Then the man hurried on.

He leaned his weight against his companion’s leg and she reached out to stroke the golden crown of his head and velvet edges of his ears. She looked up once more toward the place, then down to lock eyes with him. Her words broke as she started to speak and she waited to control herself. Then, softly, she gave him his treasured praise, “Good dog,” she whispered, “good work."

copyright 2002 K.W. Scott

And, this is the sweet puppy I hope will become a therapy dog one day:

Supervising therapy riding is hot work, in RVA, in July!