I am nearly ready for training. My to-be guide dog sleeps or romps or sits reflectively at this moment in a kennel, unaware he will meet me in a matter of days. Maybe he is spunky. Maybe he is mellow. Surely he is smart; only roughly 50% of dogs in training programs actually graduate as guide dogs. He may be taller or shorter. He may be slender like Elias or built like a muscle-bound bullet! Actually, "he" could very well have been a "she," except I heard someone at Guiding Eyes slip and use a male gender pronoun a couple weeks ago, so I am expecting a boy!
I think of all the ways these dogs vary, just as my students vary. Without strain, I recall these teens from the past year: an athlete with elbow problems that might hinder her dreams of playing her sport in college, a scholar whose greatest joy was coming up with clever word play to share at the end of class, a brilliant introvert who fell in love with an individual whose chronic health challenges made high school a very different place for him than for most, a sweet girl who overcame brain damage as a baby and who is such a hard worker that her peers probably have no clue that her story is so complex, a motherless and immensely strong young lady who fights to balance fierceness with the vulnerability she feels as she grows up, a class president whose all-around good-heartedness made him the star of graduation and a top candidate for "Most Likely to Succeed" in my book. Though the culture of education today imposes measurement standards that attempt to assess students in a linear, identical manner, all of these young people have maintained their individuality and have achieved extraordinarily. They were not crushed by the constantly shifting walls of the maze created by education reform. I celebrate their uniqueness, and I want never to forget their beauty.
Diversity is indeed gorgeous, but I am nervous going into training, for as diverse as dogs are too, I am also aware of the diversity guide dog teams have in their success. Over the past years, I have known the team who flawlessly navigated the Metro in Washington D.C. daily, but I have also known the team whose career ended before it started, a mismatch without a future that send the handler home without a canine by her side. I have known the team that conquered the handler's multiple disabilities but also the team that was halted too quickly when cancer stole the five-year-old dog's life. My previous three dogs each brought individuality to our partnership: the noble golden who was always dignified, even when carrying a discarded doughnut down the hall to a staff meeting; the ridiculously cute golden who panted like a nickering horse whenever he worked; and my Elias, the lab whose last hurrah included a voluntary pat-down by a Secret Service agent at the White House, a tail-wagging honor!
Who are you, dog in the kennel? Do you know your life is about to change again? Do you have any sense of how flawed your handler is? Do you know how much I am committed to overcoming those flaws and being the best partner you can have? Will you greet me when I meet you, or will you cry for the trainer who has your heart right now? Will you forgive me when I make mistakes? Will you be patient with me when I call you Elias or when I forget that you too are not perfect? Will you believe that your strengths can make up for my failings, and my strengths can make up for your failings, and we can build a new story together, different from anyone else's? Are you ready to walk the maze of life together? Dog in the kennel, are you ready to become a team? I am.