I glance at the clock, realizing I need to leave promptly or I'll wind up being late for Sunday dinner at my parents' house. I scan the room, making sure I am not forgetting anything.
"Candy, let's go." I call out to the black lab whom I share my life with that is so skilled at assisting me on a daily basis. Candy leaps off the leather couch and springs to the side of my wheelchair, her tail wagging so hard that the metal rings that secure her leash to the side of my chair jingle like sleigh bells.
"Silly girl," I laugh. "Are you ever going to grow out of being a puppy?" I swivel my chair to face the door, accidentally tipping over the tote that is resting on my lap.
Candy darts forward, bursting with eagerness to retrieve the dropped item for me. At this point in our six year partnership, Candy knows the drill and didn't always wait for the command to "get it."
"Ca-!" I haven't finished even the first syllable before the dog's large mouth grabs the fallen tote. In two seconds flat, Candy is prancing like Rudolph himself in front of me, the tote held firmly, and upside down, in her smiling mouth.
"Oh, Candy!" I sigh as I look at the floor, surveying the array of cell phone, keys, a packet of gum, pens, pencils, change purse, a baggie of doggie treats, and about 20 other things now spread out on the ceramic tile that is both wheelchair and dog friendly. "Try grabbing the bag from the top next time, huh?"
Commanding Candy into a down-stay, I use my handy reaching tool to retrieve the gum and doggie treats, not wanting Candy to be tempted by either item. Then, methodically, I have Candy pick up one item at a time and bring it to me to place back in the tote.
Candy is quite agreeable … until she isn't! Halfway through the clean-up, Candy decides it is time to play. Dropping the keys she had started to bring back to me, she tears out of the room at top speed, nearly crashing into the kitchen wall as she skids across the tile. She grabs her empty food bowl and charges back into the living room where I watch with perplexed amusement. Dropping the bowl into my lap, Candy sits, panting, her tail propelling a few of the remaining dropped items on another skittering journey.
Candy's message is clear: "Feed me!" I shake my head, "No." I go to the kitchen to replace the bowl, and then back into the living room where the keys and their companions still await retrieval.
This time, Candy grabs the keys and successfully delivers them to me, who mistakenly thinks the plunge into playful insanity is over. Candy has other ideas. She bounds over to her beloved toy bin and grabs Henry, the floppy stuffed elephant she adores. Tossing him into the air and catching him with ease, Candy dives to the ground and rolls onto her back. Holding the stuffed animal with all four paws, she begins gnawing at Henry's trunk.
I roll my eyes and take Henry away from Candy, stuffing him behind my back in my chair. I place the toy basket on a shelf that Candy can't reach, aware of her bereft expression following my every move.
Over the next few minutes, Candy dolefully retrieves the other dropped items, and then sits by my side, subdued. I pull Henry out from behind me as I stroke Candy's ears, rewarding her for a job well done, if not necessarily efficiently! I toss the toy about with a delighted Candy for a few minutes, then dress her in her monogrammed hot pink vest that clearly announces her status as a working canine and we're off to Sunday Dinner in the house where she enjoys life as the favorite granddog!
Author's Note: Want to read more such tales? Go to your local books store and ask for Two Plus Four Equals One: Two Hands & Four Paws Equals One Amazing Team. It's an anthology of short stories by more than 100 authors and it's all about taking a real glimpse at life with our furry, four pawed, personal assistants.