"I'm not much of a dog guy, Pete," MacGyver objected. "I mean, I like dogs just fine but I'm not sure I want to take one with me everywhere I go."
"I think it would be a good idea for you to look into it," Pete insisted.
"I don't think so," said MacGyver with a note of finality.
Which of course was why, three weeks later, Mac found himself stepping off the bus in a small town north of San Fransisco where the training center was located. Apprehension bit at the inside of his gut. He wondered what he was doing here and briefly considered turning around and re-boarding the greyhound bus.
Instead, he swept the ground ahead of him with his cane, found the curb, crossed the grass verge and then found a sidewalk. He hitched his duffel higher on his shoulder and turned in a half circle to try and get a sense of his surroundings.
The diesel fumes from the bus obscured any smells there might have been. Through the milky scars that covered his corneas, he could see that the sun shone, but any other details were washed out by the glare. A few cars passed lazily on the road behind the bus, but it didn't seem particularly busy.
One other passenger disembarked from the bus, then it's door sighed shut and with a whoosh of brakes and a vile cloud of exhaust, it pulled away from the curb and ground it's way down the road and out of earshot.
As soon as it left, the normal world of sounds and smells resumed around MacGyver. Somewhere to his right a bird chirped. The grass had been rained on recently and still retained the freshness. Echoes bounced off a building on his right as well.
He was supposed to be met by someone from the training school, but so far no one had approached him saying his name. The other bus passenger had not walked away either, as far as he could tell, but was still standing on the grass near him.
"Excuse me?" the voice was male, young and nervous. "Is anyone there?"
Mac raised his eyebrows. The kid must also be blind.
"Just me," he said with a wry grin. "Name's MacGyver."
"Hi Mr. MacGyver," said the boy with evident relief at not being alone. He walked toward Mac and his own cane tapped on the sidewalk. "I'm going to the guide dog school and someone was supposed to meet the bus but no one is here."
"Same here," said Mac.
"You're going to the guide dog school too? You're blind?" asked the boy.
"Yeah," said Mac with a laugh, giving his own cane a couple of taps. "There's a joke in there somewhere, isn't there? About two blind guys finding each other?"
"I guess so," agreed the boy, his voice still tight with worry.
"Hey, relax," soothed Mac. "They're probably just running a few minutes late. What's your name, anyway?"
"Alex. Alex Green," said the boy, sighing out some of his tension through his nose.
"Alex," said Mac, "this your first time traveling alone?"
"Does it show?" asked Alex with obvious disappointment.
"Oh, I dunno," said Mac. "How old are you anyway?"
"I'm nineteen," said Alex, to Mac's surprise. He'd guessed the kid was several years younger. He realized the kid's voice was high up, putting his height somewhere near Mac's own six-foot-one.
"Nineteen and you've never traveled alone?" asked Mac incredulously.
"My parents are… protective," stammered Alex. "They think a guide dog will make it… safer for me. Why are you getting a dog?"
Mac hesitated. To be honest, he still wasn't sure why he was here. "My boss thinks it's a good idea, I guess."
Alex laughed. "It doesn't stop with parents, I guess."
Mac laughed too. "No, I guess it doesn't. But my boss is also going blind and I trust him." That was it in a nutshell, really. He trusted Pete. And if Pete thought he needed a dog, well, he'd give it a try.
"Do you like dogs?" asked Alex.
"Not really," admitted Mac. "I mean I actually enjoy dogs in general but I don't want to own one. I travel a lot and..."
"I'm scared of them," said Alex sheepishly. "They always seem to bark out of nowhere."
"Have you always been blind?" asked Mac curiously.
"Yeah. I have ROP," explained Alex.
"ROP? What's that?" asked Mac.
"Oh, Retinopathy of Prematurity, said Alex. "I was born early. Were you always blind?"
"No, I was blinded only about six months ago," said Mac. "There was an accident. An explosion and my eyes were burned, then got infected."
"Ouch," said Alex in sympathy. "So you're a newcomer to the club then."
"The club," Mac snorted. "Didn't know there was a club."
"Blindies, blinks, blindoes," chuckled Alex. "To really be in the club you had to have gone to a blind school."
"A little late for that," commented Mac dryly, thinking of high school and hockey and his grandfather taking him fishing. "I did do rehab though." Briefly, he thought. Pete had insisted on a crash course in blindness skills before he'd sent him off to London to locate a missing Russian spy.
"You know what I hate about being blind?" Alex burst out.
"Open cupboard doors?" joked Mac, feeling the bump on his own forehead.
Alex continued as though he hadn't heard. "I hate being treated like a two-year-old kid!"
Before Mac had a chance to ask him to explain, a car pulled up to the curb.
"Mr. MacGyver? Mr. Green? I'm from the training school. Sorry I'm a bit late. My name is Ron Tate."
"Hi Ron," said Mac, extending his hand. Ron shook it firmly, then offered to take their luggage.
Once they were both in the car, Ron began a running commentary on the history of the training school, but Mac found his mind wandering. He wondered what Alex had meant about being treated like a toddler. He himself didn't feel any different than he had a year ago when he could see. Sure people offered help more, but he didn't see what was strange about that. He supposed he would have to ask Alex when he found a good moment.
The car bumped over a pavement cut, then swung left into a parking spot and stopped.
Mac opened his passenger door and unfolded both his long frame and his cane, shaking it out straight and listening to the ferrules lock into place. He heard Alex's door close behind him, and then Ron handed them their duffels.
"Would either of you like an elbow?" asked Ron, offering a sighted guide.
Mac, knowing Alex probably needed the guidance more than he did said, "I'll follow you guys."
Without much ado, Ron guided Alex through a set of double doors and Mac followed their footsteps and conversation. Once inside, Mac had a vague impression of a large, lobby-like room, well-lit and spacious.
"This is the main Common area," explained Ron. "We have training sessions here, and you're welcome to hang out here in the evenings as well. There is a piano, a tape player and a talking book player here."
He turned right and began down a hallway. "These are the student rooms," he said. "Mr. MacGyver, you're here in 111." He stopped to show Mac the sign next to the door with three raised ones on it. Underneath were three bumps next to a backwards L that Mac recognized as the braille number even though he hadn't returned to studying braille much after its introduction at the rehab center. He'd simply been too busy.
"Thanks," he said, and pushed the door open. He found a doorway on his immediate left that probably was a bathroom if hotel room layout meant anything. As the room opened up, his cane found the bed and he set his duffel on it. A quick touch tour of the room revealed a dresser, a heater under a window, another door with a lock on it, a chair and a thick rug next to the bed. There was a small table with a lamp, a talking clock and a phone. There was nothing else in the small room, but Mac didn't mind the sparseness. He didn't figure he would be in here much anyway. He set his duffel on the dresser, mentally planning to unpack later, and headed back out into the hallway to reverse his steps back to the common room. Ron had promised a tour of the training center once he had shown Alex his room.
In addition to the Common room, the center had a cafeteria, a smaller classroom, and an outdoor relieving area for the dogs. The kennels and staff offices were in a separate building, he was told. The students would be arriving all day that day, and everyone would gather for the first time at dinner. Mac was set free to relax and explore until then.
He went back to his room to unpack, and while he was putting his things away, he happened upon something he'd missed the first time: a radio. He switched it on and found a news station.
The smattering of world events: Lillehammer, Norway winning the honor of the 1994 Olympics, a broadway show called "Les Miserables" opening in Vienna, an injured Cosmonaut landing safely… didn't interest him and he nearly turned it off, but a story about Soviet nuclear tests came on and thoroughly captured his attention. He considered putting a call through to Pete, but he knew he'd just catch heat, calling in on the first day when he promised he'd relax here.
Dinner shattered any illusions he'd had about relaxing, however. While the vegetarian bean salad was delicious, he discovered that mealtime was going to be used as lecture time, tonight about laws. They were told about all of the legal rights guide dog users possessed, as well as the responsibilities for behavior that dogs and handlers needed to observe. A dog that was allowed to get sloppy and misbehave could do a fair bit of damage to other future users of that business.
Mac felt discouraged. It seemed as though a dog would just be trouble heaped upon trouble to his independent mind. He joined the rest of the class in the common room after dinner where the lecture on proper dog care did nothing to lift his spirits. Weekly brushing, nails, feeding, relieving… even bonding and playtime. It sounded like a dog would take over his life.
The lecture ended and students were left to mingle in the Common room and get to know one another.
In addition to Alex, the class included five other people. There was a housewife named Karen, who was back for her second dog, and a plumber named Burl. He liked to joke and soon had the group in stitches over his off-color plumber jokes. There was a lady in her fifties named Gladys who had only recently lost her sight, and seemed withdrawn and quiet. Then there was a college student named Claire who was impatient to get her dog and get back to her classes and social life on campus. Lastly, there was a lawyer named Gerald Judge. He, too, had a wry sense of humor and was accustomed to joking about his name.
Most people were enthusiastic about getting their dogs, and MacGyver kept quiet about his doubts. Most people went to bed early, Mac included.
The next morning, Mac was awakened early by an instructor pacing the halls with a ghetto blaster, which was pumping out "House of the Rising Sun." He yawned and tapped the button on the talking clock, which robotically announced that it was six o'clock. He yawned again and headed for the shower.
Everyone hoped that they would get their dogs that morning, but were disappointed. The instructors, Ron and Jamie, announced that they needed to observe the students' gait and walking preferences before matching them to a dog. When it was Mac's turn, Ron handed him an empty guide harness and gave him time to examine it with his fingers. It was made of leather with a squared U-shaped handle attached to a chest strap.
Ron told Mac they would go on a "Juno walk" where the instructor held the harness and Mac would hold the handle. Mac stood, feeling uncertain, wishing he could walk by himself. But he cooperatively grasped the handle in his left hand and gave the forward command. There was a tug on the handle and Mac followed it across the room.
"Step forward with your left foot," prompted Ron, and Mac, who happened to be a fairly good dancer, had no trouble in remembering. Ron stopped at the front door, let Mac open it, and led him out onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the building.
"Give your dog the right command," said Ron. "Pull your right foot slightly back and gesture to the right with your right hand so your upper body turns that way. It's a little like driving a car, signaling your dog with your whole body, not just your voice or hand."
Mac pulled back to his right, but forgot to step with his left foot. When Ron pointed this out, Mac bit his lip. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated.
In spite of his blunder, they were soon striding down the sidewalk, and Ron commented on Mac's quick steps and long stride. He tried different strengths of pulling, and Mac decided he liked it when the harness was pulled strongly so there was plenty of contact between himself and the tugging feeling.
After three more right turns, they had circled the block and arrived back at the front door. When they went in and Mac found his chair, he found himself releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Although he was athletic and coordinated, he found it stressful to place his entire trust in the man he had just met that morning. It felt as though his face or shoulders would constantly run into something, and he missed his cane and the information it gave him about the ground.
Back in the Common room again, Jamie was lecturing the rest of the class. "...at this point your dog is far more trained than you are. You need to be able to give clear, confident commands in a way that doesn't confuse your dog. Everyone stand up and we'll practice the commands you will use."
The class stood.
"Hold your left hand in front of you at about hip height as though you were holding onto the harness handle," Jamie instructed. Mac did so.
"Left," corrected Jamie, and there was a little nervous laughter from a couple of students.
"I think our dogs probably know right from left better than we do," joked Burl, and got a general chuckle.
Jamie described the commands: Forward, left, right, halt, and hop-up. Each command was accompanied by a hand gesture and body position that would also signal to the dog what to do. Mac pictured the class going through the different body positions like a blind Tae Kwon Do lesson. Ron went from person to person correcting and encouraging.
Before they knew it, lunch time had come, which consisted of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Mac dipped and munched while listening to another lecture on scheduling and relieving times, as well as how to find places in a city for a dog to relieve without offending all the neighbors. They also described how to find and clean up a pile, which Mac found to be an incongruous topic with lunch.
Still, it was handy to know that a hand inserted into a plastic baggie could feel down the back of a dog to its tail and then easily find the pile it left once it was done. Grabbing the pile then reversing the baggie kept everything clean and then it could be thrown away once a trash can was located.
He had a feeling this technique would get practiced a lot.
After lunch, the students were told to head to their rooms and wait. Immediately, the air was charged with electricity. Dog time!
Mac stood and shook out his cane. It was becoming automatic to find the door of the cafeteria in the corner, head straight out the door, turn left, walk until his cane found the rug beneath the drinking fountain, then check the sign on the door just past it.
He went into his room, and located the chair next to the dresser. As he folded his cane, he noticed that his hands shook a little. He wondered why, since he was usually pretty calm, even in dangerous situations. This felt more like sitting in a restaurant at a blind date. Or maybe an arranged marriage. This animal he was about to meet would supposedly be his constant companion for the next eight or ten years. He still was not crazy about the idea.