from the bag, I sit down and ask him to do some of his tasks. "Can you sit?" He does, his whole body
wagging, happy as a lark. This is far too easy for him, but I treat him anyway, and he gobbles it down and
begs for more. "All right, can you...hmm...can you touch?" I hold out my hand, and he swipes it happily
with his paw. "Good." Treat. "Now, can you touch closed?" I indicate the desk drawer that I have
carelessly left open as I'm so wont to do. He smacks it with both paws, eagerly, and watches it zip into its
place. "Alright!!! Good boy!" More treats. He's a little more focused now, and I decide to up the ante.
Spotting my medication bottle across the room, I send him for it. "Go get the bottle." He looks around,
not sure what I want. He looks to me. "The bottle." He grabs a sock off the floor and starts back with it.
"Nope." He stops, then drops it. Looks some more. Tries several more items in succession. "Nope. Try
again." Then he sees it on the shelf. I watch his eyes light up. He trots over and grabs it, and bounces
back to me to drop it in my lap. "Yes!! What a good boy!!" Jackpot, several treats. That's a task that
could save my life, and has averted serious medical situations more than once. It's important that he
stay sharp on it for when it really counts. I put the bottle back on the shelf, and we practice a few more
times. Now that he knows what I want and where it is, he does it immediately. I can see him starting to
look bored, so I decide to move on to something different.
winter that Chester and I have faced as a partnered service dog team, and I've come to realize the
importance of protecting his feet when we are out working. Here on campus, the school is very good
about clearing the sidewalks and putting down lots of salt and ice melting chemicals. Great for us
humans, but it's very hard on Chester's paws, and they can burn easily from contact with the chemicals.
Thus, the boots. I don't know how he's going to respond to them, but I can guess. Most animals aren't too
fond of having things on their feet. I sit down with him, and gently pull the booties onto his paws. Then I
stand up, walk a few feet away, and call him to me.
foot high in the air and gives it a shake. Again. Then another. And the others. He looks chagrined when
they won't come off. I smile and ask him to come over to me again. He walks a step, then picks his paw
up gingerly and shakes it again. I talk baby talk, encouraging him, making a fuss over him and what a
good boy he is. Step. Shake. Step. Shake. Step. Shake. He acts like I've glued pie pans to his feet
instead of putting on these harmless little boots. Finally he makes it over to me, and I fuss over him,
petting and treating. Then I cross the room and we do it again.