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“Don’t worry about it! I didn’t mind.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but it still wasn’t okay.” Abby pinned Gen with a firm expression.
The dog ignored her, licking her chops for the last vestiges of frozen peanut butter, and crossing her eyes as she focused on the dollop of whipped cream stuck to the top of her nose.
“Here, silly girl.” Abby bent down and wiped her muzzle with a napkin. “Better?”
She glanced back up at Scott. “It takes a lot of training, a lot of time, to do something like therapy work. Even breaking the rules a little sets a precedent, creates a new pattern. Dogs don’t understand when something is okay under these circumstances, but not okay under those. Or how you can do something with this person but not with that person. We have to be consistent, or they end up confused.”
Scott nodded. “Sounds kind of like raising a kid.”
“Maybe a bit, yeah.” Abby thought about it for a moment, then continued, “And I guess our classes and stuff are like going to school. After her puppy obedience, I took her to get her CGC – her Canine Good Citizen – certificate, which gave me the confidence to take her out in public.”
“So, then she could go everywhere with you?”
Abby shook her head. “Oh, my gosh, no. No way. Therapy dogs aren’t service dogs, so they don’t have any access rights at all, except where they’ve been invited. We did most of our training in dog-friendly places like here.” She gestured at the coffee shop around her. “Fortunately, we have lots of options, but even now, I can’t—I won’t—take her anywhere if it might compromise service dog rights. Their job is too important to risk for Gen’s training.”
Abby loved talking about Gen the same way parents loved talking about their kids, she imagined. For a long time, she hadn’t been able to string two or three words together, but in addition to everything else Gen had done, she had given Abby back her voice, had given her something to talk about. Cara might call her a distraction, but Abby had needed one. Still did, honestly.
“When I approached the hospital about letting us work there, they were hesitant, but they agreed to a trial run. She hadn’t had an accident in months, but the first day I made her go three times before we went inside.” Abby let her gaze drift as she pictured a yearling Gen, all gawky limbs and over-sized paws, trying so hard to work even as the kids squealed in excitement at the sight of her.
Gen had been fine, of course. She’d jumped on beds, snuggled children, and obeyed all her commands. They’d gone back again the following week, then twice the week after, and within a few months, they’d become such a regular fixture in the pediatric department that the hospital began advertising an on-site therapy dog as a part of their comprehensive treatment programs.
“But she did?”
Abby shook herself. “Yeah, she did. And the rest, as they say, is history. We’ve been at Providence ever since.”
“That’s amazing.” Scott’s eyes locked with hers and she held his gaze.
She agreed whole-heartedly. Gen was amazing.
“How did you get involved in training a therapy dog?”
Abby dug the pads of her fingers into the coffee mug she held, willing herself not to react. “I kind of...fell into it.” She forced her hands to relax. “So, tell me about Dylan.”
Scott’s eyes lit up and Abby revised her previous thought. She loved Gen with her whole heart, but her bond with the dog, as sweet as it was, couldn’t replicate the relationship between a parent and their child.
“He’s the greatest kid. A lot of parents love their children but maybe don’tlikethem, you know? They don’t like to play with them or hang out with them, or they spend so much time trying to get them to behave that they’re exhausted by them. Dylan is super smart and he’s a ton of fun to be around. He’s in all advanced classes at school, and last year he started playing the trumpet.” Scott grimaced. “He had a rough start, but he’s much better now.”
Abby cringed. “I’ve heard musical instruments can be pretty brutal.”
“It could have been violin, so I guess I should be grateful. He’s into jazz, which is a lot of fun. When I promised him next year we’d go to New Orleans over his spring break and hear it for real, he ran back into the auditorium and told his orchestra teacher. I was kind of committed at that point.”
Abby pictured an ecstatic Dylan. In her mind, his face twisted in pain as he cradled his broken arm, but she’d had enough practice putting broken puzzle pieces of shattered expressions back together.
“Wait. He can’t be playing trumpet right now.”
Scott shook his head. “No, not until the cast comes off, but he’s still going to orchestra, and he spends a lot of time humming and tapping and using his good hand to practice blowing into his mouthpiece. I’m kind of worried he’ll dent his cast if he’s not careful. He thinks it’s funny to smack it on every possible surface.”
“They’re pretty sturdy. I’ve only ever seen one crack.” She didn’t tell him the person already had a cast when they were hit by a car and pinned against a brick wall. That had been a bad one. She shuddered, then pushed the memory away, forcing her vision of Dylan’s delighted face back to the forefront of her mind.
Scott winced. Abby hadn’t even flinched when treating Dylan in the park. If a cracked cast made her shudder, he never wanted to experience one.
“Phew, good to know. Now I have to make sureIdon’t crack listening to it day and night for the next few weeks.”
Abby snorted. “Nah, I’m sure you’re made of stronger stuff.”
“Than cotton batting and fiberglass? I sure hope so.”