Now crawling along the floor, it didn't take him long to discover the rest of the damage—his shirt, socks, and his shoes all chewed into pieces.

Feeling the air moving through his window and following the breeze, he came to the window, felt the broken frame of the screen, and figured it out. Nelson was gone, probably to Smitty, he reasoned.

"Well, good riddance," muttered Brenden, pitching the ruined shoe across the room. "I can't tell anybody about this until morning anyway, so I'm going back to bed. Good riddance, you destructive fur ball."

Dawn was breaking in the east, and Smitty was dreaming—something about Tahiti, swaying palms, and hula girls— when his sleep was disturbed by a sound that he recognized immediately. An animal scratched at his door, and not just scratching but demanding to be let in.

He stepped into his slippers, turned on the light, and crossed his living room and opened the door. He was almost knocked flat as Nelson burst in crying and yipping to express the joy, relief, and love that poured from his heart. He had found Smitty.

"Okay, Nelson, okay," the trainer said. "How did you get here, boy, and what kind of trouble are we in now?"

After giving the dog some water, Harold Smith showered and dressed, even though he didn't have to be up for another couple of hours. It was only thirty minutes later when the dog and trainer arrived at the school. None of the other trainers had shown up, and people were just beginning to stir as Smitty pulled his car into the parking lot and got out. He and Nelson went right to Brenden's room and knocked softly. When there was no response, he tried again more firmly.

"Go away," the voice said from inside, "and take Mr. Destruction with you."

"Come on, Brenden," Smitty said. "Open the door. Let me see if I can help."

"Go away," Brenden said again. "I'm not interested in you or your dog."

"Open up, man," Smitty said more forcefully, "or I'll get a master key. We have a responsibility to every student and animal to keep you safe, and I need to know what went on in there."

Slowly, the door opened, and Smitty saw the damage.

"Oh brother," he said. "You've really done it this time, Nelson."

The trainer crossed the room in three long strides, placing his hand on Brenden's shoulder. "First of all, pal—"

"Don't call me pal," Brenden interrupted. "We're not pals. We don't even know each other."

"All right," Smitty said, taking a deep breath while Nelson settled on the floor, not even considering that he had done anything wrong. "Okay, Mr. McCarthy, you should know that the school will replace anything that's damaged. It happens sometimes when our animals are going through withdrawal. The changeover isn't easy." Smitty couldn't help himself. "Especially when the dogs sense that the new person doesn't want them."

"Well, isn't he bright?" Brenden said sarcastically. "To figure that out?"

Smitty pulled on his memory. "Look, you told me that the reason you are here is to get back your independence. Is that right?"

Brenden considered and then answered grudgingly, "Yeah, that's right. I want to be independent."

"Then let me tell you something," Smitty said. "This dog can give that to you faster than any other method available. You've already experienced what it feels like when you're working together. I think you ought to give it a little time before you make any snap decisions. You know, the easy way out is just to feel sorry for yourself and figure that it's another bad break on the rocky road to living. If you want to get back to freedom and to normal life, this dog will give you the best chance."

Brenden sat quietly, thinking about what he'd just heard, thinking about Lindsey and independence.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's see what happens, but get the screen fixed, and get me some money for the stuff your fur ball destroyed."

"Yes, sir, Mr. McCarthy," Smitty said, a touch of sarcasm in his own voice.

Over the next three days, Brenden and Nelson worked on curbs and turns. Nelson performed perfectly. The dog was matchless in his ability to move Brenden smartly up to a curb with the man's feet set squarely on the line that would take them across the street with accuracy and safety. When they reached the other side, Nelson consistently stopped with his front feet on the up curb until Brenden gave the signal to step up. Smitty explained that later, when they went out into the real world, it would be easy for Brenden to teach the animal not to stop, but just to pause on the up curb.

This actually happened on the second day because, unlike the other dogs, Nelson had already been out in the field. An instinct took over. Smitty couldn't help but be proud of the animal, and because Brenden was athletic he chose to let this particular discipline slide.

They also worked on left and right turns, with the young man learning to follow his dog closely. When it came to stairs, the dog had to learn not to move down the steps too quickly. It was important that the pace be steady, with the harness pressure not too extreme, which would cause the master to lose his balance. This was hard for all the dogs because it meant they had to maintain their own balance without resorting to sort of jumping down the steps.

Up to this point, all the trainers worked in close proximity to student and dog, sometimes moving a couple of steps ahead to encourage the animal's work, sometimes walking on the outside of the dog to help the animal maintain a straight line, and sometimes dropping back a few steps when the work was going well. In general, Nelson maintained the quality of his work without looking to Smitty for support.

Sunday came around at the end of the first week, and the students had a day off. Smitty was pleased to write in his training report that Nelson seemed to be accepting Brenden as a handler. The concern was that Brenden did not yet seem committed to accepting his new life with the animal.

"I hope," Smitty wrote, "that this will correct itself during week two. If it doesn't, I believe this candidate may not qualify as a graduate of the program."

Now the class moved into the next stage of training. During this period, the trainers introduced independent travel. Students and their dogs were trained to accomplish various outings around San Rafael.

First, in a planned environment, the team walked the same route a number of times, with the trainer expanding the distance at his discretion. The instructors encouraged independent travel, and they gave the new dog/person teams a set of destinations to reach on their own.

This was where the team had to begin to trust each other, and it was that element that worried Smitty very much when he considered the readiness of Nelson and McCarthy.

As he noted in the report, in the early stages they seemed to do okay because the route was simple. After leaving the lounge they would turn left on Fourth Street and follow it one block to D, where they would cross and make a right turn to the curb so that they would be, once again, facing Fourth Street.

When the traffic was clear, they'd cross and continue south to Third. Turning left, they would then walk down Third Street to C, and depending on how the team felt, they would continue two more blocks to A, where they would turn left, cross, and return to Fourth—basically walking a square grid.

Brenden had a distinct advantage over many of the other students because, though he didn't know it, he worked with a dog that had done this many times before. Like all the animals, Nelson's memory was photographic, and patterning was an element that all good guide dogs brought to the job.

Consequently, Brenden found himself feeling a sense of accomplishment during this elementary period of training. He also found himself having conversations with many of the other students about coping with blindness. He became interested as he learned that the group seemed to be divided when it came to the basic discussion of who had it tougher: people who were born blind and had grown up that way or those who lost their sight through illness or an accident.

He was sure that people like him must find it more difficult, but he was surprised when he found out that both groups believed they were the lucky ones. The people who had been born blind talked about how they had grown up learning to cope with the disability, while the people who had lost their sight in later years talked about how much it meant to have visual concepts in their heads.

Old Jimmy made a real impression on him when he said he hated the fact that over the years, he had lost his perception of some colors.

"I just can't remember purple," he told Brenden. "I can't pull in the picture anymore, and I don't remember my daughter's beautiful eyes. It's just been too many years. I can't keep the image in my head."

Brenden wondered if that's how it would be for him. How long would he be able to remember the gold of the aspens in the fall? How long would he remember Lindsey's exquisite face and form? The idea of forgetting those glories made him sad and angry. And yet, something inside him—something fundamental to his character—made him remember old Jimmy and how much he had lost.

Casually, the young man dropped an arm over the old man's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jimmy," he said. "I really am sorry. It's gotta be tough when you lose the colors, but think about how many people you've touched over the years. I mean, as a teacher and a husband and a father."

Jimmy smiled. "Now, don't go soft on me, kid. I figured you for a tough guy."

"Not that tough." Brenden shrugged. "Not that tough at all, Jimmy."

By the middle of the second week, Smitty allowed more and more space between Brenden, Nelson, and himself. He dropped back farther and farther when Brenden walked the route and hid in doorways to keep himself out of Nelson's sight line. No matter how hard he tried, however, the big black Lab always seemed to know where he was. He chuckled, remembering how keen the animal's senses were. You just can't hide from a dog that wants to find you, Smitty reminded himself.

Brenden had begun to freelance on the routes, being given the opportunity to enter stores, make purchases, and develop a sense of early independence.

All in all, Smitty thought, things do seem to be going well. But I still feel there's something missing, and I think it's love.

The route was one they had walked before. Certainly, they were in an area that Nelson knew very well. Smitty moved across the street to take up a position in the doorway of a hardware store. As he watched, he saw the problem coming at about the same time the big dog did.

Ahead was a new construction area that the team would have to pass, and the street was torn up to install new sewer lines. Men were working in hard hats with jackhammers, making it impossible to hear anything else. Smitty made one of those instinctive decisions based on his years of training. He decided to let the young man and the dog work out the problem. Frankly, he wasn't sure about Brenden, but he trusted the seasoning that Nelson had been given in the field, and predictably the dog made exactly the correct choice.

As he and Brenden moved closer to the sound, the animal slowed, maintaining harness pressure but easing his master away from the building to the outside of the sidewalk.

Smitty couldn't see exactly what was ahead of them, but Nelson did. A gaping hole in the concrete made it almost impossible to get through the area, and so the dog came to a stop, looking up at Brenden as if to say, "We need help."

Brenden felt cocky. Things had gone very well over the last few days, and he hated the sound of the jackhammers. Should he turn around and retrace his steps or try to carry out the assignment? He made an aggressive decision.

"Nelson, forward," he said. The dog didn't move. "Nelson, forward," he commanded in a much firmer voice. Again the dog refused. There are moments in life when the human psyche is strung as tight as a bowstring—any vibration, any jarring, and the tension must be released.

Brenden snapped, breaking every rule of affection-based training. Brendan dropped the harness and used the leash with three violent pulls on the choking chain, causing the dog to drop to the ground.

Then in a voice full of anger, disgust, remorse, frustration, and sadness at the entire scope and tragedy of his blindness, Brenden roared at the dog, "Nelson, you miserable, useless animal, forward!"

The animal's eyes searched desperately for his trainer, and his whimper said, "I know I'm right. This is what I'm trained to do, what I'm supposed to do. I will not go forward."

Smitty arrived at that moment, grabbing Brenden by the shoulders and spinning him around.

"Give me the leash," he told Brenden, his anger filling the space between them. "You're done for the day, McCarthy, and maybe for good. You're an ungrateful jerk who's feeling sorry for himself and taking it out on the dog. That is not acceptable."

Arriving back at school, Brenden went to his room, and Smitty took Nelson to the kennels. After putting the dog away, he went to his office and sat down at his desk. The sun had set, and the light was fading.

Had he done the right thing—or had he overreacted and been unprofessional? I couldn't stand to see him break Nelson's spirit, he thought. I was right on the edge. I wanted to deck him.

He pushed his chair back and swung around to look out at the darkening campus. Nelson had been right, of course, in refusing the command. Smitty realized, however, that he had just as much responsibility for Brenden's well-being as he did for the dog's.

What to do now?

Should he go to the director and say he thought this candidate was unfit to take an animal into the field, or should he try and talk to Brenden? There was so much potential there. Watching them together, he saw the possibilities for a tremendous partnership.

The trainer made a decision.

He crossed the courtyard to the dorms, where he checked the dining room and the social areas to see if Brenden was with the other students. Not finding him, he went to the young man's room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, and again no one answered.

"Brenden," he said, "it's Harold Smith. Are you in there?"

This time the voice came from the other side of the door. "Leave me alone, Smitty. Go away."

Harold Smith took a deep breath. "What do you drink, McCarthy, when you're not here at school and you're out with your friends?" There was no response. "There's an English-Irish pub down at the end of the street, called The Old Head. I'd very much appreciate it if you would let me buy you a beer or whatever is your drink of choice. I think we could both use one."

After a short beat, Smitty heard the bed creak and Brenden's feet cross to the door. It opened. "Okay," he said, "you're probably right."

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in a comfortable booth in a corner of the bar with two large steins of beer and a bowl of peanuts.

"Listen, bud," Smitty said, "I overreacted today, but you just can't treat a dog like that."

Brenden put down his beer. "I know that, Smitty," he said. "I've been thinking about it. I guess I'm just not cut out to have an animal. I'm not ready. There're still too many raw nerves, and I guess I just lose it sometimes."

"It's understandable, Brenden," Smitty said. "I can't imagine how difficult it is to adjust to being blind, especially when a guy is as energized as you are. But, Brenden," Smitty went on, leaning over the table, "this dog, this marvelous animal, represents your chance to be active again. Do you know why you have Nelson, why I picked him for you?"

Brenden was curious. "Why?"

"Because he's the best dog I ever trained, and because this is his last chance. He actually has been out in the field twice with two people who couldn't handle him. I matched him inappropriately. He has some quirks, like all aggressive animals do. I mean he likes to bite stuff sometimes, and there's never been food he doesn't want to eat, and he probably plays a little too rough. But, Brenden, he's brilliant and joyous and gutsy, and I have a feeling that's the kind of person you are."

"That's the way I used to be," Brenden said quietly. "I used to be that person."

"Brenden," Smitty implored, "you can be exactly that kind of person again. If you're just willing to hang in and work with your animal, there is nothing you can't do together. I know guys who jog with their dogs. There are people who take their friends swimming. Last year there was a woman who ran the Los Angeles Marathon with her golden retriever. I've trained people who live independently in New York City and others who work their dogs in rural country settings with no sidewalks. Brenden, these animals can be adapted to share life in any way you choose if you can learn to love your dog enough and believe in the bond that can grow to be as strong as any that you'll ever share with another human being."

The waitress brought another beer, and Smitty was still selling.

"Look, Brenden, what's the alternative? A life in the dark, living on the sidelines without ever getting in the game? I don't think that fits your personality, and I don't think you want the people you love to think of you that way. Didn't you tell me about a girl you really care for? What's her name?"

"Lindsey," Brenden said. "Lindsey Reynolds."

"Okay," Smitty said, "Lindsey Reynolds. The more you demonstrate the ability to take your place back in society, the more Lindsey will love you. Life is all about partnerships, Brenden, and in a partnership everyone has to pull his own weight. Nelson will make it possible for you to be equal in any life setting you choose, but it's all up to you."

Brenden took a big pull on his beer and sat back. "You really think I can do it, Smitty? You really think we can become a good team?"

"I do, Brenden," Smitty said, meaning it. "I believe you can become a great team, if you will commit to loving Nelson as much as I know he'll learn to love you. What do you think? Do you think we ought to get him out of jail?"

"Jail?" Brenden asked.

"He's back in the kennel, and he's not a happy black Lab."

Brenden laughed. "Okay, Smitty, let's break ol' Nelson out of prison."

Smitty smiled. It was a start.

The trainer was right—Nelson was not a happy black Lab. He paced up and down the kennel like a tiger. Now and then he flopped down with his head forlornly between his paws, only to jump back up and resume his pacing. What did he do wrong? He knew Brenden was mad at him, and he was sorry for that because he really liked working with him. But Smitty—Smitty didn't take him home. He brought him here; he put down a dish of food and some water—but he didn't take him home.

The big dog raised his chin and howled—a cry so painful, so desperate, so lost that all the other dogs joined in, creating a cacophony of sound.

As the two men approached the kennel, Brenden heard Nelson's mournful voice. He was amazed at the sympathetic emotion welling up inside of him. In the animal's longing, he could feel his own aching for Lindsey, and this resonance between them made him want to reach out and hug the dog.

As they came to the gate, it was Brenden who first spoke to the animal in the dark.

"It's okay, Nelson. It's okay, boy. We're here. We're going to get you out of jail. Just a minute, pal. We'll get this gate open."

Smitty took the keys out of his pocket, and in a second the prison door swung open and Nelson was free. Something happened then, something Smitty would think about for a long time. Something he didn't expect.

Free to make his own choice, Nelson didn't come to the trainer. Instead, the dog ran straight to Brenden and literally tried to leap into his arms.

Smitty didn't understand it, and yet it supported the premise he had always believed: never underestimate the power of a dog's instinct or the love expressed by these remarkable animals. Nelson made a decision only the dog could fathom. Could it be some kind of apology for this afternoon's event, or could it be that he somehow sensed that Brenden needed him even more than the young man knew himself?

Smitty recognized that a corner had been turned. In Nelson's basic, primitive instinct, he chose Brenden as his alpha dog, his leader, his master.

Both men knew that something remarkable had just happened, and Brenden had to admit to himself that he was touched to his very core by the dog's honest expression.

All three looked forward to the next two weeks of work.

chapter fifteen

Everything was different now. Overnight, the dynamics between Brenden and Nelson took on a new aspect, and trust began to germinate as the central theme of the work. The dog was confident the man liked him, and the man began to feel an exciting sense of pride each time they enjoyed success. Even though their daily routes were getting more complicated, their flow and ability to read each other through the telegraph wire of the harness and leash made achieving their objectives a piece of cake.

When they entered a building, Nelson lined up the young man perfectly to find the door. All Brenden had to do was reach out with his right hand, follow the animal's nose, and—presto!— the door handle or knob was always right there.

Coming to a chair, Nelson placed his head right on the seat, making it easy for Brenden to sit, rather gracefully he thought.