The best dog in the world was born in Maine in the summer of 1992. After basic house training, Val attended the Guiding Eyes for the Blind program in Yorktown Heights, New York.
Although she was smart, gentle, and well-behaved, Val lacked the confidence necessary to lead the seeing impaired through crowds, on buses, or in other challenging situations. After a year, she was released from her guide dog program and placed up for adoption.
In
May 1994, when Val was 1½ years old, Mark, Karen, Kendrick, and Dan drove from
Pennsylvania to New York to meet her, made an immediate connection, and she rode
to her new home on the floor of the back seat between the boys.
It would be months before we realized she had been trained to ride on the floor of the car, not on the seat. And it was several more months before she realized we were perfectly happy to have her sit up on the seat like any other full-fledged and equal member of the family.
At
home in Pennsylvania, Val practiced her skills in the front yard. At first, she
kept sharp with her commands to sit, stay, heel, and lay down. Over time,
everybody adopted a laissez-faire attitude; Val’s family demanded less, and she
would obey if she felt like it.
She enjoyed exploring the woods behind our Pennsylvania house, including
visiting a nearby horse whose paddock she found her way into but couldn’t quite
figure a way out; she had to be lifted over a six-foot fence.
She
also explored a large drainage pipe; again finding the way in much easier than
the way out. The pipe wasn’t big enough for her to turn-around in, so she had
to back out. It’s a good thing coaxing helped, since the pipe was large enough
for a dog but not a person.
Val had great fun racing circles around the house (literally) with a neighborhood dog until both would collapse in the yard in a fit of exhausted panting.
When
over-excited, she’d do her low-butt run ... until the rest of the family
collapsed laughing and Val averted her eyes in embarrassment.
She could pick-out the elderly from a crowd and would give them special attention and extra-gentle treatment. Val followed and stood ready to help however she might be needed when Karen’s uncle Raymond came to visit; no one needed to tell Val that Uncle Raymond was blind – somehow she just knew.
The
Valley Girl was extremely gentle and tolerant of kids. Dan and Kendrick learned
how to handle dogs through Val, who suffered occasional ear-pulling,
leash-yanking, and well-intended but rough play. She never nipped or bit, but
instead gave a forlorn look that communicated “someone please rescue me” just as
effectively. Even in her latter years, Val tolerated baby Carson’s clumsy
climbing and fistfuls of fur to deliver awkward hugs and messy kisses.
Val
also paced herself to the speed of anyone going down steps; no racing. It took
us a while to understand that Val was being careful not to rush; if she had, and
if her human companion was on the other end of a leash, she might have caused
them a fall down the stairs. She was just being considerate.
When she was three, Val successfully completed an advanced obedience course. She enjoyed the occasional structure and discipline and the learning of new skills – like jumping over obstacles – as well as the camaraderie with other dogs and their people. She excelled at synchronized square-dancing (yes, to music and a caller barking-out the steps) with other dogs and their people.
She
enjoyed attending the kids’ soccer and basketball games, pacing the sidelines in
the hope that an errant soccer ball would come her way. She even ran onto the
court to execute a nice pick-and-roll during one of Kendrick’s outdoor b-ball
tournaments.
When we all moved to northern California, Val added a bit of drama when she wandered off in San Jose while the rest of the family was unpacking the new house and not paying enough attention to open doors. She was found by a new neighbor who rescued her from traffic, kept her safe for several hours, then called animal services who returned Val to her concerned family.
In Pleasanton, she made new friends, including scores of neighborhood kids and adults. Among them was an adult who had been afraid of dogs since childhood, but who warmed to Val as a trusted friend.
Val even
substituted for a sacred cow, once, after an Indian family who lived next door
was advised by their religious leader to have their infant son hand-feed a cow
for some sort of blessing. With no cows readily available, the religious man
consented that our labrador retriever could serve instead as the blessed
animal. Val gently ate kibbles from the little boy’s hand, and we’re certain
she blessed him just as she blessed everyone else who had the good fortune to
know her.
In her younger years, when she wasn’t serving in some self-imagined official capacity, Val enjoyed catching tennis balls and frisbees, and she’d wear herself out during weekend visits to the dog park.
She
especially treasured trips to the beach, with her joyous anticipation apparent
to anyone who saw her perk-up when she smelled the salt air. She would run and
dig in the sand, fetch sticks, and pounce headlong into the surf, only to be
battered and deposited back on shore by the ferocious waves near Half Moon Bay;
all good fun. She didn’t much enjoy the bath afterwards to wash out the salt,
sand, and dog stink.
As she grew older and started to slow down, Val underwent training for Therapy Pets and visited hospitals and retirement homes. She brightened many people’s days and didn’t complain at all about occasional wheelchair incidents involving her tail.
Into
her own elderly years, Val ruptured a disc along her spine and was paralyzed
from the resulting swelling on the spinal cord. After a delicate operation to
remove the shattered bone and tissue, she recovered enough to regain some use of
her hind legs, although she often stumbled with reduced coordination and needed
a boost into the car or onto the sofa. We were overjoyed to have her with us a
little longer.
After this operation, she slowed down considerably. The hikes in the California hills came to an end and were replaced by v-e-r-y slow walks around the golf course and through the neighborhood. She became shy around groups of people and spent plenty of time hiding among the shoes in Karen’s closet when guests were visiting.
As
for guard-dog duties, when the doorbell rang she’d bark in mock ferociousness
from the comfort and safety of the sofa, happy to let someone else investigate
the potential danger.
She most enjoyed morning errands, during which she’d sleep in the back seat of the car ... unless a Harley would pass, at which point she’d jump up to watch. She also treasured a nap on the sofa in the evenings, under a warm blanket, with her head hanging off the edge and her people nearby.
In her final weeks, Val was wished goodbye by her whole family and many friends. She was compassionately euthanized on Friday, January 9, 2004.
We’re sure she’s found peace in heaven, her pain and infirmities are cured, her youth is restored, and she’s again chasing balls and catching frisbees in a renewed body with newfound energy and enthusiasm.
She’ll always be remembered as a loyal and faithful companion with boundless love and unrestrained affection. She asked only for attention, thrived on praise, and was happy just to be included as life rolled on around her.
Val has been a central member of our family who will always be with us in our quiet thoughts and fond memories as the best dog on earth. And when it’s our time, she’ll be the first to welcome us through the pearly gates with her wagging tail and sloppy kisses.
Rest in Peace
Valley Girl
1992-2004