Service Tails Read online

  Only when Morris had a grasp of his role did the trainer bring a small, dark German shepherd named Kiss into the room. The initial meeting was not what Morris expected. The dog showed little interest in him. Even as they put on the harness and the man grabbed hold, the dog remained somewhat aloof. Reacting to Humphrey, she tolerated what she likely viewed as the very awkward human attempting to give her orders.

  Morris would quickly discover that the standoffish dog was the least of his worries. The visitor’s main issues were with the trainer. Humphrey was a hard man to please. He would not abide commands being issued in any order but what he prescribed. In fact, the only time the trainer showed compassion was when Morris stepped on Kiss’s foot. Then Humphrey was worried only about the dog’s well-being.

  The roads that the visitor, dog, and trainer walked each day were slick with snow and ice. The city streets they traversed were filled with people, cars, trucks, and horse-drawn carts. In many of the places the team traveled, they were surrounded by steep drop-offs, rushing mountain streams, and low-hanging branches. And all the while Morris was learning to handle the dog, Humphrey was barking out orders. The young man heard the critiques so often he wanted to scream.

  Always pick up the handle of the harness on left and keep the dog on your left. You must keep your hand close by your side or you will hit a post or pole. Protect the dog when you sit down. No, not that way. Make sure the dog is completely under the bench or chair so that others won’t step on her. And don’t pull your dog; she is supposed to pull you. If she stops, you stop because she is trying to tell you something. So listen to her.

  Hour after hour and day after day, the orders kept coming. Thanks to often ignoring Humphrey’s instructions, the young man ran into trees, poles, and fences and tumbled down a fair share of hillsides. Only after being bruised and battered several times did Morris learn to trust the dog. Then and only then did things get easier.

  As Morris grew used to following Kiss’s lead, he asked the trainer why the dog often took seemingly erratic routes. Humphrey didn’t bother verbally explaining the dog’s unique navigation. Rather, he took Morris back to the spots where Kiss had veered off and showed him such things as a low-hanging limb or a sign that the dog could have easily walked under but would have knocked Morris over. When the perplexed visitor asked, “But how did she know how tall I was?” Humphrey explained, “I trained her to know.”

  One afternoon Morris asked if it would be all right to change the dog’s name. Humphrey wanted to know why a change was necessary. Morris answered, “I just don’t want to go back home and constantly be calling out for a Kiss. It might just be misunderstood.” The trainer laughed and assured Morris he could call the dog anything he wanted. From that point on, the female German shepherd was known as Buddy.

  After weeks of hard training, Humphrey announced it was time for solo work. For their first trek, Morris and Buddy would walk down the mountain road to town, do some shopping, and eat a meal. The trainer also suggested the rather shabby American get a haircut. Before the pair left, Humphrey issued a final warning. “Morris, you can be a blind person with a dog or a blind person with eyes. To be the latter, you must trust your dog’s eyes.” Those words would echo in the man’s brain for the rest of this life.

  The real partnership between man and dog was born on that trip. Buddy walked the man around poles, kept Morris from being struck by a runaway oxcart, and helped him find a café, the stores he needed, and the barbershop. Hours later when the team returned to the chalet, the young man enthusiastically told Dorothy Eustis, “I’m free. I’m finally free again!”

  That night by the fire, Humphrey and Eustis assured their visitor he had passed his tests and it was time for him and Buddy to return home. As he considered all he had learned and what the dog was capable of bringing to his life, Morris quoted Proverbs 20:12, “The hearing ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even both of them.” He then added, “I want to share what you have given me with others. I want the blind in America to have guide dogs. I want to start a school to share this amazing gift.”

  Eustis laid her hand on the young man’s shoulder and gently suggested that for his vision to become a reality, he and Buddy had to first prove themselves. They must show America this wasn’t a clever circus stunt. If they could accomplish that, then the woman would help finance a movement to bring guide-dog training to the United States. So the question became, was the young man up to the challenge to prove that this marriage of canine and man could bring independence to the blind?

  Morris’s return voyage was the first time he fully realized the power of the dog, not just as a guide but also as an icebreaker. With Buddy leading the way, the man quickly moved about the ship. He no longer bumped into anything or anyone, nor did he strike strangers with his cane. But the ease of movement paled in comparison to the reactions of the passengers and crew. People were drawn to Buddy and therefore gave Morris a chance to share his intelligence and humor. Thanks to the dog, Morris was no longer someone to be pitied or shunned. He was an interesting person with a story that folks wanted to know.

  Beyond her ability to lead the man around the large ship, Buddy’s potential to move beyond her training was displayed when Morris exchanged his French currency for American money. After he left the ship’s office and returned to his room, the man panicked. His wallet was not in his coat pocket. A quick search of his empty pants pocket proved that he must have lost it. Without money how was he going to survive in New York City or get back to Nashville? As he sank down on his bed, Buddy leaned forward and dropped the lost wallet into his lap. Amazingly, when Morris had unwittingly dropped the billfold, the dog had picked it up. Thus, Buddy was more than just a well-trained animal; she was capable of making decisions based on observation. She somehow knew that wallet was important, sensed Morris would need it, and, when it had slipped from his pocket, had deemed it something she should retrieve. How she had been able to understand such a seemingly complex issue was just the beginning of her growth as guide, companion, and friend.

  Likely because of his Swiss host and his connections to The Saturday Evening Post, word of Morris and his remarkable dog had gotten back to the United States. The press was waiting for them at the dock. The unbelieving reporters demanded to see if the German shepherd really could guide the man through New York City streets. Ready or not, it was time to prove Buddy’s value.

  The dog had been trained in the rural Alps and had never known anything like the Big Apple’s congested streets and sidewalks. With blaring horns, screaming cabbies, and thousands of voices all talking at the same time, could Buddy keep her mind on her job? Block by block, with the press verbally marveling at her skills, the dog took her master from store to store and corner to corner. They met challenges such as riding an elevator, getting on a bus, and navigating Grand Central Station. That should have been enough proof, but the requests kept coming. When it was suggested the pair cross a busy eight-lane street, Morris took the challenge. He was no more than ten feet off the curb when he realized he’d made a mistake and was in far over his head. There were huge trucks, buses, and cars roaring all around him. As the man became more unnerved, the dog moved ahead, stopped when it saw an oncoming vehicle, waited for the motorized giant to pass, sometimes even pushing Morris back a few steps, then when it was safe, resumed the trek. It took several minutes and a dozen different stops in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare, but with loud applause coming from the hundreds who had stopped to watch the display of a guide dog in action, Morris and Buddy finally stepped up safely on the opposite curb. The story of the short journey would be printed in newspapers all around the globe.

  For the next few days, Morris and Buddy were the toast of Broadway. They were interviewed by several newspapers and magazines and were invited to hotels, restaurants, and plays. Their photos were taken, and people even asked for Morris’s autograph. But there were still challenges to be met.

  Before leaving New York, a blind man rid
iculed the guide and owner as nothing more than a dog-and-pony show. He sarcastically announced, “It’s bad enough being blind without being tied to a dog.” He and hundreds of others saw the whole affair as a gimmick and refused to listen when Morris preached, “You are not tied to the dog; you are freed by it.”

  While Buddy was a celebrity in New York, she was usually looked at as just another mutt when the pair left the Big Apple. The railroad lines even made the canine ride in a baggage car. On those parts of the trip, Morris was again blind and had to depend upon others to help him find his way around the train.

  In Nashville, with Buddy leading the way, Morris moved with an ease and speed he had not known since before he lost his sight. Going to work, to school, and on social outings was a breeze. The local interest created by the unusual sight of a dog leading a man also helped Morris sell more insurance policies and meet more people. More important, the press ate up news of the dog and his value to Morris. The stories that ran in newspapers and magazines generated so much mail that the young man soon spent as much time answering correspondence as he did working.

  Each letter was as different as the person who penned it. Preachers explained how they could no longer visit their flocks due to their blindness. Businessmen wrote of not being able to travel to meet clients or make sales outside the office. Lawyers informed Morris of their inability to travel to meetings and courts without human help. Housewives and students sent letters, as did farmers and teachers. They all spoke of the limitations their disability had created, the burden they had become to others, and the way their potential was being dismissed. Most of all they wanted to know how they could get a dog to help them regain their independence.

  Being the first brings a bright spotlight. It also generates tremendous responsibilities. Morris quickly felt the weight of both. He had so greatly benefited from Buddy that he felt an obligation to share his blessings with others. Remembering the pledge he had received from Eustis and Humphrey, Morris contacted them. He explained how Buddy had proved her value and then shared the letters from those looking for a way to rediscover their independence. Sensing she had chosen the right person to sell this revolutionary program, Eustis provided some initial funding. She also sent Humphrey to Nashville to train the guide dogs. In the midst of the Great Depression, when millions around the nation had lost all hope, a school called The Seeing Eye was established to bring hope to those who could not see. Within a year, the school was so successful that it had outgrown its initial facility and moved to New Jersey.

  Morris and Buddy spent the next decade traveling from coast to coast and border to border. They lobbied state and federal governments and met with thousands of business leaders. At each stop they fought for the rights of the disabled and lobbied to allow service dogs on trains, airplanes, and ships, as well as in restaurants, hotels, offices, and all other public buildings. Largely because of Buddy’s amazing abilities, the pair changed attitudes, gave hope to the millions, and opened the eyes of those with perfect vision to the potential of those who were disabled.

  By 1938, Buddy was the best-known dog in the world. Her work had been the driving force behind more changes in legislation and education than perhaps any lawmaker of her era. When she died, thousands of letters and telegrams poured in from all over the world. But the nationwide recognition of the dog’s passing was less about what had been lost through death than it was about what had been gained through her life. This dog had opened up the world to millions.

  Essentially, Buddy led society out of a dark time when the disabled were written off and into an era when they were recognized not by their disability but for their talents and potential. Therefore, everyone who has benefited and gained independence through the use of a service dog, as well as the millions those people have touched, owes a great deal to a dog named Buddy. When this German shepherd put her best paw forward, she was ultimately leading the world in a brand new direction.

  Finding Love

  Love isn’t something you find. Love is something that finds you.

  Loretta Young

  They say love is blind. And those who find it never see what hit them. It seems to strike most often when you are not seeking it. But for most, they must be led to love to finally be led by it. And cupid does not always take the form of a cherub.

  Tierra Amarilla, a small, unincorporated community near the Carson National Forest in northern New Mexico, is a place that bridges time. If you stand in just the right place, it seems you can see forever, and yet as you strain your eyes to take in the view, a person is almost always struck by the feeling of isolation. Set at an elevation of over seven thousand feet means the air in Tierra Amarilla is thin and the vegetation sparse. In the distance, inhospitable mountains beckon and the ghosts of generations who sought and failed to find riches on those rocky points seem to cry out every time the wind blows. This is the Old West seen in John Wayne movies and incorporated into Zane Grey novels. It has been captured in paintings and on postcards and served to inspire countless songs. A quick glance reveals the influence of ancient Americans, Mexican immigrants, and the American Depression. There were so many vacant and decaying buildings that this small city was often called a ghost town.

  It took a special breed to meet the challenges created by the tiny community’s isolation and environment, and Joseph Martinez was just such a man. He embraced an optimistic nature and managed to smile when faced with the summer’s unrelenting heat as well as the winter’s frigid cold and relished the challenges that caused others to pack up and leave. He was both realist and optimist, two qualities that sustained him in the inhospitable world he and his family called home. More than anything else, he was a builder who could fix anything. Yet he would soon be greeted by a problem that was beyond his abilities to address.

  In the dark winter days of 1977, Joseph and his wife, Terri, were overjoyed to find out they would be having another child. When that bright June day came to welcome the newest member in the Martinez family, it was a time of great celebration in the small community. The beautiful little girl, who the parents named Jamie, was a bright, active, curious baby who quickly learned to talk in both Spanish and English. She was beyond a doubt the perfect child the family had prayed for and dreamed of. Yet just as dreams and nightmares often violently collided in the harsh world around Tierra Amarilla, the family would soon find darkness in the midst of light. An unseen and unknown enemy had been there since the moment Jamie’s DNA was spun. It was now on the prowl, and, because of its reach, the family’s world was about to be turned upside down.

  Jamie was eighteen months old when the family physician noted something was amiss. The tests that followed revealed an issue with Jamie’s vision. More exams discovered the cause. The invisible monster lurking inside the child had a name making it sound as if it had come from another planet—retinitis pigmentosa. Just the way those two words rolled off the tongue was almost as numbing as the look on the doctor’s face when he said them.

  Up until that point, the Martinez family had no knowledge of the genetic disorder that affects the retina’s ability to respond to light. Thus, even as the diagnosis settled in, the couple initially hoped the specialist would offer a way to combat what he called RP. Their hopes were quickly crushed. There was no cure, and in a matter of just a few years, the child that seemed so perfect and healthy would be completely blind. Dreams had been dashed, and suddenly, even though she was just a toddler, Jamie’s life had limits.

  It is said the greatest fear is created not by things you can see but by that which you don’t see. For parents this fear is magnified ten-fold when it is your child who will be battling in the dark. Sadly, there was no escape as the reminders of that image were everywhere. From his home, as he looked out at the mountains, Joseph realized that soon his child would not be able to view the awesome beauty. She would also not be able to see the yellow clay beneath her feet or the pure whiteness of a fresh winter snow. And then there were the dangers that, if not seen, could pro
ve deadly.

  As the Martinez family attempted to cope with the devastating news, as they tried to foresee things they would be facing in the future, there were whispers in the community. People were saying that Jamie’s RP was a punishment from God for something the family had done. The gossip, while painful, was certainly not something the Martinez family took to heart, but it also didn’t offer any comfort, hope, or support. So, in many ways, they were on an island dealing with something they had no experience in handling.

  As the parents battled doubts and fears, Jamie eagerly went on about life. She had things to learn and a world to explore. For the time being, she also had her eyesight. And though it was gradually fading, she adapted, and in time so did Joseph and Terri. And perhaps due to the harsh conditions found in the region they called home, the parents understood that people had to be tough to survive, not just the challenges brought on by limited opportunities, extreme weather, and the rugged terrain but also those challenges created by physical disabilities. For Jamie to succeed, it was going to take grit; so when she fell, they encouraged her to get back up on her own. Time and time again, the little girl proved she was not a quitter. She always found ways to adapt and succeed. So buoyed by their daughter’s “I can do anything” attitude, Joseph and Terri quickly began to treat her just like their other children. The older she got, the more they allowed her to embrace a sense of independence. Their attitudes were a godsend for the bright-eyed youngster; still, nothing could prevent each day of Jamie’s life from getting a little darker. By fifth grade the awe-inspiring mountains were nothing but shadows, and her friends were no longer seen as much as heard.

  As her world grew darker, her parents sensed it was time to find Jamie more help than was available in Tierra Amarilla. They realized if she stayed in the community, there would be no chance for independence or any opportunity to fully realize her potential. With that reality driving their thoughts, they made a huge leap of faith. Though the girl had become the light in Joseph and Terri’s lives, it was their love for their child that motivated them to send Jamie almost four hundred miles south to the New Mexico State School for the Blind in Alamogordo.