Remembering Marlon

Marlon, male Yellow Lab Guide for June Boyley of Parksville BC (CA 587 – October 1998) was a terrific Guide Dog and very well loved. He lived a life full of adventure traveling with June on four cruises and spending time in Arizona, Mexico and the Panama Canal. He passed away peacefully on Monday, January 10th at the age of 14. He loved to sit near the bay window and let June know when guests were arriving, never with a bark or growl, just with excited snuffs and wags. During the summer time he enjoyed long naps under the apple tree in the backyard. Marlon rests now in a beautiful green earn in his special spot in the bay window. He will be dearly missed by all, but most especially by his long term partner, June.

Nimh

by James Bluhm


Nihm, retired male yellow Labrador guide of James Bluhm, Ottawa, On,., Canada, California class 580, March 1998.

Nihm was a great dog.

He loved to work. For nine years, he guided me safely through many obstacles. He did his job in the city and in rural areas. He could be professional at gatherings involving a thousand people or in a one-on-one meeting. He took the 59 bus into downtown Ottawa and back almost every working day of his career. He was smart continually amazing me with his knowledge of routes, locations and commands.

He loved to travel. Nihm went to New York, Florida, New Orleans, San Francisco, Vancouver, Calgary, Winnipeg and throughout Manitoba, Toronto and throughout Ontario, Quebec City and throughout Quebec, Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia. He settled in comfortably wherever his fleece, his food bowl and I were to be found. He loved long rides which were always celebrated with a good nap. Wherever he went, he was so photogenic.

He loved to play. Sticks were the best toys; you can really sink your teeth into them. Walks were always good, especially to the horse farm where they could be combined with the most interesting smells. Wet feet from the rain, lake or ocean made him want to run forever. And, in his opinion, it was impossible to have your ears scratched too much.

He loved to eat -- by far his favorite activity and hobby. You knew it was breakfast and supper time because Nihm made sure you knew. He was sneaky and successfully snatched food from time to time. Of all the many restaurants he went to, he found the Dairy Queen was the best because it was the only place he was taken where the result would be an ice cream cone for him.

He loved living things, both two legged and four legged. His friends included almost every dog in the neighborhood except those that excluded him from establishing a friendship. He got along well with Kazoo who succeeded him in guiding me although he never really understood him. The cats of our house produced a similar reaction. He had people as friends at work, at church, with family and casual relationships. He particularly liked "chicks" who were drawn to him like a magnet. He enjoyed everyone, but Denise was special and would get his tail wagging at any time.

He will be missed. Rest well, my friend.

Tribute to Nesbit

By George Kerscher

Nesbit: May 1997 to August 2010

Nesbit and I graduated from Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California, in February 1999, Class 591. At 21 months old, Nesbit became my first guide dog, and over the years we traveled together safely throughout the world.

Nesbit warmed and wagged his way into the hearts of people everywhere we went, but he had special eyes for Gail, my wife (his significant other). While still in training in February 1999, Gail visited me. Nesbit and I were on the stairs at the GDB dorm when Gail arrived – Nesbit was so excited he started to go ballistic. Maureen, the trainer, witnessed the meeting and finally asked that I get my dog (and my wife) under control; it was like that throughout our wonderful years together. I was his boss, and Gail, who loved him dearly, was the sunshine of his life.

My work involves a great deal of travel both national and international, and Nesbit guided me. However I was not able to have Nesbit with me on every trip – it was extremely difficult to get a dog, even a guide dog, into some countries. Also, some of my business travel requires excruciatingly long flights – sometimes I would make the journey alone in order to save Nesbit from the prolonged discomfort of being under my seat.
1st "Million Miler" Guide Dog
Nesbit was Delta Airlines' first guide dog to become a "Million Miler". At a special event held one evening at the 2008 CSUN Conference, Delta personnel presented Nesbit with his own frequent flyer card and a plaque hallmarking his "million mile" accomplishment. Actually, we had both become Million Milers, but Nesbit was the first dog to reach that benchmark.

Although that was Nesbit's last CSUN Conference (he retired shortly afterward) he had attended many over the years. Everywhere he would go at CSUN he would see people he knew. He had the floor plans and layout memorized – it was almost like coming home for Nesbit.

A Job Well Done
Nesbit's job was to guide me and keep both of us safe, and he was brilliant at his job. I recall Nesbit guiding me through the streets of Rome. Cars were moving very fast and furiously whizzing past in a chaotic sea of movement. Nesbit was rock solid and steady. He never faltered in the chaos of Rome or any other congested city.

I am sincerely grateful to Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California for the brilliant training they provided. A huge thanks goes to all the staff, volunteers, and donors who make having a guide dog like Nesbit possible.

In some ways dogs are like people – some like to lead, and some prefer to follow. Nesbit liked to lead the group, he always wanted to be first. If we started out walking at the back of a group of people, before we reached our destination Nesbit would have managed to squeeze between the others, taking me to the front to lead the pack.

Nesbit had a wonderful life. We traveled the world together but he also loved his time in Montana, especially at our cabin on the Clearwater River. He loved to swim and would go into the water even on the coldest of days. Lilly, our pet yellow lab, was his lifelong canine companion. I cannot forget the experience of taking them for a brisk morning walk in the woods, them bounding over logs, dashing through the trees, and then heading back for breakfast.

Nesbit guided me continuously through March 2008, when I returned to Guide Dogs for the Blind to get Mikey. He had spent his retirement years with Gail, me and Lilly, at our home and at the cabin he loved so much. Nesbit passed away in the most peaceful of situations in our home with Gail and me tenderly beside him. There will never be a dog as wonderful as Nesbit. Only I understand the relationship that I had with Nesbit through the handle of the harness that led me safely through so many cities around the world.

Tribute to Romance

By Louie P. (Pete) Nalda

Romance was my Guide Dog from February 2000 to March 2009. She worked a long time for a guide, and was my companion in somber moments, traveling, and at school. Wherever Romi went she was a hit, and she sure did do some traveling: to accordion festivals, the Kerrville Folk Festival, three trips to the East Coast, and nine trips to New Mexico, where she'd get to play in the snow.

She was a well endowed Yellow Lab, and yet she was always my "Romitxu" (Little Romi)! I used to speak Basque to her thinking she could understand it for some reason, because at GDB I'd learned that Labs may have been brought to the new world by Basque fishermen. Anyway, so I had her understanding me somewhat in Basque.

As a guide, Romi was always excited to work, to see people, and to explore whatever was next for us. She'd run into her harness when it was time to go, and man! That dog would walk! I'd bet our average speed was 3.5 mph. Afternoons she would slow down a little, but she had that zeal up to the year when I retired her. Besides guiding, Romi liked playing in water (as long as she could touch the ground), gnawing on her Nyla bone, and playing and running around with other dogs.

After she retired, she went to live with my dear friends the Hickmans in Cedar Park, Texas, just outside of Austin. I couldn't have been happier that she went to enjoy her retirement with people she knew and loved. This is dedicated to you, Romi.

Ondo Ibili (Go Well), old Girl.

The Time Has Come

By Morgan Watkins

Written in April, 2004

The time has come. The dark red golden retriever, asleep at my feet, has earned his retirement. His face, and paws, and the tip of his tail are white with age. For nearly nine years, this gentle beast, this loving creature, has kept me safe, given me freedom. We have traveled across the country many times. He has been on hundreds of airplanes. He has been at my side more than my own family or the people I work with. His loyalty is absolute. He has never quit trying, and he is still always ready to slip into his harness to work. Even so, his body is not as young or as forgiving as it once was. He is slowing down. And yet, how dear he is. His snoring reminds me of a kindly grandfather. He still runs in his sleep. He makes the dearest sounds while dozing, no different than when he was still more of a pup. And, still I know that if I ask him to work, he'll get up, a bit slower, but ready to serve. However, he's not a young dog anymore. He can't do the ten mile hikes that we once enjoyed together. I feel the fatigue through the harness at the end of a long day.

I've been through the mountains with this dog, over rugged and terrifying terrain, through snow and ice and hot Texas summers. He gave me my eyes and he gave me freedom. The grand realization has come in recent weeks as I've become aware that Fantom, my dear friend, has been truly doing his best and just hasn't been able to always keep up with my rather rapid stride and hectic lifestyle. Even so, I've found myself asking, insisting, that he pick up the pace and, my dear friend, has always given more, pushed himself harder, met my needs. He has always been so loyal, so dependable, always keeping me very safe. He doesn't know how to complain, or at least it isn't in his personality, but here I am, insisting that he pick up speed, move more quickly up stairs, to give more than his tired bones may possess. Am I really treating him with the same care and respect that he has shown to me? I cannot stop moving at a snappy pace, even for this dear and aging animal, but I should not expect him to do more than he can. There is a time, an epiphany, when you've got to ask if you are listening to your dog, to what his body is telling you, to be aware that you owe him the respect he has so richly earned.

There is a time for change, for passing the bone.

Literally hours before I got the call from Guide Dogs on March 29, letting me know of some special dogs in training, I was very aware that Fantom was faltering on the stairs that I'd been climbing all day. He would walk up them, but it was clearly slow going.

He was tired. He is old. Am I being selfish? Am I ready for the change? There is a dog out there, one that is anxious to work, anxious to please, anxious to be loved. There is another Guide Dog, at the beginning of his or her life, that would love to see the insides of beautiful buildings, airports, restaurants and my home.

I am not abandoning Fantom. I am letting him retire with dignity. In my particular circumstance, I will keep him with me for the rest of his life. When he gets older, I will care for him. I will talk to him and stroke him and love him. When his time comes, I plan to be holding him in my arms, ever thankful for his friendship and the vision he gave to me.

I pray that I can comfort him as he has always comforted me.

Thank you, Fantom. Thank you for your love, and friendship, and care. Thank you for my freedom, my eyesight, and the confidence to move as fast as I please. And, thank you God for this very dear soul.

Remembering Chip

By Andrea Guidice

Mr. Snake, also known as Chip or Sphinky or Mr. Sniffy pants or Chippee the dog or Monk, has crossed the rainbow bridge. In his beautiful warm yard in Florida, on a blanket with his retirement mom and dad holding him, he did what he so loved to do - he went to sleep in the sun. Laural and Jonathan gave Chip the most generous gift possible, they gave him a peaceful death before he was caused to suffer. My gratitude for this finds no words.

In May, Chip was diagnosed with an aggressive form of throat cancer. Since the diagnosis, he had been brave and strong, and if it is even possible, he was more spoiled then usual. Doggie ice cream was part of his daily diet! Laural and Jonathan provided a safe, loving, prideful home for Chip in his retirement; a loving family unit in which to joyfully, exuberantly relax after seven and a half years of service. He had eighteen months of soaking up the Florida sun, taking leisurely morning and evening walks, patrolling the fence line, playing ball and Frisbee, and enjoying brotherly canine companionship with Eubie.

Now you know of his last 1.5 years but what of his 7.5 years with me as my trusted guide? Where/how to tell that tail? I met Chip in the early evening hours of March 21, 2001, the beginning of a truly wondrous journey. Chip guided me along countless sidewalks both quiet and busy; always knew his right from his left (though I often didn't); worked through buildings of every stripe; tackled escalators and elevators; walked in rain snow heat cold and wind; avoided obstacles of all descriptions (and some that totally defied description); climbed up and down billions of stairs; passed through millions of doors; navigated airports in at least ten states; patiently approved and vetoed my purchases over and over and over; and "found" counters, empty seats, sinks, rest rooms, hotel rooms, home and more.

Along with the routine tasks of guiding - and the not so routine times when Chip saved me from getting hit by cars, falling off a loading dock or bashing my head on a huge overhanging tree limb - he also guided me through three of the most difficult times in my life. Just over a year after Chip and I were partnered, I was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). Our life course took an immediate, dramatic and drastic swerve. I went from working full time and being an active person to being mostly bed and house bound. This caused Chip to enter a semi retirement phase at age 4. Remarkably, he did not eat me in my sleep and his guidework never suffered. Regardless the length of time that stretched between each time I harnessed him up, or how simplistic most of the routes might be, he could step right back on to the streets of San Francisco and guide like we had been working in the city every day. Along with his resilient guidework was his attitude. He never got angry or bored with his abrupt change in lifestyle. Dealing with CFS was almost more then I could handle, but having Chip so gracefully transition to our new life was one of his greatest gifts to me. Not having to worry about him and having a rock solid guide as my partner made so much more manageable.

At the end of 2007 Chip helped me through another huge life transition. My husband and I split up and I was single for the first time in 13 years. Chip soaked up my tears, listened endlessly to my woes and worries, snuggled with me and was a strong solid constant companion guiding me physically and emotionally into my new life. And in January of 2008, I embarked on yet another first: I moved in to my very own apartment, living alone for the first time in my life. Well not alone of course because there was Chip keeping me brave and making it all okay. Together we explored our new neighborhood. With Chip by my side I got my bachelorette sea legs and even started to flourish.

As the CFS remitted some and I conquered my new hood, the summer of 2008 approached and Chip had another gift to give. His gift to me was to get me ready for his successor, Yolo. As summer wound down into fall and Chip and I had our last dance, he helped me understand that he was happy to be retiring and that I needed to be open and accepting of my next guide. He went to his new home with a joyful heart and allowed me to go to Yolo with a guilt free one.

In February of 2010, Chip had a final gift for me. I visited him in his retirement home where he showed me his new life, his happiness and his peacefulness. He gave me eleven days of his healthy Chippee self to hug on and indelibly plant on the drawing board of my heart. As gifts go, this one was priceless.

I have written and written and yet I feel as if I have told none of it. Such an enormous dog, soft and gentle, calm and steady. Wise and silly with little ears, a dusty rose nose and a tail with a little crook at the end. Remembered by all who met him, coveted by many, loved by all, Chip has left gentle paw prints on our hearts. Oh, my dear sweet Chip my heart hurts and I miss you so. If I try very hard I can feel your velvety ears under my fingers and your soft fur against my cheek. I so wish you were here to soak up my tears tonight. I love, respect and thank you so very much for all your years of service to me.

I honor you always and forget you never,

Andrea

My Heart Dog

By Megan Minkiewicz

A lifetime ago I met a yellow Labrador retriever named Noah who forever changed my life. He was young and I was single; we made a good team.

To say he stole my heart is an understatement. For nearly 14 years he was my shadow and constant companion. While Noah chose a career path different than the one he was prepared for as a Guide Dog puppy, he followed the path for which he was meant.

Every decision in my life was made considering how it would affect Noah, from moving in with a boy, to marrying that boy, to buying a house, to moving to Oregon. He helped me raise four other Guide Dog puppies, served as attendant in our wedding, and traveled wherever we went. I can honestly say I don’t recall a day when Noah didn’t hop in the car to go somewhere with us. We were his whole life; Megan & Alex, peppered with whatever current puppy we were raising.

Losing him has been the most painful experience. Losing anyone you love is devastating and we can never be prepared as the circumstances can never be predicted. I did not wake up Tuesday, January 19, 2010 and think it would be our last day with Noah. Yes, he was a senior citizen, but he was Noah and he was going to live forever. I had pushed the inevitable so far from my mind I never saw it coming. One moment he was fine, wrestling with the new puppy in training, and gone the next. Noah lived life to the fullest every last second, and that is Noah’s lasting legacy - one we can all strive to attain.

I continue to learn from my heart dog as I stumble through this unfamiliar territory. I have learned to be more compassionate, I have learned I cannot control everything no matter how hard I try, I’ve learned we have an amazing family in GDB, I’ve learned how to grieve. I’ve learned I will never be without Noah.

Every dog is special. Some just take hold of your heart a little more.