It's true. I'm fifteen, and I have a baby. She's a wonderful baby, and I love her more than anything, even though it can be hard sometimes to be a good mother, when there's so much else that I want to be doing.
In some ways she's just like any other baby-- she's with me always, I have to get up with her at night, she eats often, her hair is soft and golden, and she has big, heart-melting eyes. She sleeps a lot, and likes to put objects, my own fingers included, in her mouth. She has that wonderful baby scent. I worry about her constantly, and am always trying to make sure she doesn't get into trouble. She's cutest (and easiest) when she's asleep.
But some things about her are different. When I go out in public, I'm more likely to be congratulated than to have nasty looks thrown at me. She's growing far faster than your average baby-- she gains a couple pounds a week. But the biggest difference of all is that she has four legs and a tail! No, she's not a mutant; she's a puppy. A guide dog puppy in training to be exact. Her name is Wicker and she's my first guide dog puppy. She's a labrador/ golden retriever cross, and is soon to turn eleven weeks old.
Actually, raising a puppy all by yourself is a lot like having a baby. She requires constant love, constant care, and constant supervision. I have to potty train her, bring her everywhere, give her toys to play with. It is my role as raiser to socialize her, teach her the rules, and love her. I am providing the basis for a life of working with people.
Being the sole raiser of this puppy was part of the deal, though. Before I even started the application process, my family had agreed that I would be. Wicker is my project, my responsibility. And it's a fair trade, in exchange for constant companionship from a loving, cuddly puppy. I love dogs more than everything else, and this is like a dream come true. By law, she can go with me anywhere, be it a restaurant, the bus, the copy shop, or the mall. I just strap on her little green coat and we're off!
People always say they could never raise a guide dog puppy, because they couldn't give it up. And although it will be hard for me, I would rather see her become someone's guide, eyes for those who have none, than keep her with me forever. That's what appealed to me about the project. It gives me the chance to change someone's life.
Actually, one of the more difficult things for me is explaining to people that they can't pet her. Wicker is always happy to see someone, and people think she is adorable, of course. Who looks at a tiny puppy and thinks it's ugly- especially one that's so cuddly? However, allowing a stranger to pet your puppy "in coat" is absolutely off limits; the one rule I wouldn't dare break is this one. If Wicker is to have the slightest chance of becoming a guide, she must behave in public.
Looking at her now, sleeping curled at my feet, it's hard to imagine her in harness. Will she be able to make it through the rigorous training program and meet all expectations? It is so difficult, that only half of the dogs who enter the program will graduate as guides. Now she is so small, so vulnerable, that it seems impossible. Someday, I know, Wicker will look like all the other retrievers we know: big, with a calm face and slightly worried expression. She'll know all her commands, and be able to lie at my side for hours, as I read, work, or talk. She will stand patiently as children grab at her, watch as balls fly through the air, walk right by a cat or another dog. But we have a long way to go. She barely knows sit, let alone stay. A car going up the road distracts her just as much as any cat or tennis ball. Controlling her around a child is next to impossible. I keep reminding myself that practice makes perfect. Eventually it will click, and she'll be a wonderful dog. It just takes time. For now, let her sleep at my feet. She's only a baby.