Abby. Of course. She’s as competitive as I am, if not more so. I should have known that she would be here even earlier, to make sure no one else took “our” field.
I waved to her. She waved back and jogged to me.
As everyone arrived, Shannon got her usual share of attention, and naturally Scout got a good bit of attention too. Shannon demonstrated her newest trick, holding out her paw on the command of “shake.” I heard Karen explaining importantly to James Hobart that Scout was still a very young puppy and didn’t know that trick yet. “But when she grows up, she’s going to be trained to be a real, live guide dog,” Karen told him and the surrounding audience. “She’ll be able to help a blind person go anywhere. To school. On planes. On safaris.”
I blew the whistle and called the practice to order. Karen and David Michael left Scout and Shannon inside the dugout fence in the shade and walked out onto the field.
We practiced baserunning, which sounds really basic, and should be. But on a team with players of so many ages, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Very young players, such as five-year-old Claire Pike, Mal’s youngest sister, can hit the ball if you throw it right at the bat. But often, when young players do connect with the ball, they are so thrilled to get a hit they stand there beaming with pride and forget to run at all.
Claire remembered to run this time and to stop at first base. But when she ran to second, she kept on going before she realized that third base wasn’t somewhere in the outfield.
She skidded to a stop and came back to second with a sheepish look on her face. I half expected her to throw a temper tantrum (a Claire specialty), but instead she just said, “Am I out?”
“No,” I assured her. “In a real game you would be, because a runner has to stay inside the baseline. But this is practice, so we can keep doing it until you get it right.”
We did the play over. This time, Claire stopped at second.
Jake Kuhn, who is not a natural athlete and prefers soccer to softball, surprised us by getting a double.
Then Jackie slid into third base and somehow managed to peel the sole off his left cleat.
He stuck his foot in the air and said, “Wow, look!” as if he’d done something remarkable.
In a way, I guess he had. I’d never seen anything like that happen before.
Naturally the whole team headed toward Jackie to see what had happened. Abby and I exchanged a glance and then Abby said, “Water break!”
The Krushers were giggling and laughing as Jackie wiggled his toes in the air from the bottom of his shoe, where the sole had been.
Abby looked at Jackie’s foot thoughtfully and said, “I think it’s time you got some new baseball shoes, Jackie. What do you think?”
Jackie grinned as I reached down to give him a hand. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Do you have any other shoes here?” I asked him.
“My sneakers,” Jackie replied. “I’ll put them on.”
“Good idea,” I said and turned my attention to planning the next drill with Abby.
Which is why I didn’t notice what Karen was doing.
I didn’t discover it until the end of practice, when we went back to the dugout to find Scout happily chewing on what remained of Jackie’s peeled cleat. Shannon had the other one.
“Scout! Shannon!” I shouted in an alarmed voice, leaping forward to rescue the cleats. Shannon gave me a guilty look. Scout looked surprised and a little inquisitive when I snatched the shoes from her jaws. “How did you get these shoes? No!”
“I gave the shoes to them,” Karen said. Her cheeks were bright red. “Jackie couldn’t wear them anymore anyway and the puppies looked bored.”
“You should never, ever give shoes to any dog to chew,” I said, much more emphatically than I probably needed to. “How is a dog supposed to know which shoes she can chew and which shoes she can’t?”
“Oh,” Karen mumbled. “I never thought about that.”
“Well, you have to think, Karen,” I said. “Unless you want to ruin Scout’s chances of ever becoming a guide dog.”
“I’m sorry,” Karen cried, her face growing even redder.
Abby intervened. “That’s okay. I’m sure that just this once no harm was done — except to what was left of Jackie’s shoes.” Her light tone seemed to reassure Karen.
I felt like a jerk. Had I overreacted or what? “Sorry, Karen,” I apologized.
Karen looked at me and then at Abby and crossed her heart. “I promise, I won’t give them any more shoes,” she assured us. “Never, ever, ever.”
I told Watson when we got home what had happened. I wasn’t telling on Karen. I was just making sure that Scout’s chances for becoming a guide dog weren’t ruined.
Watson didn’t seem too bothered. “It was a mistake,” he said. “And if it doesn’t happen again, I don’t think any harm was done. If you’d like, I’ll ask Gillian the next time I talk to her.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Wow, this is harder than I thought. I mean, you never know if one little thing is going to affect a puppy for her whole life.” I turned to go to my room, then stopped and turned back as a thought hit me.
“Watson?”
“Yes, Kristy.”
“It’s kind of like raising children, isn’t it? I mean, trying to get it right and worrying that something you do will affect them forever….” My voice trailed off. Would Watson think it was some kind of insult, comparing raising dogs to raising children?
But Watson was smiling. “There are similarities, Kristy. But I will say this — puppies are a lot easier to potty train.”
I burst out laughing then. “Thanks, Watson,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”
When Stacey arrived at the Coopers’ for her baby-sitting job, she noticed that Deb was already sitting in the car, facing straight ahead.
“Hi, Deb,” Stacey said. “It’s me. Stacey.”
“Hello,” Deb replied expressionlessly. She didn’t move.
Stacey saw that Mrs. Cooper was standing at the front door, holding it open. “I’m not late, am I?” Stacey said, checking her watch.
“Right on time,” Mrs. Cooper assured her. “Deb just wanted to go out to the car a little early.”
“Oh,” said Stacey. Was it because Deb didn’t want Stacey to see her being led to the car? Or did she just want to avoid Stacey altogether?
“Hi, Stacey,” Mark greeted her from inside the doorway.
“Hello! Good-bye,” shouted Jed, following his older brother into the hall. He began to giggle.
“Hi, guys.” Stacey smiled back at them.
“We shouldn’t be at the hospital for more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half,” Mrs. Cooper told her. “I’ll call you if it’s going to take longer than that. We have an appointment with the social worker. I hope Deb will talk to her.”
Stacey didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. Mrs. Cooper hugged Mark and Jed and said, “See you in a little while.” She paused, then added, “No television, okay?”
“Aw, Mom.” Marked groaned.
Mrs. Cooper said, “Aw, Mark,” and smiled as she left.
“What’s a social worker?” Jed asked Stacey.
“Someone who helps people with problems,” Stacey explained.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” Mark said. “Deb doesn’t have to go to school and she can watch whatever she wants on television. Well, listen to whatever she wants, anyway.”
He suddenly looked guilt-stricken. He glanced down at his feet.
Jed, with the directness of a four-year-old, grabbed Stacey’s arm and said, “What if I get sick like Deb and go blind too?”
Stacey thought quickly, then said, “Have you been to the doctor lately?”
“Yes. Last week.” Mark made a face.
“Did the doctor say you were okay?”
“She said we were fine and she gave us a Charm pop,” Jed said.
“Well, then, if the doctor said you’re fine, then you’re fine.”
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That seemed to reassure them, at least for the moment.
To change the subject, Stacey said, “Why don’t we go outside and play?”
“Okay,” Jed answered, taking off for the back door. By the time Stacey and Mark had followed, Jed was already banging around the yard like a pinball.
“We could have a water fight,” Mark suggested hopefully, glancing toward the hose.
“It’s still a little too chilly for that,” Stacey replied.
“Baseball,” Jed voted.
“How about kickball?” asked Stacey. She isn’t good at sports, but she knew she could kick and catch a ball.
“Okay,” Mark agreed. He found the kickball while Stacey and Jed set up a home plate and a base.
They did a few practice kicks first. Mark could kick the ball hard enough for Stacey to have to chase it a little bit, but Jed put more energy into giggling than into kicking. After a quick survey of the talent, Stacey appointed herself ball thrower. She made the rule that if she caught a ball that Jed kicked, she had to turn around twice while holding the ball before she could throw it at him to get him out.
“But just once for you, Mark. You’re older.”
“I know,” Mark said. “Throw the ball.”
Mark kicked the ball hard on the first try and made it to base. He put his hands on his knees and bent down low. “Come on, Jed, kick it hard!” he cried.
Stacey rolled the ball. Jed giggled, swung his foot wildly at it — and missed.
He fell down and laughed even harder. Mark snorted and began to laugh too. Stacey bent over to give Jed a hand. “You okay?” she asked.
Jed got up, laughing loudly. “I missed,” he said.
“You sure did,” Stacey agreed. “Strike one.”
“How many strikes do I get?” Jed asked.
“Lots,” Stacey told him. She rolled the ball again.
This time Jed made a good kick. The ball almost reached Stacey. She picked it up and spun around twice. When she finished spinning, Mark had just touched home plate. And Jed was standing there, watching all the action.
“Run!” Mark shouted. “Run, or you’ll be out.” He gave Jed a push.
“Oh!” Jed exclaimed and ran for the base.
Stacey threw the ball and missed (on purpose). Jed jumped with both feet onto the base, then stood and watched as Stacey ran after the ball. Stacey couldn’t help but grin. She’d watched me coach softball before and was familiar with the “little kids forgetting to run” syndrome.
“Run home!” Mark bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Jed, run back to me!”
“Oh!” Jed passed third and ran home. He just barely beat Stacey, who had gotten a bad case of the giggles herself.
When she’d recovered, she looked up to see Mark and Jed watching her. “Why’re you laughing?” Mark asked seriously. “We’re winning.”
Mark and Jed were beating Stacey a million to one (according to Jed) when Stacey rolled a ball to Mark and he closed his eyes before he kicked. He connected with it solidly. Then, with his eyes still closed, he ran toward where he thought the base would be.
He didn’t touch the base. He crashed into Stacey as she was bending to catch the ball.
They both went down.
“Oof.” Stacey gasped, caught by surprise.
Mark lay where he had fallen, with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Mark? Mark, are you okay?” Stacey asked. She got to her knees and leaned over him. Mark didn’t open his eyes.
“Mark?”
“I’m being blind,” he said. Then he frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“Open your eyes,” Jed told him, standing next to his brother.
Mark said, “I thought I knew where the base was.”
“You missed it by a mile,” Jed informed him.
His eyes still shut, Mark got to his feet. “Is it this way?” he asked and pointed.
“No,” Jed said. He grabbed Mark and led him forward. Mark tripped. Then he began to walk with a sort of sliding shuffle, as if he were afraid to lift his feet off the ground.
He let Jed guide him to base. “Here,” Jed said. Then he added, “But you’re out. You ran into Stacey while she was holding the ball.”
Stacey had picked up the ball (which she had dropped when Mark had collided with her) and now stood watching the brothers.
“Open your eyes,” Jed repeated. He sounded a little anxious. “You’re not really blind, Mark.”
Mark opened his eyes. “No,” he agreed.
Mark looked at Stacey. “Deb won’t ever be able to see anything again,” he said. “It’s like she always has to walk around with her eyes closed.”
Jed added,” She used to play kickball with us. Now she won’t.”
“She can’t,” Mark corrected him.
“She can’t do anything now,” Jed complained. “And she’s mad all the time.”
“Mad and sad,” Mark said. His expression was serious.
“You’re right,” Stacey agreed, surprised at how simply and directly Mark had gotten to the heart of the matter.
“I wish Deb could still play with us,” Jed said. His voice was wistful. He missed his older sister.
“I bet she wishes she could too,” Stacey told him softly. “Maybe she will again someday. Just because she’s blind now doesn’t mean she can’t do lots of things. But she has to learn new ways to do some of them.”
Then Jed and Mark nodded. Stacey remembered Scout. “In fact,” she said, “did you know there are special dogs that can help blind people? They’re called guide dogs. Kristy and her family are raising a puppy that’s going to grow up to be a guide dog. Her name is Scout.”
“Is she a big dog?” Jed asked.
“What color is she?” Mark chimed in.
Stacey talked to them about dogs and guide dogs until Mrs. Cooper’s car pulled into the driveway.
“Mom and Deb are back,” Mark said.
Jed sprinted toward the house.
Once again, Mark and Stacey followed more slowly. They’d almost reached the back door when Mark said, “I guess it’s okay for Deb to listen to the television whenever she wants.”
Stacey didn’t say anything. Mark opened the door. Then he said, “But you know what? I’m going to save all my money and get Deb a dog too. Maybe that would make her feel better.”
“The guide dogs are —” Stacey was about to tell him that the dogs are free, but Mark put his finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said. “I want to keep it a secret until the dog gets here.”
Stacey knew that getting a guide dog didn’t work like that, and that Deb was too young to have one. On the other hand, Stacey knew Mark wanted to help. So Stacey said instead, “Why don’t you write to the Guide Dog Foundation and ask them about guide dogs? I can get the address for you from Kristy.”
“Great!” Mark exclaimed. “But remember, don’t tell anyone. I want it to be a surprise.”
Although the Guide Dog Foundation offers free obedience classes every week for guide dog puppies only, the drive was too long for us. So Watson signed up Scout for a dog training class in Stoneybrook, at the community center, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoons. It would be okay for us to take her there, as long as we stuck to Guide Dog Foundation training rules.
It was a puppy training class, for puppies up to the age of one year. Since we couldn’t bring the whole family to the class, we decided to take turns. Karen, Watson, and I went to the first class.
We arrived to find five other dogs. There were two mixed breeds. One was a large black-and-tan shepherd mix named Fender, and the other was a small white terrier mix named Riley. Then there was a rottweiler named Grace, a bull terrier named Shug, and a miniature dachshund named Britty. Scout was the youngest puppy in the class and Fender, who had just been adopted from a shelter, was the oldest. In fact, no one was sure quite how old Fender was, just that he was probably still a puppy.
The obedience trainer was a small, muscular woman named Iman
i. She had brown eyes, dark skin, and a brisk no-nonsense manner. She nodded when we led Scout into the small fenced-in area at the back of the center where the class was being held. She said, “Good. Good for you. What you’re doing is a wonderful thing.”
Karen beamed and I looked pleased. I’m not sure, but I think Watson blushed.
Imani let the dogs get acquainted with one another for a few minutes. Scout was delighted with everyone she met, even Fender, who barreled over to her in his enthusiasm. Shug kept dragging her owner around from dog to dog. I’d never seen a bull terrier before. They’re strong. Britty barked at the other dogs. She was clearly a dachshund who was picky about her friends. The rottweiler, Grace, matched her name, sniffing each dog with a quiet dignity. Riley was like Scout, thrilled with everyone and everything.
As the dogs interacted, I realized that Imani was watching us and the dogs. Then she clapped her hands and asked us to line up in front of her.
“Puppies have short attention spans,” she explained. “So we won’t have a long class. At any rate, dog training is as much about training people as it is about training dogs. What you’re going to learn is how to be a good dog trainer and owner.”
Karen and I had retreated, then sat cross-legged at the edge of the line to observe. We would practice what we learned after watching the class.
I realized as I watched that reading the books Shannon and Mal had given me had helped. Imani used many of the techniques and principles I had read about.
And you know what was amazing? Imani’s sit command worked the first time for every dog except the bull terrier and the dachshund, who clearly had minds of their own. Britty finally sat, but she looked like a small coiled spring about to leap into the air. When Shug, the bull terrier, eventually responded to her owner’s gentle pressure, she swung her back end around so that it rested on her owner’s foot.
Karen burst out laughing and several other people in the class smiled.
But Scout and Grace sat immediately — and stayed in a sitting position, almost as if they were waiting for their next command.
Imani showed the class how to teach their dogs to sit, lie down, and stay. She showed Fender’s and Shug’s owners how to start working with their puppies so they didn’t pull on their leashes. Then she told us to be sure to have at least two short practice sessions a day with what we had learned until the next class.