I thought about the idea of retiring Elli for a long time. It first occurred to me when she was eight and could no longer walk a mile around the track at the park. I know things now that I did not know then, and sometimes I wonder if she would still be working if I had done a few things differently. But I didn't know these things then.
I kept letting her work on shorter trips: to church, to doctors' appointments, etc. I was unemployed at the time and was preparing to have eye surgery. Hopefully the small bit of vision which I had lost would be able to be restored.
The changes in my vision had also placed a strain on my working relationship with Elli. I needed things from her now which she was not used to giving. Even the surgery itself would cause some problems. She would not be able to work for at least a couple of months. Although I was not specifically instructed to stop working her after the surgery, I knew that her weight pulling against me would cause strain on my body just as lifting would. Was it fair to put a nine-year-old dog back to work after a prolonged period of vacation?
I kept debating this, and in the meantime Elli kept getting older and less tolerant of crowds. I wished that someone would just tell me what to do.
I finally made the decision to retire officially in July, 1999. During this time, I had also been debating whether or not to get a second dog. I did decide to do this and was assigned to the class beginning on September 25. In preparation for leaving for class, I began to be very emotional. I wrote the following letter to try to close out my relationship as a traveling partner with Elli.
Dear Elli,
I should be doing my homework right now, but I'm not. I'm having a rather difficult day. Maybe the idea of writing a letter to a dog seems strange, but I don't care. If you were a person, I'd tell you why I'm having such a hard day. After all, you've been in my life for the past eight years and any person who had been with me in the capacity you have been for that long would know a lot of things about me. Most people wouldn't have stayed around through all the things you've been through.
In a little over three weeks, I will be going somewhere very important ... and I'll be leaving you behind. It's not that I haven't left you before. I've been taking trips for several months without you. I've done this for several reasons. You're getting older and you don't seem to have as much energy as you used to. Trips aren't fun for you anymore. You don't like a lot of people in your face, and you need your special place in the world now more than you ever did before. I also needed to take the trips without you so that I could get used to you not being there. I thought I was doing ok.
But this trip is different. This time I'm going to get a new dog. It feels like I'm replacing you. Someone else is going to do your job. I guess that's a little different from just not having you around. It's having someone around who isn't you. It's letting someone else do what you should be doing.
In May, 1991, I took this trip for the first time. I wasn't supposed to leave until July, but I got a surprise call and had the chance to go earlier. Just think! If I hadn't gone in May, I probably wouldn't have met you. You would have been someone else's dog. I'm glad you weren't. I wasn't really ready, but I made it through the trip.
It was a Saturday, May 18. I was on the airplane for a long time. I remember that as it was landing, I got scared. "What in the world am I doing getting a dog?" I thought. "I don't even like dogs!"
But I had seen those proud guide dogs, and I thought they were the key to independence. Now I would be getting one of my own.
I didn't meet you until the next afternoon. It was hard to know what to do with myself during free time that first night. My instructor had taught me some commands, and we had taken a practice walk. He held the dog's end of the harness and leash, and I held my end. I gave him commands using the name "Juno" as if he was a dog. I felt a bit strange doing this, but I got used to it. Later that night, we had a group session where we all introduced ourselves. This part scared me. I wanted to make friends with someone in the class, but I was afraid I wouldn't. I was only 18. There were a few other people in their early 20's, but most of my classmates were over 30. I was the only one under 21.
On Sunday morning, I took another Juno walk, and after lunch we all waited around with mixed nervousness and anticipation. I had a roommate, Rachel. We compared notes on what we imagined our dogs would be like. We heard instructors saying "pfui" to somebody's dog, but it wasn't mine or hers. Then the big moment came.
"Ms. Blake," my instructor called from outside my door. I went out to the lounge. He had already gone back out there and was sitting across the room with you. He told me to call you. I braced myself for the moment of truth and called your name.
You came running over to me and started licking my hands. My instructor wanted me to stick my hand inside your mouth. Oh, how scary! What if you bit me? (Of course, you didn't.) Then I got to take you to my room. I actually got to put a leash on you and walk with you. Oh, what a wonderful girl you were!
We spent that first afternoon just being together. I rubbed your belly. You gave me your paw in classic Labrador retriever fashion. You licked my hands but (thankfully) stayed away from my face. How did you know I hated having my face licked?
Training was hard work. There were times one of us would rather play than work. But we worked hard, and the big day to go home finally came. We went to the airport, and I learned how to get you to ride under the seat in front of me on the plane. Mom and Dad picked us up from the airport in Houston, and I remember how proud Mom was to have you in her car! It made me feel like she was proud of me because you were mine.
I turned 19 while I was there at the Seeing Eye. I've often said that you were my birthday present to myself. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present. You went to universities with me and sat for hours in class and in the library while I did research. You should have your Ph.D. by now. You've gone with me to make presentations to groups of children, university classes, and church groups. You've been on stages with me while I sang in choirs and by myself. You've gone with me to huge conventions and been a real trooper when all those people and other dogs were walking where I wanted you to take me. You've gone to banquets and never moved a muscle when I dropped a crumb from my roll on your nose. I don't know many dogs who can achieve that. ... And now your time to have fun and just be a dog is here.
I thought I was ok, but that was before I realized how different this trip is going to be from the other trips I've taken without you. I know I need to do this. I know that you wouldn't want me to be without the kind of help you gave me. But part of me doesn't want to do this. That part of me doesn't want anybody else doing your job. That part of me wants you to keep on doing it and feels guilty for letting you stop. You're still healthy. Maybe you could still work. Maybe I just haven't kept you in shape enough. Maybe if we started out slowly, you'd be able to work again. ...
But I know how tired you are. I know you are in no shape to go traipsing around the country on all these trips while I look for jobs. I know you are in no shape to deal with full days at a university if I decide to go on to graduate school. You are about to be 10 years old. It's time for me to let go. Somewhere in my mind I know that I am not betraying you or ignoring you and that both of us will adjust. I just wish it was easier.
I want to take one last walk with you, my Elli Bells. I need this. I know you'll understand and probably even be excited about it. I want to make it count and to remember it. I wish there was a way I could do something that would give me a tangible memory of you. Oh, I'll be seeing you for a long time still, but I want a way to remember you and the way you worked, like a picture.
Well, I should stop writing now and do what I had originally planned to be doing right now: my homework. I love you, Elli. I've found that this writing letters to my dog thing works really well. Maybe I should try it more often when I'm feeling sad. Thanks for always being there and for all the little dog things you do that make you my Elli.
Love,
Sarah
The development of content for this site is supported by your contributions and by the sale of products through various affiliate programs. If you have been touched by the material on this site, please consider shopping at Sarah Jane's or making a contribution using the Amazon Honor System.
Return to the Dog Guide Information Center.