Daddy's Little Service Dog

Something bad happened to my dad just before my seventh birthday. He went away for three months and when he came home, he couldn't walk or talk. He's had a chair on wheels every since and it didn't take me long to figure out that I could walk right underneath it. That route came in handy as a shortcut. Dad and his wheelchair take up a lot of room and he likes to park right in doorways which once made my mom say she wished she could do my trick. I don't do it much anymore, now that I'm pushing sixteen, but it sure made my dad laugh back when I was younger.

So that's how it came about, my switching from being a mom's boy to being daddy's helper. From my seventh birthday on I took it upon myself to keep Dad company whenever he sits in his La-Z-Boy. I think mom felt abandoned at first but she said Dad needed me more so she got used to it. It also became my job to make sure that Dad felt needed. I did that by making him my exclusive go-to human for treats. That was clever of me, don't you think?

But my most important job involved that circus trick I told you about in my last blog entry---walking on my back legs. Dad did learn to stand up again and once a day he leans on a metal stick and tries to see if he can walk to the kitchen while my mom follows close behind with the wheelchair. He wobbles and he's very slow but I do my best to encourage him. I stand up straight on my back legs and hop backwards as he steps forward. Now days, I can only go about five or six feet before my arthritis kicks in but Mom and Dad appreciate that I still try to help. I probably shouldn't brag but I once heard Mom tell someone that my Dad's physical therapist got goose bumps when he heard about me helping dad with his homework.

I'm not a certified service dog but I'll bet I could be...if only I could learn how to reprogram the TV remote when Dad drops it on the floor. ©