By My Side by Alice Peterson Page A

his trainer, a woman, in a wheelchair. I notice the trainers are mostly young women and they are all dressed in purple T-shirts with jeans.
    Stuart tells us the puppies in this room are anything from fourteen to nineteen months old. ‘If we’re lucky we get our pups from as young as seven or eight weeks. The beauty of starting their training early is they learn quickly. They’re like sponges, wanting to absorb everything.’
    I watch in fascination as a chocolate Labrador tugs gently at one of the trainer’s gloves. ‘Clever boy!’ she says, when he has it in his mouth. Proudly he drops it on to her lap and then waits for a treat, wagging his tail. Another Labrador is in one corner of the room by a washing machine, touching the door handle and being rewarded by his or her trainer with chopped carrots.
    ‘It’s important to reward them all the time,’ Stuart says. ‘Our dogs aren’t robots or slaves. They won’t do anything unless they want to, but matched with the right person there’s
nothing
they won’t do. It’s unconditional love.’ Mum and I watch one of the puppies closest to us looking at a small white pedal bin. ‘What kind of dog is that?’ Mum asks.
    ‘A Goldipoo.’
    ‘A whatiepoo?’
    ‘Goldipoo. A cross between a poodle and a retriever. Poodles are extremely intelligent,’ he whispers, as if letting us in on a top secret again.
    The trainer has this clicking device that she seems to use only when the puppy is doing the right thing. She stops clicking when he tries to open the lid of the bin with his teeth. The puppy rolls over, wants to be tickled, yelps in frustration when he doesn’t get any attention. I get the feeling he’s been trying to solve this pedal-bin problem for some time. He sits up again, cocks his head to one side. He lifts his paw, close to the pedal now, and is rewarded with a treat and more clicking and praise. He lifts his paw and presses down on the pedal and the lid swings open to a round of applause.
    ‘Wow! Isn’t that incredible, Mum!’
    ‘I wish I could train your father like that.’
    ‘Our dogs can learn to do the most amazing things,’ Stuart claims. ‘They can help dress and undress, operate a pedestrian crossing or a lift button, carry out a range of emergency response procedures … but they do so much more than that,’ he says, looking directly at me. ‘I tell you, Cass, when I see applicants for the first time they’re pale, often overweight and frankly depressed. There’s something dead in their eyes.’ He narrows his own. ‘Once they’ve bonded with a dog – this might sound rather simplistic, but it’s like they’ve been given a second chance.’
    I hear a whine, and notice a puppy in the middle of the room, attached by his lead to a small hook in the wall. Perhaps he’s bored waiting for his go at the washing machine or pedal bin? He has a bright red collar and when I wave at him, he wags his tail and attempts to move, only to realise he can’t get very far. ‘One sec,’ Stuart says, leaping off his seat to sort him out. ‘Ticket! Settle! It’s your turn very soon. There we are, good boy.’ Stuart returns to Mum and me. ‘He’s a live wire, that one. Sixteen months and full of mischief.’ Ticket’s a Labrador, his coat the colour of honeycomb.
    Ticket continues to whine and bark. ‘You’re going to have to forgive me. He’s clearly got something to say to you, Cassandra.’
    ‘To me?’
    He walks over to Ticket’s mat, releases the lead from the hook, and next thing I know, Ticket bounds over to me, jumping up against my legs. I laugh, a wave of pure joy. Stuart apologises for the disruption, but one of the trainers looks over at us, curious.
    ‘Ticket, I’d like you to meet Cass.’ Stuart introduces us as if we are about to go on a blind date.
    I reach to stroke and tickle him under his chin. ‘Hello, Ticket! Aren’t you lovely, yes you are, yes you are.’ His ears are velvety soft, his coat so smooth, and his