eyes light up with playfulness. He jumps up again, giving me another wet kiss.
‘Cass, you don’t know where his tongue’s been,’ Mum points out, before receiving a stern look from Stuart.
‘Ticket! That’s such a great name and you’re so handsome.’ I take his face into my hands and kiss him back. I wish I’d brought a bigger bag. Then I could have taken him home. Surely no one would notice one puppy missing?
Stuart stands back. ‘It’s love at first sight. He makes
your
tail wag, doesn’t he, Cass?’ I feel a warm glow inside me, but that’s quickly destroyed when the trainer takes Ticket away.
‘The next stage is trying to match him with the right partner.’
‘You mean someone else could get him?’ I blurt out.
Stuart looks at me. ‘Well, yes, Cass. But you could apply?’
As we leave Stuart hands me an information pack, along with an application form. ‘Don’t give Ticket to anyone else,’ I plead into his ear. ‘Please keep him for me.’
And I swear from the corner of my eye I see Mum winking at him.
*
Mum and I don’t talk about the dogs on the way home but I devour the information pack the moment we get back. I learn that the main role of the puppy parent is to train and socialise their dog by taking them out as much as possible from the age of two to fourteen months. They’ll go to places that an assistant dog is likely to find itself in, like busy streets, supermarkets, the hospital or workplaces – and they have to try and do this as if they were disabled, so the puppy parent would use the disabled access in a bank or the wide aisle in Tesco’s. A puppy is taught to problem solve, which is considered one of the most crucial qualities for an assistant dog.
After leaving the puppy parents, the dogs are brought to Canine Partners to complete their advanced training, which takes a further four to six months. Thanks to generous sponsorship, the dogs are free.
The form asks for information about me: my work, my home life and my disability. If I want a dog, my doctor must provide Canine Partners with my medical records.
The last line is in bold.
Please tell us why you would like a Canine Partner and how you consider you would benefit. This is a very important part of the application and we would like to hear it in your own words.
I return to the beginning, filling in my name and address. I tick boxes; circle answers. I find myself running out of space and having to write on the back of the sheet too.
‘What are you doing?’ Mum asks as I finish the last question. She’s surprised to find me sitting more or less in the dark without the television on. ‘You can’t see a thing in here.’ She turns on the light by the sitting room sofa.
I stop writing, black ink smudged across my finger. I can’t quite work out whether today was a set-up or not. Surely a dog is the last thing she’d want in the house?
I hand her the application form.
My heart races as I watch her turn over the page to read my last answer. She looks at me, and then back at the form. ‘Because I want a bond,’ she reads out. ‘I want to care about something again.’
‘I really want one,’ I say. ‘I want Ticket.’ Still Mum doesn’t say a word. ‘What do you think?’
‘Cass, if it makes you happy you can fill the whole house with dogs.’ She smiles as she wipes an eye. ‘You don’t know how happy it makes me feel that you’ve even asked.’
I thought I knew Mum, but as she leaves the room I realise I’d barely touched the surface.
9
It’s early evening and I should be packing. I leave tomorrow to go on the Canine Partner Residential Training Course, which is held at the training centre in Heyshott, West Sussex. Since visiting Canine Partners three months ago, an occupational therapist, or one of the purple people as Mum and I call them, visited to see if any adaptations needed to be made to the house. I have also completed three assessment days. These days give the trainers a chance to
‘Cass, you don’t know where his tongue’s been,’ Mum points out, before receiving a stern look from Stuart.
‘Ticket! That’s such a great name and you’re so handsome.’ I take his face into my hands and kiss him back. I wish I’d brought a bigger bag. Then I could have taken him home. Surely no one would notice one puppy missing?
Stuart stands back. ‘It’s love at first sight. He makes
your
tail wag, doesn’t he, Cass?’ I feel a warm glow inside me, but that’s quickly destroyed when the trainer takes Ticket away.
‘The next stage is trying to match him with the right partner.’
‘You mean someone else could get him?’ I blurt out.
Stuart looks at me. ‘Well, yes, Cass. But you could apply?’
As we leave Stuart hands me an information pack, along with an application form. ‘Don’t give Ticket to anyone else,’ I plead into his ear. ‘Please keep him for me.’
And I swear from the corner of my eye I see Mum winking at him.
*
Mum and I don’t talk about the dogs on the way home but I devour the information pack the moment we get back. I learn that the main role of the puppy parent is to train and socialise their dog by taking them out as much as possible from the age of two to fourteen months. They’ll go to places that an assistant dog is likely to find itself in, like busy streets, supermarkets, the hospital or workplaces – and they have to try and do this as if they were disabled, so the puppy parent would use the disabled access in a bank or the wide aisle in Tesco’s. A puppy is taught to problem solve, which is considered one of the most crucial qualities for an assistant dog.
After leaving the puppy parents, the dogs are brought to Canine Partners to complete their advanced training, which takes a further four to six months. Thanks to generous sponsorship, the dogs are free.
The form asks for information about me: my work, my home life and my disability. If I want a dog, my doctor must provide Canine Partners with my medical records.
The last line is in bold.
Please tell us why you would like a Canine Partner and how you consider you would benefit. This is a very important part of the application and we would like to hear it in your own words.
I return to the beginning, filling in my name and address. I tick boxes; circle answers. I find myself running out of space and having to write on the back of the sheet too.
‘What are you doing?’ Mum asks as I finish the last question. She’s surprised to find me sitting more or less in the dark without the television on. ‘You can’t see a thing in here.’ She turns on the light by the sitting room sofa.
I stop writing, black ink smudged across my finger. I can’t quite work out whether today was a set-up or not. Surely a dog is the last thing she’d want in the house?
I hand her the application form.
My heart races as I watch her turn over the page to read my last answer. She looks at me, and then back at the form. ‘Because I want a bond,’ she reads out. ‘I want to care about something again.’
‘I really want one,’ I say. ‘I want Ticket.’ Still Mum doesn’t say a word. ‘What do you think?’
‘Cass, if it makes you happy you can fill the whole house with dogs.’ She smiles as she wipes an eye. ‘You don’t know how happy it makes me feel that you’ve even asked.’
I thought I knew Mum, but as she leaves the room I realise I’d barely touched the surface.
9
It’s early evening and I should be packing. I leave tomorrow to go on the Canine Partner Residential Training Course, which is held at the training centre in Heyshott, West Sussex. Since visiting Canine Partners three months ago, an occupational therapist, or one of the purple people as Mum and I call them, visited to see if any adaptations needed to be made to the house. I have also completed three assessment days. These days give the trainers a chance to
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