Comet's Tale by Steven Wolf Page B

of sound from any other source. It was the memory of kennel doors banging in the wind while she lay abandoned at the Tucson track. Yet Comet was not demoralized or mistrustful. Her gleeful willingness to enjoy her new life was a revelation.
    J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan , once observed: “The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he hoped to make it.” Consider me humbled.
    IT WAS TIME to cut the excuses and get moving. I needed help more than a few times a week, and with more than just grocery shopping. A service animal was the only option anyone had suggested, so that was the one I went for. If it meant I had to accept a label I detested— disabled —then I would do it. Eight silent days had passed since Freddie and I had spoken, and I had a strong suspicion that the next time we talked, I’d better have something new to say.
    The only thing I knew about the Americans with Disabilities Act were those parts that dealt with penalties for discriminating against disabled employees. I had no clue about the provisions that applied to dogs that helped people. In fact, the only “service” dogs I was aware of served as guides for the blind. Those dogs were always Labradors, golden retrievers, or German shepherds.
    A little research revealed that in 1990 the ADA had greatly expanded both the category of people needing assistance and, potentially, the type of animal who might provide the help. Disability now encompassed any “mental or physical condition which substantially limits a major life activity.” And service animals were not limited to dogs or any particular breed but were now defined as animals who were “individually trained to do work or perform tasks for the benefit of a person with a disability.” Dogs who retrieved objects from the floor, pulled wheelchairs, turned on light switches, provided balance, or alerted to seizures and other medical conditions were included, as long as the help was directly related to a disability. Medical facilities, restaurants, grocery stores, hotels, and all other businesses open to the public were required to allow service animals to accompany their “disabled” handlers.
    This meant that if I had such an animal, I would be allowed to take him or her with me to all those places, and even onto airplanes. The idea was tempting. It would be nice to have a helper to hold the door open for me while I used my canes. It might hurt less to get out of a chair if there were an assistant to pull me up. And it was awfully embarrassing when a spasm hit in public and I ended up sprawled on the floor or sidewalk. A service dog could provide support when a spasm threw me off balance.
    But a greyhound as a service dog? I had never seen or heard of such a thing. There were good reasons why those other breeds were the dogs of choice. They were big and strong enough to pull a wheelchair but not so large that they couldn’t lie next to a restaurant table or on the floor of public transportation. They were smart and had an intense desire to please, which made them easy to train. Most important, they were raised as pets, which meant that they were already socialized and well mannered when they entered the training program.
    A rescued racer, in contrast, would seem to be a terrible choice. The typical greyhound spends most of the day resting, which certainly raises a flag about endurance. Greyhounds have little or no desire to please by fetching—it’s not an attribute of the breed—and their fragile teeth make the task even more disagreeable. Then there is the potential for getting your arm yanked from its socket if a greyhound spots a cat down the block and decides to give chase.
    Yet Comet exhibited all the behavior I had witnessed in exceptional working dogs. She was curious and confident; friendly but properly