Memories of Maya

Interrupting this (not so) regular broadcast to bring you a special entry, which has traveled here all the way from Saturday, January 20th, 2007, the first night I spent with Maya. The following is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to my family during Team Training in January, 2007:

Hello to everyone from somewhat sunny Santa Rosa. I'm on my bed typing away on my laptop, and curled up in my lap is my little Canine Companions pre-match. She fits in here perfectly, breathing contentedly with one furry ear draped over my jeans, her head burrowed into the bed. Every once in a while, she re-adjusts herself and settles in again with a loud sigh.   

She is a two-year-old yellow Labrador Retriever, compact and extremely small at perhaps 50 lbs. Her coat is a light, light shade of blonde - a far cry from the dark-haired Golden Retrievers I've loved in past years - and her silky ears are just a slightly darker shade of gold. She has a couple of subtle bands of golden hair across her shoulders, round golden whorls at her elbows, and her tail looks like a short blonde paintbrush with the endpoint tipped in golden paint. Again, I emphasize the "small and compact" part because she comes up just to my knees. This little girl thumps her thick tail loudly inside her kennel while greeting approaching people, and strolls calmly through the world at a slow, confident pace. 

She has a band of gold hair running across her muzzle, just inches beneath her eyes, as though she's been wearing a Gentle Leader for awhile. But that little band is in fact the overlapping of two light ridges of golden hair growing against each other like converging tectonic plates. The result is an intermingling ridge of darker golden hair. Surprisingly, her nose is somewhat pink in color... related to the weather or living in the kennels? She has gorgeous teeth, and I intend to keep them that way.  

We had some more bonding time today, including a stroll through the big fenced-in dog park, a few tries around the agility course on campus, a teeth-brushing and grooming session, and now this curling-up time. We also fit in several hours of sound-work practice in the Gittinger Hall Hearing Dog "apartment" suite, set up with kitchen, bed, bathroom, and living room to look just like a real apartment. This way we can familiarize the dogs with something resembling our home environment while extending their sound-alerting skills into a new place. Little girl did excellently, a hearing dog who combines high self-motivation, intelligence and problem-solving ability with an extremely chilled-out demeanor and unflappable personality. Far more often you'll find one or the other, an energetic and excitable dog who does sound alerts well but tends toward higher energy, or a chill and low-key dog who may lack sufficient motivation to initiate and follow-through with soundwork. Add to this her compact size (perfect for public transit and apartment living), totally laid-back personality and easygoing nature (great for long DOWN-STAYS under my desk), and sweet disposition, which makes for great cuddling. Welcome, Little Girl.

It's humbling to read these words from seven years ago, when I had little inkling of how much I would come to love sweet, soulful Maya. Remembering her invokes her presence, and fills and surrounds me with feelings of warmth and safety.

Now I think of little Karma, and her smiling face, the spirited way she watched over me during our time together.

While gazing down at the dog with whom I've been snuggling this evening, I feel relaxed and at peace. With a paw on my foot and heavy head resting on my leg, I experience New Dog as steady and grounded.

A few nights before flying out to California to begin this Team Training, I was at my computer working on this blog and sending emails. In the corner of my mind's eye I "saw" Maya's tail happily wagging, as if she was standing there behind my computer, waiting for me to acknowledge her. It reminded me how much I longed to love and work with a dog once again, how vital that connection was and remains. Somewhere at that moment, I felt with conviction, "Maya" was wagging her tail, and she was happy for me.