Friday, June 4, 2010
This post is semi-serious, so please know I won't be offended if you look at the pretty picture and leave. I understand.
When I tell you that Drive is my best friend, it isn't hyperbole or cliche. Plainly stated, there are days I would not get through if I could not bury my fingers in his fur or wrap my arms around his neck. This blog is not about me, but I live with mental illness and that is relevant to Drive. Before him, I didn't truly understand the miracle that is Dog. (That's a secular, science-type miracle, for what it's worth.)
Drive does not, I must tell you, have the necessary temperament to be an "official" service dog. The training would stress him deeply. I did have a trainer tell me recently he might "settle down with age."
So maybe not.
Are you aware that while most people see service dogs as large breed animals who hear and see, there is a whole separate category into which Drive could fall? I mean, if he could learn the commands and since it took me almost a year to teach him to go up some steps, I have my doubts and I won't force it on our relationship. If you're interested, here's a little information on "Emotional Support Animals."
When I say that Drive is my very best friend, I mean that deeply and truly. Over the past five years, through some of the hardest and darkest hours in my life, Drive has helped me live. He's helped me want to.