A Service Dog Team
A Service Dog Team
The Fall
One moment, I was walking through life as I’d always known it. Next, my world shifted forever. I slipped on an unseen patch of liquid, something I never could have anticipated, and in that instant, I lost more than my balance. I lost the ability to be functionally independent.
It wasn’t just walking that became difficult. Every step, slope, and uneven surface felt like a risk. Transitioning from sitting to standing could throw me off balance. Getting in or out of a car was exhausting. Driving took energy I didn’t have. Even moving through a crowded room was enough to make me turn back.
The loss was invisible to most people, but I felt it every moment. What I needed wasn’t just physical therapy or willpower; I needed a partner who could bridge the gap between my abilities and the world’s barriers.
Meeting My SD
That partner came with four legs, a big smile, and the kind of eyes that don’t just look at you, they see you. His name is my SD.
When my SD first came into my life, I wasn’t sure if I could match his pace or if he would slow down to match mine. But over time, something remarkable happened: we began walking in rhythm, like a dance. I learned to release my leg and let him propel it forward with each step. Without him, I can’t walk outdoors on my own. With him, I feel like I’ve been given a miracle.
We take it one day at a time, errands without a gentle lead, relying only on my body language and voice. Evening walks to see holiday lights. Rainy days, finding activities we both enjoy. He celebrates with me like the day my daughter graduated, and SD “graduated” alongside her.
Everyday Adventures
Everywhere we go, people notice him. They see his big smile and how well-behaved he is. Some moments still make me laugh, like beating him to a French fry on the floor (Anna, I’m still waiting for my “good job”), or when my mom didn’t want to take a picture until my SD lifted his paw toward her as if to say, You better take a photo with this handsome dog.
My SD has been my plus-one to so many places, including Pilates, where I was once told he couldn’t join because of allergies. By the end of class, that same instructor was calling him her new friend. To the ER, where I had to advocate for him to stay with me. That was the first time he saw me go completely quiet from pain, and his steady presence grounded me. To physical therapy, where he senses my struggle before I even speak, walking over to brace or balance me when I need it most.
Before my SD, a short flight of stairs could turn my day upside down. Now, with him bracing for me, I can move from sitting to standing with less fear. Before my SD, walking on a slope meant leaning awkwardly and risking a fall. Now, his steady pace lets me focus on the view instead of the ground. Driving is still a calculated effort, but knowing I’ll have my SD with me when I arrive changes the way I think about leaving home.
More Than a Service Dog
He even helps me in ways I don’t expect, showing my daughter’s stubborn pug how to “deck” on command, posing at the Imaginaruim for a little boy who shouted, “Look, Grandma SD smiles!”, or greeting children at recess who line up along the fence to call out, “Hi SD!”
Managing pain is part of my reality, and SD knows before I do when it’s creeping in. Before my foot injections, he rests his head on me. When my energy dips, he leans in close. On hard days, he is my right leg, my stability, my safety net.
This journey hasn’t been just about me learning to work with my SD; it’s been about the people who made this partnership possible. Janie’s first phone call. Pam’s encouragement to believe I could handle this now. The board members and volunteers who prepared him for me. Anna’s strategies for navigating public interactions with confidence, even teaching me my “elevator speech” for when people ask to pet him: “Normally, I would say yes, but today I’m really leaning on him and need him to stay focused.”
It gives people a way to demonstrate empathy and see not just my SD’s purpose, but mine.
Breaking Down Barriers
If my SD could talk, he’d probably say, She hugs too tight and kisses in the face. And he’d be right. I’ve lost much, but I will not lose my voice. Saying “My SD is my right leg and my stability” is my way of being seen.
That unseen hazard that changed my life could happen to anyone. And without barrier-free pathways, accessible environments, and tools like my SD, people like me are left behind. Steps, steep slopes, uneven surfaces, narrow doorways, inaccessible transportation, these are not just inconveniences. They’re walls.
Because of my Service Dog, I’ve found ways to climb over those walls. But the real goal is to build a world where those walls don’t exist in the first place.
And I promise in some way, my SD and I will pay this forward. Because the gift of movement, of joy, of partnership, is something worth sharing. And together, we’ll keep working to create a world where no unseen barrier can take away someone’s independence again.