A Touch of Malory

Guide Dog Chronicles: A Touch of Malory
by Kate Chamberlin
“Mom, can I bring Malory home for Thanksgiving?” my college son, Paul, asked several years ago.
“Sure,” I said calmly trying not to let my excitement show.
Maybe he’d found Ms Right? What does she like to eat? I’d better get new sheets for the guest room and other such thoughts rushed into my mind.
Malory turned out to be quite short and stocky with brown hair so dark, it looked black. She had a really bad attitude and was quite the bitch.
The vet pegged her to be a mix of Doberman through the head and legs, Shepherd or Black Lab through the torso and Husky in her hind-quarters.
The hyper-active little dog came ramming through the front door with our son and immediately piddled on the floor when my husband, Dave, bent down to pet her. She jumped and yapped so persistently at my gentle, Golden Retriever guide dog’s face that Future Grace growled and snapped at her to shut her up.
Malory whined and barked through dinner, bit Dave’s shoe and parked on the living room rug. I kept telling myself to remain calm. I didn’t have to be in control. Malory was Paul’s dog and his responsibility to clean, feed and care for.
Behind closed doors, Dave and I agreed it was a good thing that dog was only visiting. She’d never last long living with us.
Malory spent her formative years growing up in Paul’s car and college fraternity house. While Paul was on the road driving 18-wheelers cross-country for Schneider, Malory was welcome at the Frat House, but as the fraternity brothers were graduated and Schneider’s policy is to have no pets in the cabs, Malory began spending more and more time in a vet’ s kennel. Malory had no home.
Well, you know that saying about “never say never”? We agreed to a two week trial of her living with us. If she got along with my guide dog and our elderly cat, we’d keep her for a few months until Paul could get 100,000 “Malory miles” to qualify to lease-to-own his own cab. Malory could then live and ride with him in the truck.
Malory came to live with us on July 21, 1997. At the age of three, she was no longer a yapping little dog. But she was still hyper-active. She followed my husband every where when he was home and paced from room to room when he was gone. She wouldn’t stay still long enough for a hug or even to be petted. There was no such thing as brushing or bathing her.
The first morning Dave had to go to work, he took her up to our bedroom after breakfast and put her on ‘tie down’ (a length of leash attached to the bed leg), just like we do if we were going to leave my guide dog. He left and Malory started a hue and cry of pure anger and frustration.
Within five short minutes, she had managed to scratch, rip and mutilate the bed spread, blanket, two sheets, bed pad and the eyelet bed ruffle.
When she repeated this behavior the next morning, I decided that if we were going to live copesthetically, her Frat House behavior would have to be extinguished. I would have to become the alpha dog. The only way I could do that was to keep her on a leash with me the whole time.
Future Grace was trained to be on my left and, fortunately, Malory had a penchant to being on my right or ahead by a leash length.
I had to laugh at some of the situations this training method got me into. She would race up the stairs while Future stopped at the foot to let me ascend safely. More than a couple of times, I found my right arm would be fully extended up the stairs, my body almost laying on the steps with my left arm extended backward holding Future’ s leash.
Going down the stairs was especially dangerous with both girls on leash! She never caught on to “stop at the top of the stairs” but in time, she did pause long enough before charging down the stairs to give Future and me enough time to safely descend the stairs.
After Malory had been with us for four months, Future was diagnosed with lymphosarcoma and expected to live only two months.
During the first month of Future’ s retirement at home, Malory taught her lots of dastardly doggie deeds. When the doorbell rang, they’d both bark, but, Future would come sit next to me while Malory charged toward the door to defend the realm. They’d clean out the cat’s cookies every chance they got and scavenged the kitchen floor. Both girls enjoyed the freedom of roaming around the house without a leash on. Definitely not things found in the GEB Russ Post Book of Guide Dog Etiquette, but they had become good friends.
When I’d call “Girls, out”, Malory would race to the door and wait for Future and me to get there. I felt each back and tail go out the door. Occasionally, I’d feel the back and tail of an exiting cat, too.
After giving them time to piddle and park, I’d call them back in. Future usually responded quickly to my call, but Malory would linger.
One snowy day Malory showed up at my call but not Future. I sent Malory back out with the admonishment “find Future”. Within a few minutes, they came jostling in together.
When Future’s joints became too painful and stiff to move easily, Malory would bring a bone to Future and flip it within her reach. Malory then got a bone for herself and they would happily chomp away together.
One time, I knelt beside Future and Malory came to sit on my right. She looked at Future laying with her head on her crossed paws and slowly slid down with her paws out. She looked at Future again and put her head down, too. Malory was learning patience from Future.
Malory also became friends with Milo, our daughter’s black and white kitten. They had a couple of spirited chases, but it was usually Milo who started it! There were times when Malory didn’t move a whisker while Milo sniffed her face or played with her tail.
Malory treated our elderly cat, B&W with deferential respect. I was amazed (and thankful) that these four “strangers” got along so well.
Malory provided a touch of companionship that only another dog could give to Future Grace during her last days.
Malory seemed to take on a calmness and responsibility as Future’s strength waned. Malory would be the one I felt when I absently put my hand down by my side. It was Malory who popped up when I got out of my chair. If I picked up her leash, she’d walk slowly to the stairs and stop.
The morning after Future Grace died, Malory methodically checked each room as if looking for her friend. Not finding Future, she came and laid down on my feet. From time to time she’d poke my leg with her nose as if to say; It’s okay. We’ll get through this together.
She brings me back to life. When she wants to go out, she picks up her leash and puts it in my hand. When she wants to play, she won’t take no for an answer and will continually put a prickly nyla bone in my lap until I pay attention to her.
When its close to Dave’s time to come home, Malory paces back and forth from where I am to the kitchen door.
She brings new meaning to ‘jump for joy’ when He comes in the door.
In the evening, if she thinks we’ve been watching TV too long, she’ll start flipping her tennis ball between us on the couch until we laugh and throw it for her. She is really quick at retrieving it, even if its hidden.
I know the day will come when Malory will return to her rightful place with Paul to ride shotgun. They’ll stop in from time to time for a visit and I hope she’ll become friends with my new guide dog.
Until then, as I brush Malory Grace’s luxurious, dark brown fur, gently hug her strong neck and plant a quick kiss on her soft nose, I’m thankful for this brief touch of Malory.
(versions of this essay have appeared in “Good Dog! Magazine, Wayne County STAR Newspaper, and Wayne County MAIL Newspaper. Copyright © 1997, 2010 by Kate Chamberlin. All rights reserved.