It’s an emotional time for me, with unforgettable memories coming to the surface.

Most of my funnier memories with a guide dog were a little harrowing in the moment but, looking back, they’re proof of dogs’ (and humans’) resourcefulness and improv skills while trying to look like everything’s fine.

For example, going in the out door and out the in; which reminds me of the day I walked boldly into the men’s room. I realized it when the gentleman next to me at the sinks handed me paper towels and said, “Here you go, ma’am.”

Oops! I blushed profusely.

He was super nice about it, though. I mean seriously, a toilet is a toilet.

Cooper and I have stepped onto the wrong train and hopped off buses at the wrong stop — once during a rainstorm, which ended abruptly when we eventually reached our destination on foot.

One incident I’ll love remembering happened on Tuesday, three days before Cooper’s last day of service.

I’ll back up a bit for context.

Cooper is good at finding elevators, including the ⬆️⬇️ buttons, which he’ll point to with his nose, and I’ll press. There are guide dogs out there who will press the buttons for their human, but I still have a small amount of sight, and I only need him to find and point them out.

So, on Tuesday, we were trekking through the hospital for yet another (hopefully the last) of my husband’s brain surgeries, and I asked Cooper to find the elevators.

During these operations, we have a lot of time on our hands (and paws), and we spend it in coffee shops, grassy areas outside, and various lounges. But this particular hospital is a literal maze, and no matter how many times I visit, there are routes I can’t seem to commit to memory.

Cooper is better at remembering, but it’s still up to me to tell him where we’re going. For example, I’ll say the lefts and rights, and “let’s go for food” (which he always understands, after all, he’s a lab. Cafeterias are easy to track down.)

But back to finding the elevator.

I said, “Cooper, let’s find the elevator,” and within a few steps he took a left, and there they were — a small bank of elevators.

We both looked for the ⬆️⬇️ buttons but came up with nothing, which was weird since they’re always in pretty much the same place.

Then Cooper, the magnetic boy that he is, drawing people to him, particularly if we look lost, attracted a lady in uniform. She rushed over and said, “They’re right over here,” and touched a panel that lit up with gigantic buttons. Even I couldn’t miss them once I’d found the panel.

Then she said, “These are the freight elevators, but you and your dog are welcome to use them.”

“Oh wow, thanks,” I said, and we hopped in. The lady also stepped in, asked where I was headed, and took us directly there. How perfectly courteous of her, I thought, and thanked her.

I appreciated the freight elevator pass, but wasn’t able to find that elevator bank again. Ah well, we’d travel with everyone else. We were in no rush that day.

That Tuesday, Cooper got extra treats for his service, including all the chicken from my lunchtime chicken wrap.

Fortunately, I carried extra tissues in my pocket, and blamed my tears on getting dust in my eyes; it was a windy fall day with leaves flying everywhere, so I doubt anyone noticed.

Dear Cooper had an eventful, busy last work day, and once his harness has been retired, he’ll have big shoes to fill. In human sizes, they’ll be about a men’s size 12, possibly a custom size, something unique and slightly heart-shaped.

He’s done so very much for me, all of it selflessly, with no complaining, and he deserves to put up his feet now and chill.

People ask me why I don’t let him keep working, but it’s not about letting him; it’s about recognizing that he’s weary, yet still slides willingly into work mode when I need him to.

It’s time now to let him retire, go fishing, and do the things that make his lab heart happy.

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Also published on Medium: Guide Dog Cooper’s Last Day of Work

How many ways does it suck to be blind?

While I still have enough sight to see my little grandson’s face, I don’t have enough for a whole list of other things. Like walking to the mailbox, driving, or jogging alone, but one of the biggest inconveniences is not being able to read books.

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But you’re writing this article, Pat! What do you mean you can’t read books?

I’ll describe it like this: look at the texting screen on your phone, at the same distance from your face as you would hold a book.

When I’m typing a text message, what I see is the little keyboard; I don’t see the top half of the screen. When I proofread my text, I don’t see the little keyboard. Everything outside of that 2–3 inches of space is simply not there.

If I’m reading a book larger than the size of my iPhone, by the time I reach the end of a line, jumping to the beginning of the next line is a bit of a pain, unless I move a small ruler down the page as I read.

This is where audiobooks come in handy.

They are a gift for people with my eye condition¹. Don’t get me wrong, I do miss reading paper books and being able to flip back to earlier pages quickly if I’ve forgotten a character, location, or some such thing.

I can still go back to earlier sections with an audiobook, too, but I usually trust the author will remind me of who’s who. Otherwise, I have to rewind, try to find whatever it was I had forgotten, and then return to where I left off before I started searching.

Now, imagine the frustration while reading a series. Being three books into a series, as I am now, and forgetting something from an earlier book is even more exasperating.

So, that’s when the idea struck me: I should be making notes.

I had a stack of notebooks waiting to be used. All I had to do was divide a notebook into sections: one for the characters and their relationships, another for settings and locations, and one for plot twists and quotes.

I changed my mind. Why?

I would forget where I'd written things in my blank notebook; I’d fizzle out with making notes, and end up no further ahead than when I just trusted authors to remind readers of who’s who.

In the midst of all of this, an even better idea struck me.

I’ll make a notebook myself.

The possibilities of what I could include in my book were endless. And with a table of contents and a book list at the beginning, I would never get lost in an audiobook again. Or a paper book, when I remember my ruler.

Fast forward to today

What’s in my notebook?

A table of contents and a book list so that I can use the notebook for multiple books, 52 to be exact.

I included spaces for a synopsis, a star rating, date published, character notes, and storylines. I added pages for a top 10 list, reading goals, a TBR list, a wishlist, and plans for next year.

Besides being useful while I’m reading my book, these notes will jog my memory later, when I’m writing a book review or need a reminder of what I've read this year.

I created this notebook purely out of necessity, or more accurately, desperation.

I still have a stack of new notebooks, but I’m a bit of a stationery store fanatic with an addiction to notebooks. My little grandson shuffles through them for stickers, but soon he may pick up a fountain pen and write to keep cursive alive. Sorry, another subject completely.

The bottom line

I love my new notebook. It was a labour of love and desperation, and though it will work well for audiobook lovers, it will also be a nice companion for paper book lovers.

I called it the Reader’s Companion Notebook, and I’m happy to have published it on Amazon. I hope it will be found and appreciated by anyone who, like me, wants to keep track of characters, places, and things we might miss, without having to rely on the author for reminders.

¹ RP Retinitis Pigmentosa is a condition of the retina where the peripheral gradually becomes smaller, leading to a very small circle of central vision, and in some cases, leading to total blindness.

Link on Amazon

Also published in the DIY Diaries on Medium in June 2025

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And that’s where I, Cooper, loyal guide dog and companion to Patricia, will clear up confusion that may exist about the life of dogs.

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So, I’ll get straight to it, starting with a lab’s favourite subject, food.

About training treats

Humans believe dogs only pay attention when there‘s a treat involved, but that’s where humans are wrong. The truth is, we do things more eagerly when there are treats.

Calories are our friends.

Which brings me to my next point.

Dog food

You’ve probably noticed the tiny charts and recommendations on dog food bags, with the instructions in extremely small print.

All of these, understandably, lead to confusion, not to mention stress over the never-ending search for reading glasses.

Again, I’m here to help.

Where it says 3 cups for large dogs, they mean 3 cups per meal, not per day, I’m pretty sure anyway. Better to err on the side of more, right?

And dog food varieties

A note to dog food makers everywhere: we need a few new flavours.

Sure, salmon and rice will do in a pinch, mainly the salmon. But chicken/vegetable medley sounds more like canned cat food than a meal for a hard-working lab, even an unemployed lab.

The mighty Timberwolf would surely have gone extinct, having to exist on medleys, quite honestly.

My recommendations:

Bacon is the number one ingredient in all dog food, with beef as a mandatory second. Add some eggs, with meatloaf on the side, including gravy, and you’ve got a proper medley right there.

I drool just thinking about it.

On the topic of drool

To avoid the danger of slipping on it, keep paper towels handy.

The thing about drool is that it happens when labs notice the fragrant spaghetti and meatballs, BLTs — minus the lettuce and tomatoes, and deep-dish anything.

I can try to hold off giving the puppy dog eyes, which is also known as begging, but I can’t promise I won’t drool.

On off-leash dog park etiquette

Humans should avoid interfering with dog behaviours such as cavorting and chasing.

I hear the humans talking amongst themselves as though they know what dogs are thinking but allow me to clarify.

This is what dogs are thinking at the park:

Woohoo! Freedom. We play, sniff things, greet other dogs, then chase them, all while showing off our speed and agility.

The exception is when a Border Collie or a greyhound shows up. They’ll run circles around the rest of us, so we resort to sniffing around and looking like we didn’t want to run with them anyway.

They’ll tire out soon enough, and once they’re sitting in the shade, we’ll appear speedy and agile once again. I know, I’m a dreamer — I’ve never seen a border collie relaxing in the shade.

On the subject of looking like you don’t care:

About cats

I have two cat housemates, Buddy and Zoey.

When I’m aloof, they need to know what’s up, and they follow me around; they even let me share the bed at night.

You see, they believe it’s their bed, Patricia thinks it’s hers, and even Mr Dale is certain he owns one side of it.

But the truth is, it’s my bed, I just let them all think it’s theirs. Remember, look like you don’t care, and you’ll hold the world in your paw 🐾

And one more bonus piece of advice:

About stress

Take life seriously, the way dogs take life seriously – we don’t, with the exception of helping and adoring our humans.

We go out of our way to keep you happy, safe and out of trouble, and, of course, well informed.

Yours truly,
Cooper
(aka: spokes-dog for canines everywhere)

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Also posted on Medium: Cooper clears up confusion on dog food, off-leash parks and drool

My name is Cooper, and I’ve been a guide dog since 2018, which means I’ve had time to practice my communicating-with-humans skills.

So, set aside your tendencies to clown around for a few minutes and pay attention. I’m about to give you free advice on getting your favourite things at random times with very little effort.

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First, how to get extra playtime

Dogs start practicing their cuteness skills when they are puppies; you’ve probably noticed that puppies have an easy time getting things.

You can still be cute when you’re an old dog; the secret is eye contact.

Here’s what I do to score extra playtime. I place my chin on Patricia’s knee. If I wait until she’s involved in a book or TV, I could miss my chance, so I get her when she’s just sat down.

If she doesn’t respond, I press down with my chin.

Here you’ll find that humans ask the dumbest questions, like, What do you want, Cooper? as though they expect me to say something.

I gaze into her eyes until she asks if I want to play. Do you want to play? she asks. That’s it! I wag my tail and lick her face, then run and get a toy, and we play.

Remember, maintaining eye contact is key, and press down if necessary.

My backup plan

I have a Plan B: the heavy sigh.

Start practicing this as a pup by exhaling slowly while flopping down to the floor. The larger you get, the better the heavy sigh will sound — it gets her almost every time.

Getting an extra walk

Pat and I have our daily walk around the lake in the morning, but if I want another walk in the evening, I carry the leash to her. That way, there’s no guesswork on her part, and chances are, I’ll get a second walk.

How to become an opportunist

Another skill to learn at an early age is how to be an opportunist; it can be helpful in a pinch. Let me explain.

I have two cat housemates, Buddy and Zoey, and when they’re hungry, Zoey is noisy about it.

I picked up this skill from Buddy, who lets Zoey do the heavy lifting while he waits near his dish. When Zoey has complained for a minute or two, Pat will put food into her dish to shut her up. She never forgets Buddy.

I wait till she’s placed the food container back in the cupboard, and then — there I am, sitting right there looking handsome.

Without fail, she’ll say, I didn’t forget you, Cooper, and give me some miniature dog biscuits. I love those things!

The key is being right there, ready to make her feel guilty about giving food to the cats, and because you’re not noisy about it, you’ll get extra.

How do I know I actually get extra? Because she says, Here’s a couple extra for not being noisy about it.

How to cleverly score an additional meal

This skill comes in handy at the mall, and I know where the food courts are in every mall.

How could I possibly know, you might ask?

We dogs pride ourselves on our keen sense of smell.

When we’re at the mall, my default, if Pat doesn’t say go left or go right, is toward the food court.

If she shows no sign of walking in that direction, I’ll walk slowly past the popcorn kiosk or the chocolate shops. It’s not that I want popcorn or chocolate, but once she gets the smell of delicious things in her nose, it doesn’t take long, and she’ll say, Cooper, let’s get some lunch. Success!

How to obtain tummy rubs and scratches

This one’s easy.

Just lie upside down in the middle of the floor or the grass and act like a puppy. Apparently, the bigger you are, the funnier it is, and you’ll always get the tummy rubs and ear scratches that give us joyous chills.

Masterfully snagging free treats

When we’re out, on our way somewhere, Pat always has treats in her pocket.

She uses them to take my attention off distractions, like other dogs or a cat crossing our path.

The thing about it is this: I may or may not be interested in the other dog or cat, but if I look in their direction longingly, she’s ready with a treat.

So all I do is look, and voila! There it is, practically zero effort.

How to sleep on your human’s bed

This one is important if you’re in Canada; our winters get to minus-ridiculous temps, I kid you not.

You’ve got to look like a foot warmer.

To do this, I make sure the throw blanket Pat keeps on the end of the bed is nowhere to be found. I pull it down and drag it to another room.

When she says, Where’s that throw blanket? That’s my cue to jump onto the bed, landing squarely on her feet. It works every time.

That’s all I’ve got for now, but I’ll get back to you with more. So, bookmark me and follow Pat; that should work!

Yours truly,

Cooper

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Also published on Medium: How to Score Free Stuff by Guide Dog Cooper

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My guide dog Cooper has spent a lot of time in hospitals – he’s not sick.

What he’s doing is keeping me independent so I may be close to my loved ones when they need to be in the hospital.

I’m grateful, more than I can describe, that with a guide dog I can navigate from A to B with minimal stress.

But if you’ve read Cooper’s stories, you already know that.

The dog and I could not do this quite as smoothly without the kindness of strangers.

For example, if we’re alone in an elevator, after Cooper has led us inside and turned so we’re once again facing the door, I’m in the position to press our floor button.

When I’m too slow at it, the elevator starts moving and I’m at the mercy of the next person, on some other floor, who has hailed it.

But never have I stepped into an elevator with people in it, that they haven’t asked me which floor I need.

Cooper will point with his nose at the panel, but he’s not great with numbers yet.

So, yesterday Cooper and I stepped on the elevator in the hospital, on our way to floor 11.

A lady pressed it for me– she also knew that floor 11 is the brain unit, and she mentioned that once I stepped off, I should turn right, then right again, and I’d be at the unit desk.

This was helpful because there are elevators on both sides of the main lobby, and I get turned around every time.

It’s not uncommon for Cooper to walk us into an office or storage closet, you see, I’m the GPS and I am supposed to know where to go when we step off.

The upside to that is, someone always shows up real quick to help with directions.

Anyway, that only happens when it’s our first visit to our loved one’s bedside. For subsequent visits, he always gets it right– he trusts his nose.

While spending time at bedsides, we inevitably need washroom and cafeteria breaks.

Cooper takes us to his favourite grassy areas outside and knows each of the washrooms that I frequent.

The thing he’s not clear on is the little men’s/women’s figures, which are always placed somewhere different, and again, it’s not unusual for us to end up in the men’s.

If there’s already a fellow standing quietly facing a wall, I usually notice and back out real quick, but if the room is empty, well, a toilet is a toilet.

During one such time, after washing my hands, a gentleman handed me some paper towels. That was the moment I realized I was in the men’s. He was super nice about it.

About cafeterias, these are easy for Cooper to locate, being a lab, he’s brilliant at scoping out food.

In the mall, his default destination is the food court if I don’t speak up, and the same applies to hospitals.

If you’re wondering what could possibly go wrong regarding cafeterias, let me explain.

Our first time at this particular hospital, he walked us into the staff cafeteria, which is next to the people’s cafeteria. I suspect the food is better. But like with offices and storage closets, someone appeared by our side out of nowhere to direct us to our cafeteria.

So, my purpose in writing this, besides that I love talking about Cooper, and am spending a lot of time waiting while my loved one sleeps and recovers, is this: I want to say thank you to the many kind strangers out there who have given me directions, described locations, pressed elevator floors, and often gone out of their way to escort us.

I love being as independent as possible while losing my sight, and I seriously could not do it quite as smoothly without you.

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Originally published on Medium: Guide Dogs at Hospitals and Kind Strangers

Dear Diary,

Last Wednesday, Patricia and I went to the mall. I love that place and I’ll tell you why. They have a food court, and I can pretty much count on ending up in it. I’ll get my own dish of chicken just for being a handsome boy.

Pat doesn’t usually take too long to get to the food court, unless… it’s a big unless, she gets distracted.

The worst distractions are the clothing stores. You know the ones — they have a lot of clothing and not much else.

That’s when I have to do some quick thinking.

I’ll start with a hint that it’s time for a snack and walk us past the popcorn stand extra slowly. She won’t stop for popcorn, it always gets her complaining that she forgot her dental floss. But she’ll get that buttery caramel smell in her nose and she won’t last too long after that.

So, on that particular shopping trip last Wednesday, she said we’d make one quick stop. She was looking for the perfect skirt.

Well, dear diary, I’m not one to complain, but I thought she said one quick stop.

In the first store, she didn’t buy a skirt. Why? She said the salesladies were twigs. What do twigs have to do with skirts?

I looked at her with a questioning look on my face, and she said, Think about it, Cooper, would you trust a skinny chef? Um, honestly, yes! Any chef, they cook food so of course I would trust them.

In the next store, she didn’t buy anything either. Why? You’re not going to believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. The men’s pants were all the length of flood pants. I noticed they were also form-fitting, but she didn’t say anything about that.

I don’t get it. I mean, we’re in Canada and humans only get a few months of decent short-pants weather. But no one asked me.

The third store was just right. It seemed that the ladies were not twigs, and I didn’t see any flood pants, so I hoped for the best.

All the salespeople were super helpful and smiled a lot. Pat says it’s because people love dogs, 🐕‍🦺 and dogs give people good vibes.

So, I’m handsome and give people good vibes, now I get why she gives me a dish of chicken at the food court.

Anyway, that store had the best saleslady ever. After showing us to the changing rooms, she insisted that I lie on a soft piece of carpet and she’d take over helping Pat find the perfect skirt. That’s good since I didn’t learn a thing about skirts in training. Curbs, doors, elevators, sure, but skirts were never mentioned.

What a sweet deal! I just lay there resting. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I always keep one eye open. If I don’t, she’s bound to get distracted, yes, it’s possible even inside the store.

Pat seemed pretty happy trying on skirts, aside from complaining about not spending enough time on the treadmill, which I don’t get. Give me longer walks, and don’t bother with a treadmill! But again, no one asked me.

So, here’s the weirdest thing that happened that day: the saleslady and Pat figured out their six degrees of separation by the time she’d tried on her third skirt.

I’m not joking, and I can’t make this stuff up. It happens in washrooms too! After Pat took her new skirt to the counter, and they discussed emails and upcoming deals, we searched for a washroom.

I’d been laying under the towel dispenser waiting, minding my own business, and within two short minutes, she and the lady at the next sink had compared lip gloss brands, the store where Pat found the nicest cross-body messenger bag, including a discussion about the stitching and if it comes out, just take the bag to the store and they’ll fix it for no charge…. and… the life expectancy of the bag.

I’m thinking, it’s just a bag!

She reads my mind, I kid you not — she glanced over at me and said, “It’s not just a bag.”

I shook my head and my floppy ears at this sink-discussion.

Guess how much time dogs spend communicating while we’re taking a wizz? We don’t communicate at all! Nothing of the sort happens while doing any form of our business.

We check that it’s an appropriate spot to go, and if another dog has used the same spot, all the better. The last one to pee on it owns it. And we avoid eye contact at all costs.

Anyway, we had a food court to get to, so I was out from under that towel dispenser and on my feet real quick. I walked like I was on a mission, which I was.

When we got to the food court, it was like dog heaven. Pat got me my own chicken dish from her favorite Greek place, which always gives her a mountain of rice. That meant I also got rice with my chicken.

Maybe one day I’ll understand why it’s important that Pat figures out her 6 degrees, and how excellent messenger bags can possibly be, or maybe I won’t.

But in the meantime, as long as I keep her out of trouble, keep looking handsome, and give people good vibes, chances are pretty good I’ll get to walk us to the food court.

Love Cooper.

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Originally published on Medium, June 2023 A Guide Dog’s Opinion on Food Courts and Washrooms at the Mall

Cooper, my guide dog, and I stepped into Starbucks yesterday morning and stood centred in front of the counter. I glanced to the left and noticed a young man standing a foot or so back from us.

I asked, “Did I just cut in front of the line?”

He said, “No, not at all, but you should step over there for quicker service.”

What was going through my head was, where does he mean ‘over there’? It could be right, maybe left. Seeing I’m centred, however, he probably means the opposite direction from the entrance.

But what I said was, “Thanks very much.”

I walked to the end of the counter and waited for someone to ask for my order, assuming I was next; I wasn’t completely certain, but there was no obvious lineup.

Eventually, a young lady called out, “Can I take your order?”

I stepped toward the voice, and in about a second or two, I saw her. Thank goodness she’s actually speaking to me, I thought.

I ordered, “I’d like a regular coffee with cream, a bottle of water (for Cooper), and a breakfast sandwich, please.”

She asked, “What kind of sandwich?”

And I said, “Any kind will be fine.”

But she said, “Just take a look at the sandwiches, we have a nice selection.”

So, I said, “Ok, where are the sandwiches?”

And she said, “They’re over there.”

I felt like I was rolling my eyes at ‘over there’ but hoped I wasn’t; she didn’t deserve an eye-roll from me.

Where could she mean — I definitely don’t see any sandwiches? I thought.

She must have noticed that Cooper was a guide dog at the same moment I noticed she was waving in a direction to her right, ok, my left, and I took a few steps to the left — there were no sandwiches to be found.

I looked back at her and said, “I don’t see the sandwiches.”

And she said, “They’re on a chart.”

Of course, I thought, Why would a coffee shop have a selection of ready-made sandwiches at eight in the morning?

But what I said was, “Ok great, I’ll have the first one at the top.”

Picking the first one, I assumed would be straightforward, a popular choice, the one they wanted to sell most, and I wasn't fussy.

She said, “Okay! What kind is it?”

I said, “I’m not sure, but whatever it is will be fine.”

She ran over to me, standing by the chart, and asked, “This one?” pointing to something.

Thinking the odds were high that she was pointing at the first one, I said, ‘Yes! That one looks great.”

“That’s the double bacon cheddar,” she confirmed, and I confirmed, too, that we were on the right track.

She put in the order and while I was paying, she said, “We don’t have bottled water, so I’ll just give you a cup of water with a lid.”

I thought, one hand to hold Cooper’s harness, one for the coffee and sandwich. I can drop the sandwich into my bag where I’d have also dropped the bottled water, but since it’s a cup with a lid, I’ll have to figure something out.

And I said, “Ok, thanks!”

I draped Cooper's leash over my wrist at the same time as the lady was saying, “I didn’t add cream, but it’s right over there.”

Oh my sweet mother of…, over there? Again? She must mean by the exit, where it was last summer, and why would they move it? I thought.

So Cooper walked next to me, real close, so he could nudge me in the right direction. He’s such a perceptive dog, sensing I was running out of niceness, and he knew where we were headed anyway; the cream counter is my usual next stop at every coffee shop we’ve ever entered.

But alas, the dog and I assumed wrong; the cream was not by the exit. Instead, there was a normal table with chairs on which I set my things and waited for the lady to call me up for my double bacon cheddar breakfast sandwich.

I also decided — today is the day I start drinking my coffee black.

There would be, from that point forward, one less step in the process of ordering coffee at Starbucks in the mornings.

Eventually, she called me up, handed me the sandwich, and Cooper, with his leash still draped over my wrist, eased us toward the exit. Thank God, a kind stranger held the door for us.

With the sandwich in my purse, my coffee in one hand and Cooper’s water in the other, we zeroed in on the perfect little round sidewalk table in the shade.

Believe it or not, it was already warm at 8 in the morning, or I was overheating, it didn’t matter anymore — we got seated with no calamities, and I braced myself for a strong, bitter sip of black coffee.

Now, normally, black coffee makes me wince, but the caffeine would be welcomed this morning.

To my great surprise and joy, the coffee was excellent, possibly the nicest cup of coffee I’ve ever had.

Maybe it was the relief of getting past all the ‘over there’s?

Or maybe it was the beautiful spring morning? The sunshine? Fresh air? A faithful sidekick?

Once we arrived at the building, and I won’t go into the details of how half of the neighbourhood was under construction, and Cooper made some clever on-the-spot decisions about getting us to work in a more roundabout way, I breathed a sigh of great relief.

I settled into a comfortable chair with Cooper next to me and prepared to watch the 2025 CNIB Guide Dog Graduation ceremony.

Now, you’ll never guess what I noticed as I glanced around toward the back of the room.

They had coffee all set up with every kind of additive I could have wanted, along with a beautiful buffet of breakfast sandwiches.

I could not make this stuff up! It was only 9:25 AM, but I was sure the rest of the day was going to be good; I could feel it.

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If you enjoy them and would like to support my work, please subscribe or buy me a coffee—either way, your support means the world to me!

Originally published on Medium, May 2025: The Day I Started Drinking Coffee Black

Last week on our walk, the dog and I greeted a regal German Shepherd, one miniature fluff-ball dog, two joggers, and six Canada Geese.

We kept our distance from the geese; they are home, and they brought an attitude with them. You know the one — they literally strut like travellers who’ve been to where the grass is greener.

But now, back home, they’re choosing a lake or pond where they will re-settle and raise the babies.

Canada Geese come back to ponds and lakes they had previously called home. I know this because 1) I googled it, and 2) some of the geese we see on walks are indifferent toward us, I assume they recognize us.

Cooper, a Labrador Retriever, whose ancestors were bred to retrieve things, like fish and geese, isn’t interested in chasing them.

If Cooper and I are on their path, the Canada geese honk at us and stand their ground. But we are predictable, and the geese who recognize us know we won’t do anything. We wait for them to cross to the other side, the side of the path closest to the lake– we will not tempt fate.

Cooper has a 15-foot lead, which gives him plenty of length to zigzag off the path and sniff to his heart’s desire. If he had a second job, it would be some kind of tracker or border-crossing guard dog, maybe an airport security dog.

He pauses to sniff everything, takes leaks on anything taller than grass, and I’m usually amazed that he has fluid reserves to pee as many times as he does.

I listen to music or books through my earbuds to pass the time, and when I have a good book going, Cooper gets longer walks. For example, a few weeks ago, I finished two books in as many weeks: Worst Case Scenario and Drowning, by T. J. Newman, both books are about airline disasters, and while listening, we circled the lake a couple of times. They are excellent books that I’d recommend, but do not read them first if you’re planning a flight somewhere.

Back to the Canada Geese with attitude.

Six large geese strutted slowly across our path that morning like they owned it. When we stopped, they stopped. They stared at us, staring back at them, which is weird since they’re not facing us while looking at us.

Their eyes are on the sides of their heads, which is typical of prey animals, and this makes them seem like they’re looking away, uncaring. But they care.

There was about 10 feet of path between the dog and me, and the geese, and when we took a few steps, they also took a few, all the while watching. The boss-goose honked, not loudly but loud enough for us to understand the warning, and hung back from the others, one eye on us and one on them.

The plump females they were protecting will have babies trailing behind in a few weeks, and the big dad-geese will bring up the rear, watching and making a fuss when humans are close.

Now you may be thinking, why didn’t we keep walking our normal pace? Surely the geese would steer clear of a large Labrador retriever. And you’d be right if the lab was any other retriever than Cooper.

He has no idea his ancestors originated in Labrador, Canada and were bred to bring fish and the far ends of nets to their human fishermen companions. And being the polite dog that he is, gives the Canada geese the right of way.

It was quiet that morning at the lake, while we had our staring contest with six geese. The one thought racing through my head was, I don’t think I could outrun the geese, and the geese must have sensed Cooper was not aggressive… my heart was pounding in my ears — the males were enormous up close.

No one moved or blinked for at least a minute, which felt much longer. Like a Mexican standoff — everyone waited; who would make the first move?

The geese made the first move and took a few steps toward their lake.

But two seconds after taking their steps, Cooper sneezed, I jumped, and six goose heads snapped to attention. One of them lifted its enormous wings.

Well, this was just great. I thought.

They’re gigantic with those wings spread, and we’ve seen how aggressive they can be, especially when the babies are following.

The dog and I stepped back a few steps, cautiously, then slowly turned toward the opposite direction, giving the geese a wide perimeter.

The big guy brought his wings back in to his body, and they all kept walking.

It’s been a week since the standoff, and the geese are used to us now. The mothers are growing plumper by the day, and soon we’ll see families of Canada geese on our lake.

The following families are from last summer and earlier.

I love the above photo; the goslings are adorable. The parents hustle them down the slope, and they fall over each other, tumbling into the lake, then they glide across the water like little pro swimmers.

They’ll get to know us this summer and will probably be back in 2026–honking warnings at first, then we’ll keep enjoying watching them raise the next generation.

Story also published on Medium at: One Lab and Six Canada Geese

Dear Diary,

It started like any other morning at the off-leash dog park.

Dogs were playing in groups; some dogs chased each other, and two Border Collies chased balls thrown using a launcher. When those two Collies show up at the park, everyone stops what they were doing to watch them run. It’s impressive; I can’t run half that fast in my dreams, never mind at the park.

So, we arrived at the park early: Pat, Mr. Dale, my dog pal aka mother-figure, Lucy, and me. I say mother-figure because she’s protective of me when we’re at the park, even though she’s half my size.

Anyway, another dog and his human stepped through the gate, or I should say, the dog dashed through the gate, and the human sauntered, carrying an orange frisbee.

That looks like an interesting toy, I thought.

Within minutes, the orange frisbee was in motion, and it sailed past me a few times. Eventually, it landed within walking distance, and I thought, I’ll take a closer look, so I headed over to look at it.

In an attempt to be sociable, I picked up the orange frisbee; I’m nice that way. But frisbee-dog snarled and got all possessive about his toy.

Chill buddy, I thought. I wasn’t planning on keeping it.

But frisbee-dog, let’s call him George, was not chilling.

He kept snarling and barking, and just when it looked like he was about to lunge at me, the ever-protective Lucy dashed over and jumped between George and me.

Aww, sweet Lucy, I said to myself.

But she was not acting sweet at that moment. She was furious, like, You want to snarl and lunge at Cooper? I think not! You’re going through me first, Grrr.

Suddenly, all dogs jumped to attention, and every human face within a hundred feet spun around to check out this tense moment at the dog park.

It was a stand-off.

Exactly like a slow-motion film.

No one moved. Every ball dropped and rolled to a stop. Even the Border Collies screeched to a halt, and every eye was focused on Lucy, George, and me.

Oh no! Now what? I asked myself.

Lucy’s growl had that low-pitched tone, you know the one, the threatening tone that most dogs save for times just like this.

George had second thoughts about lunging at me and took a few cautious steps back, away from this little protective black lab wearing a pink collar.

It’s true; she wore a pink collar that made her look so sweet at first glance. But do not tangle with Lucy when she’s standing up for me.

You might remember me bragging about being 90 pounds of solid muscle and brute strength. Realistically, I could have wrestled George to the ground with one paw behind my back, but Lucy had faced off against George with one growl.

Way to go, Lucy!

Things started settling down at the dog park, and George went on his way without even a backward glance.

Mr. Dale and George’s human continued their conversation, comparing wisdom about dog behaviors, and someone started handing out bacon-flavored treats.

The orange frisbee lay on the grass, completely forgotten.

The crowd dispersed, Border Collies begged humans to pick up and resume launching their balls, and things returned to normal at the dog park.

Love, Cooper

Posted originally on Medium and updated slightly today: Standoff at the dog park

But what does the blind person do in an emergency? And how do they depend on the dog? Does the guide dog even know what’s happening?

Today was guide dog Cooper’s and my fifth visit to the Emergency Room in the space of six months.

Three trips to the ER were for my husband’s brain tumour, which recurred after being removed initially in 2021, and two were for my mom, who had a fall due to a stroke that resulted in her death in November.

On Thanksgiving Day 🇨🇦 October 14, my husband and mom were in two emergency rooms in two separate hospitals.

I was torn about not being with my mother, and I didn’t know then that she’d be taken in again a month later, and from that trip she wasn’t coming back.

In addition to the ERs, I’d need to find my way to their rooms for their stays in the hospital.

To say the last six months have been difficult is putting it mildly.

Waiting through surgery

Today, Cooper, my guide dog, and I are waiting for my husband’s skull replacement surgery, which should, if all goes well, be the last in a series of tumour-related surgeries.

The surgeon is installing a piece of bone-like material the size of a grapefruit to replace the piece of his skull that has been missing since October. His brain was protected only by the soft layers, including the dura mater surrounding the brain, and the scalp.

Our scalp is surprisingly durable, and my husband’s scalp was stitched closed after his brain surgery in October. Why was the skull not replaced immediately after surgery?

A small piece of the tumour removed in October was left alone as the risk of losing the use of his right arm was too great. Therefore, he was scheduled to undergo radiation treatments to hopefully prevent the small remaining piece from growing.

His stitched scalp provided satisfactory protection during the months that he was undergoing radiation, and he wore a skull protector made to fit in a ball cap during that time.

So, today, after six months of waiting, his skull is being closed.

The stitches will result in an impressive scar he’s already proud of.

His original scar from the surgery in 2021 is slightly visible. The surgeon did a remarkable, or I should say, artistic job of what could have been a more prominent scar. He will now have a scar with a scar.

Though the last six months have been difficult, if I’d had to do the hospital trips alone, well, I cannot picture doing them alone.

How a guide dog helps in the hospital

So, how did Cooper help in the ERs and related hospital visits?

In his 7th year of service, Cooper was a star 🌟at getting me to and around the building, and not only was he an excellent guide, but having him nearby was calming.

This is what happens:

When an individual with a guide dog (or a white cane) enters a hospital, they are generally provided with an escort/hospital staff member.

The escort explains the directions to me while walking, but Cooper also pays attention.

He learned the routes from the building entrance to the ER bed of our loved one, and later, to their room in the ward.

Having the dog guiding me from A to B saves me from needing an escort every time I go in; Cooper remembers the way.

From the patient’s room, the dog and I would find our way to the nearest waiting rooms, restrooms, elevators, cafeterias, and dog-relieving areas outside.

How does the dog remember?

It’s amazing to watch him commit to memory the maze of hallways and elevators. The majority, I believe, is by smell, for example, the cafeteria is a piece of cake for most dogs to find. Even if I don’t say, ‘Cooper, let’s find the food’ the cafe (or the exit) will be his default.

He also knows the smell of his people and their belongings. Once we’d reached their floor, within a proximity, he’d pick up the pace, he always found them.

In an alternate life, Cooper would have made a great detector dog at airports or customs.

With Cooper, I was comfortable trekking around the hospitals, and when we’d take a wrong turn, it did happen, there was never a shortage of hospital staff or visitors willing to give us directions.

People sometimes took a detour from where they were headed to help us find a way; Cooper has a magnetic effect on people.

Getting home

When my husband was in, my kids would drive me on days they were also visiting, but if not, I’d get a taxi or Uber.

I took independence for granted

It was not long ago that I had the freedom and privilege of grabbing my car keys and going basically anywhere; my biggest challenge was finding decent parking.

I never considered what it would be like to wait for an escort and memorize routes as they were described to me. But even if I had imagined losing my independence, I doubt I could have visualized trusting a dog!

While I waited today for my husband to make it through this last surgery, I looked at my loyal dog and felt incredibly grateful that he exists.

My gratitude extends to schools, training instructors, and volunteers who raise and train men’s and women’s best friend, the dog, to assist individuals who need them.

After seven years of service, Cooper will retire later this year and leave some big shoes to fill.

To answer the question, ‘Does the dog know what’s happening?’

Dogs may not know what’s happening exactly, but Cooper knows when I’m distressed, and he’ll try to comfort me. Also, being trained as he is, he’ll wait for instructions on what to do.

He is also perceptive about family. When we walked with my husband after his surgeries, Cooper was excited to see him and seemed to sense that wheeling him around on a stretcher wasn’t normal, but he was undoubtedly happy to see him.

About normal life

I’ve wondered when we’ll get back to normal, but when I think over the events of the last six months, and three years, there is not a lot that would surprise me any more, nor is there much that I don’t think I’d be able to summon the strength to tackle.

But I won’t tempt fate by thinking about it too much. I’ll just say I’m grateful to have gotten to where we are today in one piece, with sanity intact — or at least I hope it is.

Posted also on Medium, March 2025

Related story: Trust a dog? It’s hard enough to trust my best friend

Cooper admits he’s slowing down toward his retirement. Don’t ask me how he knows; dogs just know.

Unlike humans, bragging about being as fit as we were at 30, and don’t need alarms to get up before dawn, which is less impressive in winter when sunrise is after 8 AM, dogs do not feel peer pressure to be up early.

Anyway, Cooper doesn’t feel guilty about dragging his big self to his water dish while stretching and yawning. If he wore boxers, they’d be lopsided.

These days he is chilling, worrying less and contemplating more.

For example:

About Company

He unapologetically rolls his eyes at the mention of guests, which means he’d have to play and look thrilled about it. It’s not that he’s not playful—I will explain.

This photo shows Cooper with his younger dog pal, Solo.

Solo is has the energy of a two-year-old, which in human years is about 14. So, no matter how you look at it, two-year-olds (human or dog) and 14-year-olds (humans) are tough to keep up with when you’d rather relax!

And about shopping

Cooper is a guide dog. While in work mode, he shortcuts the process by heading toward the checkout line after every second aisle. The one exception is in Pet Valu, where he walks slowly but speeds up when we’re nearing the dog baths.

And he spends a lot of time charming (sucking up to) the lady at the cash register who offers samples of new dog snacks.

About the cold

We have been in a deep freeze that’s lasted much too long, even for Alberta.

The backyard is still covered in snow, and our trek to Cooper’s spot to do his business became packed and icy. I’d slide a lot, and it was miserable.

Oh, and while scooping up 💩 and delivering it to the bin, he’d wait impatiently at the door to race back inside, where he’s on his bed before I’ve hung up my jacket. In less extreme cold, he loves rolling in the snow.

When he naps, the cats also nap, and I sit down to write.

Which brings me to my main topic:

Sifting through pictures

Looking at photos (during our weeks of extreme cold) for a suitable one to feature on a story, I discovered a few I want to share—I think you might also like them.

So, here we go with a few of my favorite picks from Cooper’s pics:

⬆️ Cooper in the morning, trying to persuade me to put down my phone and get ready for our walk. During the cold spell, our walks were short and exercise consisted mainly of playing in the snow for a few minutes and racing back to the door.

⬆️ This is his look of resignation. It was taken in December 2024, and he’s exhausted from guests. If you know Cooper, you know guests only thrill him for 10 minutes.

⬆️ Cooper wonders why a dog the size of his head keeps looking at him.

⬆️ This is Cooper with his ‘mother-figure’ Lucy. She crossed the bridge a few years ago, and next to Cooper, she was the best dog. She appears in Cooper’s book and in the story Standoff at the Dog Park.

⬆️ This is Cooper with his actual mother. He doesn’t resemble her, except that they are both labs. Also, she is much smaller, maybe 60 lbs, compared with Cooper’s 90-ish lbs.

You may be wondering why he’s so unusually large for a lab —he has a Bernese Mountain Dog in his family history.

⬆️ This one makes me just plain happy. We are at my desk at CNIB; he is likely trying to tell me it’s lunchtime.

Cooper and I were part of the Ambassador program with CNIB, visiting schools to help raise awareness for vision loss and guide dogs. The schools often asked for someone with a guide dog to talk with the kids—Cooper was always a star, and the kids asked the best questions. They have been great story topics, some are here on Substack.

⬆️ This was in the fall of 2019. We were in Edmonton, where Cooper represented his school for upholding guide dog standards.

An official from the International Guide Dog Federation (IGDF) followed us for about an hour, judging whether I met the standards for guide dog handlers and whether Cooper followed my instructions.

The IGDF sets out these standards to ensure universal commands and handling practices. For example, if I moved to the UK, I would easily transition to a British guide dog.

Hopefully the dog would understand my Canadian accent, eh?

We passed with flying colours, and I was so proud of him that day. Now, remembering it gets me a bit choked up.

About the ebook

Dear Diary Love Cooper: Adventures of One Cool Guide Dog is available on Kindle, and I’m now working on the paperback version. I wish I had completed the paperback first, since adding pictures and aligning everything has become a longer process than I imagined.

Self-publishing in general, is a lot of lessons on what not to do, but it’s also undoubtedly, a process that’s good to know.

I’m taking a few hours away from the book to catch up on writing, connect with my Substack community, and say thanks!

An enormous thank you!

I have crossed the 100-subscriber milestone.

Thank you to everyone who has followed and subscribed to my and Cooper’s stories. I couldn’t be more grateful!

Originally posted on Medium in the middle of winter, and updated for posting here.

Dear friends,

If questions like, Where does your guide dog sleep? or, Do you take your guide dog to the dentist? keep you up at night, I’m here to help.

Don’t worry. I don’t think your questions sound stupid. Perplexing, maybe, but not stupid.

This is the second most perplexing question a passerby has asked Patricia about me (the dog).

Is that a dog?

I was standing next to Patricia in a convenient place to be picked up — we were waiting for an Uber.

The car arrived; it was some kind of sedan, and I knew there would be enough room for me. Pat could squeeze herself in next to the door, I thought.

The driver slowed down, rolled his window down, leaned out and asked, “Is that a dog?”

In that split second between brain and mouth, I knew Pat made the decision not to say, No, this is my 90-pound cat. Instead, she said, “Yes, he’s my guide dog,”

The driver said, “No dogs!” and drove off.

A second car arrived, and the driver looked at us, but didn’t stop to confirm whether I was actually a dog, he just said, No dogs!

The third driver loved dogs, but told us that even if he didn’t, drivers must not deny guide dogs to ride with their humans.

We eventually got to where we were going.

The next question is the best one ever — I could not make these things up:

Does he know any tricks?

Well, aside from identifying doors, door handles, elevator buttons, curbs, stairways, train stations, bus stops, cashier’s counter at the coffee shop, cream counters in coffee shops, trash cans, benches, and chairs? No.

Does your guide dog bite?

What do you think? I’m a dog; of course, I bite! Bacon, dog snacks, milk bones, and most forms of food, including dog food, but usually not people.

I may or may not bite someone who directly threatens my people, but it’s generally frowned upon.

You guys who know me, already know I’m 90 pounds worth of solid muscle and buns of steel. Therefore, I could, hypothetically, wrestle a person to the ground and restrain them until they calmed down, but most folks don’t want to end up under my large self. And, when you sit down and think about it, have you seen my sweet face?

Honourable mention as far as perplexing questions go:

Seriously, who let the dogs out?

I get asked this a lot, and I think it’s because of the second line of the song Who Let the Dogs Out?

They really want to know, I mean, the entire second line is: Who, who, who-who?

Side note: I once thought they were singing Woof, woof, woof-woof. And that would be what they were saying if dogs sang it, but I digress. So, back to the question.

This is one of those great mysteries of the music world. We do know the answer to this question, of course we do. But dogs live by a strict code of silence, and on this particular subject, we’re not talking.

Love, Cooper

P. S. I almost forgot. Where do I sleep? I'll sleep on my comfortable dog bed if I’m not sleeping on Patricia’s feet. And, Does Pat take me to the dentist? No, I usually take her.

Originally posted on Feb 20, on Medium and edited for posting today: Does Your Guide Dog Know any Tricks?

Dear Diary, Love Cooper: Adventures of One Cool Guide Dog

Dear Diary, Love Cooper is available on Amazon and Kindle. If you have KU (Kindle Unlimited), you can read it for free on Kindle; if not, it’s free for 90 days or 9.99 to purchase and read on the Kindle app.

I hope to have the paperback copy published in March. I probably should have done the paperback first and removed the images for the eBook. But because I did it the opposite of the common sense way, I now need to plan and format the pictures. But it’s an experience for Book 2, Cooper’s sequel (that wasn’t meant to be a shameless promotion, seriously!).

Short blurb

“This is the book of guide dog Cooper, and it is unique. How? It’s written as diary entries and, therefore, told from Cooper’s point of view. While reading, you’ll learn what Cooper does for work and fun, both on duty and during his time off. This book tells how guide dogs assist blind people (who aren’t always totally blind) and answers questions like, ‘Why can’t I pet the dog?’ and, ‘How does a guide dog know where to go?’ We are absolutely sure you’ll find Dear Diary, Love Cooper entertaining and enlightening.”

Note of thanks

I appreciate each of my fellow writers I’ve met and gotten to know on Substack, many from Medium. Thank you for following Cooper’s and my stories and for your kind, supportive comments during my short time here on Substack.

Of the different topics I write about, my Cooper stories are the most fun to write, and I hope if you get the book, you’ll enjoy reading them as well.

During training with my guide dog, I was surprised to learn that, with a specific command, the handler gives the dog freedom to decide what to do next.

With this freedom, the dog will figure out the situation and steer the handler and himself back on track.

I thought, ‘That’s too much trust for me to put in a dog.’

It sounded good in theory, but we could skip that part of training; I wouldn’t use it, I decided, and filed the information away.

But as with most things we tell ourselves not to think about, we think about them.

I’m glad I did because less than a week after our instructor let us loose in the community, I needed Cooper to figure a situation out.

Backing up a few weeks, I met and trained with Cooper in February 2018, one of our heaviest snowfall months in Alberta, Canada.

My first dilemma:

Snow plows vs. pedestrians

Along our route to work, the snow had recently been plowed and pushed up against the curbs, blocking pedestrian crossings in intersections. I’d have to maneuver around 3-foot-tall snowbanks to get back on the sidewalk.

This seemed like a good time to test Cooper’s free-thinking skills, so I told him to find a way.

He chose to walk parallel to the curb along the snowbank until he reached a parked car, then between the car and the snowbank, and back onto the sidewalk.

My trust in the dog increased.

Next dilemma:

Dim lighting vs. a person with night blindness

Another situation that warranted giving the dog freedom to decide happened in spring, a few months later.

Cooper and I visited the science center with a few friends on a Saturday morning to see the new, or more accurately, ancient dinosaur skeleton display, which was temporarily at our center. I know, Saturday morning for a limited-time-only dinosaur appearance; what was I thinking?

Anyway, my friends scoped out the coffee shop while I followed signs to the dinosaur bones exhibit. I didn’t trust myself carrying a coffee near a priceless ancient artifact, and they likely didn’t allow coffee in there anyway.

So, we went our separate ways, and the dog and I found the theatre dedicated to the exhibit.

The room was darker than midnight (to me, anyway), with lights directed at the display only.

Side note about night blindness: For people with normal vision, there was enough light to walk and browse comfortably, but a symptom of my eye condition is night blindness.

I could see the display under its spotlights, but the rest of the room was too dark and I had no choice but to trust the dog.

You might be thinking, ‘Isn’t that precisely why you have a guide dog?’

Yes, it is. But my first year with a guide dog was an exercise in practicing trust. Seriously, it’s difficult enough to depend on my best friend as a guide; a dog meant learning a new level of trust.

Rationally, I knew that Cooper was trained to guide someone who is blind or losing their sight. Yet when he safely does exactly that, I’m always amazed.

Once I’d admired the detailed work that had gone into reconstructing the massive dinosaur skeleton, I turned to leave, but there was nothing but commotion.

I saw small random lights in no perceivable pattern, surrounded by blackness.

With the sounds of voices and strollers, noise and chaos, I felt closed in, and a stitch of anxiety started in the pit of my stomach.

I took a slow breath, counted to, I can’t remember what but counting helps, and concentrated on Cooper’s comforting weight leaning against my leg.

Once again, this seemed like the perfect time to let him figure it out, so I told him to find the way.

Like shifting a car into gear — he was ready for it.

Cooper is in his element with this freedom, so I focused on the dog’s movements, which I can clearly feel via his harness.

He zig-zagged us between obstacles, people, kids, and miscellaneous things I had no idea of, and before I could sweat about it, he led us back into the open, brightly lit surroundings.

But he didn’t stop there. A minute or so later, we arrived in the lobby at the building's entrance.

The dog has night vision, and the handler trusts the dog. Good boy, Cooper!

My trust increased a bit more.

Another dilemma:

Lawn sprinklers vs. pedestrians

Summer provides me with endless chances to have Cooper figure things out.

On one particular weekday morning, after stepping off the bus, we had a four-block walk along the main drag to our destination.

It was early, and sprinklers were soaking the lawns in front of a row of shops, including the sidewalk and the boulevard. Apparently, they were unconcerned about pedestrian traffic.

Cooper will go to great lengths to avoid getting wet, which works for me. He stopped before the section of sidewalk underwater and waited — he knew what I was about to say.

Once again, he got in gear, led us across the dry grass on the boulevard, stopped at the curb until I also detected the curb, checked for traffic, and took us around the wet pavement, then back up to the dry sidewalk.

Way to go, Cooper!

Summertime and sprinklers

The same situation happened on our way to work last summer.

The only difference was, before I said the word, a lady in an SUV pulled over on the far side of the soaked sidewalk and called out to us to follow the sound of her voice.

I told Cooper to follow the lady. The ‘follow’ command signals the dog to pay attention to someone other than me.

I thanked her for directing us around the sprinkler area and felt a bit emotional once we were back on the dry sidewalk.

When people go out of their way to show kindness, my confidence in humanity is restored.

About the ‘follow’ command

You might wonder why a handler would have the dog pay attention to someone else.

When I’m a passenger, and we park in a mall parking lot, for example, there are generally no sidewalks across the lot to the entrance, so I tell Cooper to follow the person I’m walking with.

Once we’re at the walkway near the mall entrance, he’ll put his front paws up on the curb until I’ve detected it and then we’ll locate the entrance.

I also use ‘follow’ in restaurants where the dog will follow the host or hostess to our table.

With a guide dog, I can literally get around most of the obstacles that I encounter in a day.

However, for a person using a white cane, their options are: 1) hear the sprinklers and assume they aren’t watering the sidewalk, or 2) keep walking and find out once they’ve gotten wet to backtrack and use another route. This leads me to the question of accessible communities.

Accessible communities

Rather than citizens vs. public works departments or, individuals with disabilities vs. business owners, it’s in all our best interest to design and operate our communities considering access for everyone.

Snowbanks and industrial-strength sprinklers aimed at sidewalks affect all pedestrians.

Building owners and managers might address the dilemma of dark areas in public buildings to benefit visitors; rows of small lights to outline walkways could work well.

In summary, why I wrote this story

In addition to enjoying telling you about Cooper and his skills, I write about our situations and struggles for two reasons:

First, dogs are brilliant and their capacity to assist humans amazes me.

Second, awareness about sight loss and guide dogs is a subject close to my heart and one in which I have first hand experience.

With my guide dog, I spent five years in the CNIB1 volunteer ambassador program helping raise awareness, speaking with the children in schools and also in businesses. When given the choice, I chose to speak in schools. Why? The children are the ones who will influence accessible communities in the future and this will benefit all of us.

Dear Diary,

My love of bacon is overshadowed only by my amusement at the following series of events.

Let me explain.

A bit ago, let’s say, the fourth to last time we had bacon, Pat got the idea to prepare it in the air fryer.

She claimed it would be quicker and make almost no greasy mess.

I didn’t see how bacon grease would be a problem, but no one asked me.

I sensed something was about to happen, and I had no way of predicting what. But you know that feeling you get when you want to pop a batch of popcorn and kick back on your comfiest cushion and wait? That feeling.

Well, I smelled the wonderfully fragrant bacon reaching its point of doneness while Pat was messing around with some other kitchen thing.

I thought, check the bacon … for the love of all that’s holy and delicious, please check the bacon.

But it wasn’t happening; she was waiting for the timer.

I know this because when she closed the fryer and started pressing buttons, she put on her reading glasses and said, “Let’s double-check the timer.”

Anyway, a few seconds after I had detected the bacon was done, a thin line of smoke appeared, and it was coming from the air fryer.

This didn’t look good, and a minute later, the smoke detector started blaring.

Ouch! I covered my ears with both paws. It’s good that lab ears have flaps to help reduce the noise of smoke alarms.

I rarely see Pat in fast motion, doing four tasks in a row, but I was about to.

First, she unplugged the fryer and opened the kitchen window. Then she made a dash for the spare room to get the oscillating fan, plugged it in and pointed it at the smoke detector. It didn’t help.

Why not get a chair or, better yet, a hammer? I thought.

Instead, she b-lined it to the alarm panel, pressed more buttons, and said a few words I’d only heard in passing at the truck stop.

Next, she grabbed a towel and held it under running water. Don’t ask me why.

Then more words, this time she cursed the sound of a fire truck in the distance and pleaded with whomever might listen, that it wasn’t getting closer.

I could confirm — yes, it was. How? Because my ears are much sharper than human ears.

The alarm finally shut off, and a lady’s voice came from the alarm panel, asking Pat if she was okay. She said, “Yes, I’m good; it’s only bacon.”

The lady said the firemen should be there any minute.

Pat sighed, fine, dashed over to the front room window, and said, “They’re stopping, Cooper, just act natural.”

I shrugged — I’m always acting natural.

Anyway, she hurried down the front stairs, opened the door, and started talking about air fryers.

She had that nervous tone in her voice, you know the one. It makes humans sound suspicious no matter what’s happened, and she seemed a little tongue-tied.

At first, I had no idea why; I mean, they were regular guys; we’ve all seen them. Tall, fit, handsome — as human males go, and wearing uniforms.

Ah, of course, I remembered her weakness for uniforms, which have the same effect every time.

The first fireman explained that they responded to every call, and assured Pat she wasn’t the only one to ruin dinner, too bad about the bacon though.

Pat apologized for taking them away from their work, and they reminded her this was their work, then asked if they could come in and look around.

One of the guys checked the air fryer and looked disappointed to see overdone bacon.

Another one of the guys checked the alarm, and then they stood around talking about air fryers and how Pat wasn’t supposed to feel bad.

It seems bacon has a lower smoking point than other fats. Who would have known? I thought. Well, now we know.

Then Pat asked if they’d like coffee, which was my clue she had regained her composure.

The firemen didn’t want coffee, but they did talk about, a-hem, Yours Truly, and what a handsome lab I was.

I was in good company, Pat agreed. Did she actually say so? They probably hear that a lot.

Then they left.

Pat told me she was glad I wasn’t talkative and that we would keep the entire incident quiet.

Now, you may be thinking, surely Mr. Dale will pick up on something.

But all he said when he got home was, “Guess what guys, I just passed the fire truck on our street, the neighbours must be burning dinner again.”

He’s so awesome letting Pat off the hook like that.

She replied, “Ya, Fran gets weak in the knees over men in uniform.”

Yes, dear diary, her secret is safe with me and apparently with Mr. Dale, too; I caught the wink he gave me.

Love, Cooper

Also, from Cooper’s diary On Children Weilding Garden Hoses

Originally published on Medium in July 2024.

It’s going to be a good year! What could possibly make this year better than last for me, the dog?

I will explain.

I’ll hang up my service dog hat sometime in the coming year.

That will give me time to practice my typing skills so that my ghostwriter, Patricia, won’t need to screen, edit, or override my opinions.

So, I’ll get straight to my opinions:

On dog food

For example, about the amounts of food for dogs, labs in particular.

I believe labs will need more than the recommended amount of food on the packaging.

We all know manufacturers are conservative with their recommended amounts, don’t we?

On exercise

About off-leash dog park etiquette: humans should avoid interfering in dogs’ roughhousing.

There’s an area for troublemakers at the dog park, and I’m pretty sure it’s meant for dog owners to relax, drink coffee, and brag amongst themselves about their expertise in dog behaviours while we play.

But I digress.

Back to me giving good advice:

On resolutions

First, don’t make them. Why?

They’re a waste of time and energy. Wait, on second thought, here’s one: resolve not to make any resolutions.

On storytelling

You, yes, you, have at least one unique story to tell every day. If all you do is drag yourself to your water dish or, I should say, coffee machine, you’re doing great. That’s when things will start happening.

And remember, if people tell you that you sound like an AI, tell them you’ve got one better — AI sounds like you!

And on the subject of exclamation marks, go ahead and use them.

If we weren’t supposed to use exclamation marks, there would be a blank space over the #1 on that exact key. I’m betting I made you look at your keyboard!

On using unnecessary words

Don’t worry much about using just and very.

How else will you describe that you just meant to look at the steak on the countertop?

And it was very important that once it fell to the floor, you saved the humans from ingesting germs that would have stuck to it.

That’s why you ate it. Also, it was very delicious.

On stress

Take life seriously the way dogs take life seriously. We don’t.

Unless it’s important, as in meetings. Arrive a few minutes early for meetings to get the seat closest to the door; why?

You may need to make a break for it.

Why might you need to make a break other than to do your business?

You may see a beautiful female walking by. (I’m guessing Patricia will have edited my reference to a certain dog gender.) I told you I’d need to ditch the ghostwriter next year.

I'm thinking for a second — is it still a ghostwriter if you guys know who it is?

But I’ll get back to the topic of advice.

On where to sleep

Sleep on the humans’ bed.

They’ll probably try to tell you there’s no room for all the pets on the bed, and if you are on the bed, the cats think they have to be on the bed.

Take it from me. The cats are on the bed when they decide, not if I’m up there or if the humans claim they had no choice.

What I’m saying is, keep trying.

They’ll eventually grow weary of the nightly routine and either opt for a larger bed or just tolerate it.

Either way, you pretty much have to sleep with them if you live in Canada, where our winters are very inexcusably chilly.

On being helpful

I’ve found that helping with dishes by offering to pre-wash the plates just before they go into the dishwasher gets me extra calories, which are very enjoyable.

Another helpful thing I do is sit next to things that fall onto the floor.

The humans assume I’m alerting them to prevent them from losing the item, and they’ll give me a treat for good behaviour.

Note: the exception is when a steak falls to the floor. There’s no treat to top that. Just eat it.

On assertiveness

If you’re like me, you find company exhausting.

Here’s what you do:

At 8:00 PM, start yawning and turn off the lights. If they don’t get the hint, walk to your bed and pretend to be asleep; that’s if you’re a dog.

It would work if you’re a human, too. Just tell them to let themselves out and lock the door behind them.

You’ll be very glad you’ve decided to be assertive.

Finally, to my dear readers, I wish you a safe and pleasant New Year, and thank you for reading my stories in 2024!

Love, Cooper (and Patricia)

Originally posted on Medium as Cooper’s Sensible Advice for the New Year

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in the Timmermans house,
all creatures were sleeping ’cept me and the mouse.

The stockings were tied to the railings, so neat
since one fireplace mishap, we’d not want to repeat.

The cats, they were snoring on fluffy cat beds
while visions of catnip danced dreamily in their heads.

Patricia, in her nightshirt, Dale in Christmas socks,
had both settled down — it was past 9 o’clock.

Then up on the shed roof, I heard a great clatter,
I leaped from my dog bed, what could be the matter?

Over to the window, I dashed like a flash,
pulled open the blinds, gently raised up the sash.

The moon on the piles of our fresh fallen snow
cast creepy dark shadows on objects below.

Then, what, to my sleepy dog-eyes did appear?
but a miniature sleigh and eight plastic reindeer.

It looked like the set from the neighbour's front lawn,
but a fat guy was driving, that had to be Ron.

More quickly than snowbirds the fake reindeer flew,
Ron whistled and shouted, their names he all knew.

There was Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Bob,
next to Comet and Cupid, and Ralph, such a slob.

He ate the red apples that had dropped in the eaves,
and spit out the apple cores into the leaves.

From shed-top to housetop they sprang one and all,
on the rooftop they hustled, I hoped they’d not fall!

With a sleigh full of toys and Ron pulling the reins,
he shouted, Hey reindeer, just stop! Then he claimed,

I don’t think I’ll fit down the chimney, Oh no!
It’s not just my butt, all these gifts, they won’t go.

The chimney’s too narrow, my backpack’s too big,
I’ll need some ideas, c’mon guys, let’s all think.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,
an idea I had! I took off with a bound.

To the rooftop, I jumped and dashed straight to the sleigh,
Ron, happy to see me, did urgently say,

I brought a few gifts for the Timmermans folks,
if I don’t leave some catnip they’ll think I’m a hoax.

I have an idea, let me help you, I said,
then Ron’s eyes, they twinkled, his cold cheeks flushed red.

Ron’s smile was drawn up and shaped just like a bow,
the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

Ron had a plump face and a round little belly
that shook when he laughed, reminding me of grape jelly.

I pawed at the pipe that he held in his mouth,
No smoking! I warned him, your health will go south.

We spoke not a word. We got straight down to work.
We sorted the presents, then Ron turned with a jerk,

And laying a finger aside of his head,
and giving a nod, down the rooftop they sled.

He sprang in his sleigh, to his team gave a shout,
and away they all flew, they had toys to give out.

I took just our presents straight into the house,
I made not one squeak, I crept soft as the mouse.

I set out the gifts ’neath the glittering tree,
two Tim Horton’s gift cards for coffees with cream.

The cats got their catnip, they’ll be quite a sight,
the mouse got some cheddar, it’s Christmas tonight!

Hey! What’s that last present down there all alone?
My wish, it was granted, a giant milkbone!

Then I heard Ron exclaim as they flew out of sight,

Merry Christmas, Thanks Cooper!
We’ll all have a good night!

Thank you for reading,
Love Cooper (and Patricia)

I originally published Cooper’s poem on Medium in December 2023 - (the friend link)

Note: Before publishing Cooper’s Version 2.024 of The Night Before Christmas, I checked into rewriting things in the public domain.

This is an acknowledgment of, and credit to, the original poet, whomever he or she might be, and a note of thanks for the classic work, originally published on December 23, 1823.

Interesting information about rewriting poems in the public domain:

Rewriting a public domain poem is essentially creating a new work based on or inspired by the original poem, but that changes some or all of its words, structure, style, tone, or meaning.

The poem, Twas the Night Before Christmas, was submitted anonymously, and the copyright would have endured for 95 years from the year it was first published or 120 years from the year it was created, whichever expires first.

Since it was published 200 years ago, its copyright protection has expired, and the work became part of the public domain, where it’s available for free and for anyone to use without the permission of the author, who is, in this case — unknown.

Dear Diary,

Pat and I attended a get-together on the weekend, which lasted into the wee hours and past my bedtime. There was inspiration, though, for me to stay awake and, better yet, remain focused.

My inspiration was ample amounts of sliced carrots, pizza, and a voucher for an extra long and scenic walk the next day.

The ratio of carrots to pizza could have been more balanced in favour of pizza, but no one asked me.

And it wasn’t just me. I overheard a dude walking straight toward the pizza comment that it was his day off from veggies, as though he regularly reported to them. Don’t ask me to explain humans and their creative comments.

I listen and keep pretty quiet most of the time.

So, despite the carrots-to-pizza ratio favouring carrots on my plate, I’m not mad. An extra long walk means there’s a greater chance that I’ll see the golden retriever of my dreams, but that’s another diary entry.

Back to the get-together.

The evening of merriment was to celebrate humans who completed their schooling together some years ago, all of them on the same day. What are the odds?

I intuitively get that by not revealing Pat’s info, like the exact year of her graduation, I stand to receive a bacon-flavoured snack, so I’ll keep that piece of historical data under my hat.

However, I will tell you that this enthusiastic group of boomers graduated from their school days between one and 51 years ago.

Now, being a dog, I have no frame of reference for that length of time, so I’ll call it an age, which, to be fair, is shorter than an eon.

So, considering every person at the graduation shared a birth year — again, the odds are astounding — these folks were amazingly agile and laughed a lot.

The group found endless topics to discuss, such as who had collected the most and fewest significant others over the years, the ages of everybody’s offspring, and what they did for entertainment when there wasn’t an event on the calendar. I nearly fell asleep from exhaustion imagining it.

A common theme, it seemed to me anyway, is that the longer humans live, the more reasons they have to celebrate.

Pat, for example, celebrates making it through her first coffee of the morning without incident, but the cats and I are good about keeping calamities at bay until she’s alert. She doesn’t know she has a group of guardian angels.

But back to the story.

They also reminisced about who among their teachers offered the best and worst influences on their futures. None of the teachers were at the get-together because most of them were, well, gone, which could be due to several things, right?

I mean, what do people older than Elvis or who watched the first moon landing on colour television do on a Saturday night?

I’m just kidding about the moon landing; Patricia claims they had colour TV before then.

But I’ll get back to the topic.

The group boss handed out awards to individuals for interesting accomplishments, such as who travelled the furthest to attend and who signed up the quickest. You might think those accomplishments are only marginally interesting, and you’re right.

That’s why I could hardly wait to tell you the best part of the evening.

One of the prizes was for being the cutest attendee, I kid you not, and I could not make this stuff up—the cutest, as in most adorable and good.

Guess who won! Yes, you guessed correctly if you said yours truly, me.

Technically, I had it in the bag, considering I was the only dog in the building. But either way, I was happy to take home the prize. More accurately, Patricia claimed it on my behalf and substituted a lovely dish of non-alcoholic water for me to enjoy.

Now, here’s something even better, if that’s possible.

When they announced that I had won the prize for cutest attendee, Pat asked me to take a bow. To the group's surprise, I took a perfect bow.

My bow is appropriately known as the downward dog pose. You know the one — my front paws stretched out in front of me, my body in the shape of a V. The people loved it.

Later on, I heard Pat admit she never taught me to take a bow. Her friend was impressed!

The friend actually said, “Wow, he just knew.”

I laughed, but seriously, how could I not just know? I pay attention; therefore, I know things.

I may be adorable and good, but humans are perfectly hilarious.

Love, Cooper

Originally published on Medium.

My name is Cooper and I’m a Labrador Retriever and a service dog; my actual job title is Guide Dog for the Blind.

My lady (Pat) sees a fraction of what a person with normal vision sees, so she trusts me to keep her on the straight and narrow.

In our team of two, she is the handler, and I am the eyes. She is also the GPS, advising me where we are going and how to get there, and I get us there safely.

This can be challenging for a guide dog, especially when Pat daydreams. When that happens, I take the liberty of walking us along the scenic route through the park or the food court if we’re in the mall.

It ends up being a win-win, how? She says if I’m happy, she’s happy; we’re talking about food courts and parks! What’s not to be happy about?

And I always get her to work on time.

About me as a puppy

My birthday was January 28, 2016, and my mother, a beautiful yellow lab, set me loose when I was a cute pup.

I was meant for freedom, and freedom suits me well. I started learning the ways of the world and got to play with a ball the size of my head.

My first people (my puppy raisers) taught me the manners I’d need to become a good housemate, for example, how to resist leaping on guests.

Sure, it was all fun and games when I weighed 6 pounds, but by age two, I was 85 solid pounds of bone, muscle, brain, and wolf-like stealth. I’m exaggerating about the stealth. But guests wouldn’t do well under 85 pounds of me. Plus, with my front paws on an adult human’s shoulders, I can look them squarely in the eye.

Besides giving me skills and preparing me for the future, my puppy raisers were the most awesome examples of why dogs are men’s and women’s best friends.

They promised that one day I’d meet someone who would need me, and they were right.

Learning the job

Even though I was voted class clown in school, I was a genius in guide dog classes! I’m not kidding; when I found out I was going to help someone, I paid attention to detail.

My instructors were amazed at how fast I learned things. I’m not sure why the surprise, though; food and toys were part of the deal!

I would find the door, and they’d give me a treat. I’d stop for traffic, and they’d give me a treat. The traffic thing was a no-brainer—think self-preservation. Still, I’d get the best treats for stopping at curbs! But who would complain?

I’m great on buses and trains, too. People say things to me like, Oh, what a handsome dog, and Please, have a seat here, ma’am, to Pat.

She has bacon-flavoured treats on hand for our commutes, and all I do is make sure she stays out of trouble. It's pretty straightforward, too; even a cat could figure some of these things out.

My Cat Housemates

On the subject of cats, I have two cat-housemates who claim cats are smarter than dogs.

They’ll say things like,
Why bother with tricks when they feed you anyway?
Or,
We’ve descended from royalty…
And here’s the best one,
We don’t have to go outside to do our business; who’s the boss now, Cooper?

They’re so annoying with their bragging. Oh well, they still love me.

A great part of my job

We visit kids in large gatherings at schools and Pat tells them to ask her any question they want to ask, they won’t hurt her feelings.

That’s brave, considering kids can be unpredictable, but she doesn’t even care! I think it’s because she raised some of them before she met me — in comparison, the school kids and I are pieces of cake.

Pat believes in the children.

She says they will be the ones making the future more inclusive for all people, including people with service dogs, wheelchairs, walking canes, hearing and sight loss, and other conditions.

This planet is for everyone to enjoy, and no one should be excluded because they live with something beyond their control.

Another of my favourite places to be is the CNIB Foundation, where my best girl, Italy, is. She’s also a guide dog, and when her lady (Kay) and Pat are drinking coffee, Italy and I get to do pretty much anything we want—it’s all in a day’s work.

Pat and I have been a team since 2018, and she says these have been her best years ever. I agree, they’re my best years too!

Cooper’s About Me Story was originally posted on Medium in April 2023.

Dear Diary,

About my dog pal Solo, I’ll take him or leave him on a good day, but on a day I don’t feel like playing, he can be exhausting.

Yesterday, my lady Patricia (most people call her Pat) said I’d have company. Solo was coming over, but she didn’t say how long he’d stay, so I assumed — maybe an hour. That’s usually all I can take.

Why?

He’s three years younger than me, which in human years is 21 years. I’m eight dog years old, like a human in their mid-50s, practically middle-aged. Now, go back 21 years, and Solo is like a human millennial.

Don’t get me wrong, some of my favourite humans are millennials, and I don’t hold it against them that they are always busy doing something.

But back to the topic at hand.

Pat says that what we, who are practically middle-aged, lack in energy, we make up for in sheer brilliance.

So, when she said I should be happy about all the exercise we’d both get, I assumed she was trying to sound positive.

Anyway, this visit will probably last over an hour, and my legs ache just thinking about it.

That left me with two options: 1) plan my hideouts, and 2) try not to drift off while making my plans.

Day One: It’s the afternoon of the first full day of Solo’s visit.

My leg muscles were killing me this morning, and I wanted to lay around all day.

After shaking off my sleepiness, I staggered over to my water dish, looking forward to that first cool lap of water, only to find Solo had drooled into it. For the love of all that’s holy, any drool other than mine is plain disgusting.

No sooner had I discovered my murky water when Pat picked up the dish and said, in that overly cheerful tone she sometimes gets, Who has fogged up your water, Cooper?

She asks it like she expects one of us dogs to step up and admit it.

I just keep quiet, and Solo, though he’s certainly sloppy, isn’t talking either. We both stand there looking at her.

Notice that in this picture, Solo is not making eye contact. He knows he’s guilty.

Pat walks off with the bowl, and a minute later, she’s back with fresh water in two dishes. I love her so much.

So, on his way out the door this morning, Mr Dale promised to take us all to the dog park in the evening.

It’s more like threatened, but no one asks me. Humans assume all dogs love the dog park.

Solo loves it and runs figure-eights around everything, including other dogs. But if you ask me, there’s a high expectation of fun at the park, which usually means romping and chasing.

But I’d rather scope out the perimeter for gaps in the fence.

It’s not so I can leave; I just need to add new scents to my memory banks.

Last year, I detected foxes, squirrels, gophers, and the elusive long-tailed weasel. All of these little critters except weasels show up on our daily walks. But the dog park is next to the countryside, so it’s not unheard of that you could spot one. It’s the perfect environment for them, being that weasels are antisocial.

How do I know? Because Pat just asked Alexa and Siri if weasels are antisocial. Alexa didn’t know, and Siri said most of the time — outside of mating season.

I called it.

Another reason I’ll spend time at the perimeter is that I hope to see the deer family. Yes, deer! I can't make this stuff up.

So, if my legs are still aching this evening, I’ll casually look for the deer. None of the other dogs expect me to romp and play when I do this.

You might wonder why I love the deer.

Because they’re the only animals, aside from forest wildlife, most of the big cats family, some sea creatures, certain large birds, and horses, that are three times our size, maybe four, and they’re fascinating.

I’ll let you know tomorrow whether the deer family is at the park and how long my guest, Solo, will be staying.

Love, Cooper

This story, The Dog’s Opinion on Company, was originally posted on Medium in August 2024.