Larry and His Beautiful Bark

Thank God I couldn't train him not to do it

- By SUZY ZABEL, Westminster, Maryland

Woof!” My finger flew to my lips. “Larry, sshh!” My husband, Don, was fast asleep, and I couldn’t wait to hit the hay myself.

“Woof!”

“Larry, quiet!”

I walked over to the window and peeked outside. Everything was fine. “Larry, quiet!” I said again sternly, bending down in front of his open-door crate in the corner of the bedroom. His warm brown eyes stared back at me as if to say, “I’m sorry. I just can’t help it.”

Our eight-month-old Lab mix didn’t bark often or at typical things—the doorbell, people stopping by, other animals. His barks were unpredictable. But I had to get him to stop. For Larry, even one inappropriate bark might mean he'd never become what I hoped he would: a guide dog for the blind.

I thought he’d grown out of it. We'd just returned from a six-week trip to Mt. Rushmore, Glacier National Park, Zion Canyon, the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone. He’d hardly barked. He seemed to be a quiet, mature dog enjoying the adventure.

Now this. I scratched Larry behind his ears. “Larry, go to sleep,” I said. He curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

I finally got into bed, but tossed and turned most of the night. This barking had to stop! What if he failed guide dog school? I would feel as if I failed him.

Larry was the second puppy I was raising for the Guide Dog Foundation for the Blind. My first, Ginger, had been a breeze. Letting her go after a year was tough, but the satisfaction of knowing she'd change a blind person's life outweighed the heartache. So when Larry came along, I thought I had the training thing down.