Endless Waiting

Yesterday I went to Beit Oved for a meeting with the New York delegation, and I saw DInka again. I didn't even ask if I could have her with me during the meeting, but Ami and Rafi both offered to bring her to me as soon as I arrived at Bit Oved. They know my pain and know that having Dinka next to me helps a lot. I explained to the members of the New York delegation that every day of that trip is still fresh in my mind. Those were some of my last days with Suki, and when I remember them I realize how impressive Suki was, how well-behaved she was, and how she touched the hearts of everyone we met.


Yes, DInka is quite different than Suki. She is not the stunning large pedigree dog that Suki was, but she is sweet and lovely and I will bond with her and love her. I already know the feel of her shorter fur, the delicate, thinner ears, the slightly bushy tail with its dark brown color at the tip, and the special place where she likes to have her tummy rubbed. Certain things make me feel a comfortable familiarity with her: the way she folds one front paw like Suki used to do, the way she doesn't sit down quite all the way when I tell her to and she needs a little coaxing, the way she begins licking me when I get close to her face. She is ready to love and to be loved, and I am ready to love her and to accept her appection and loyalty. It will be hard work training with her, and harder to not compare her to Suki and to just let her be herself. I know that I must do this in order to be fair to DInka. She will be undergoing some dynamic and difficult changes in her life as well, and she will need love and support together with discipline and training. If just being with her for an hour or two is comforting, than I hope that being with her all the time will truly console me. I want the day to come when I can remember Suki fondly without crying, and without longing, but simply smile with fond memories of my first guide dog who was so very beautiful and special. I'm not ready for that yet. I cry for Suki often – at the pool, on the train, even while walking through the crowds at Azrieli Center where it is so difficult to get around without a guide dog. And I notice how people treat me when I use a cane. I don't feel that joy and pride I had when I walked with Suki, and people are helpful to the point where I feel overwhelmed. "Do you need help getting off the bottom of the escalator? Take my arm now and I'll help you out of the station, I have to go smoke anyway…Come on, the light is green, you can cross the street…" They are kind, but I feel overly swamped with this kindness, as if others perceive me as a person who constantly needs help. I cannot wait to have Dinka by my side, to trust and love a dog again. I recall endless moments with Suki, but the joy and security of having her with me seems like a distant lovely dream. It has been an endless nine weeks, and I still have two months until Dinka will be with me. It seems endless.