There are some things people call a “gift from God,” a catch-all phrase often spoken with little thought. My wife, Jane, and I were given just that, a true blessing from heaven. He’s now 9 years old with a loving heart and the ability to make those around him happy. His name is Musket, a yellow Labrador guide dog. Being legally blind, I needed a dog for my mobility and independence. But little did we realize how Musket would change and enrich our lives. On graduation day at Guide Dogs for the Blind in 2002, Musket met his new family. It was love at first sight. “Honey, he’s beautiful!” Jane exclaimed as “her” new dog greeted her with kisses and joyful panting. Musket is not a typical guide dog. Well-trained and quiet, he does an excellent job of guiding me. Jane’s elderly parents also fell completely under Musket’s loving spell. Dad was on his knees with his camera saying, “Look at Pop-pop, Musket, come on, look at me.” Mom, a fine, well-mannered lady cooed over him: “Are you Nanny’s good boy?” Guide Dogs are devoted to their owners and the bond is supposed to be between them alone. Note I said supposed to be. I very quickly learned Musket melted the hearts of everybody he met and belonged to all of them. Something set Musket apart from the rest of the pack. Mom and Dad loved that dog. When we went to visit, Jane and I waited outside while Musket ran in. We wondered how long it would take for them to realize we hadn’t come in. The record is six minutes. Meanwhile, Musket was lavishing them both with kisses and making them laugh with his vigorously-wagging tail. “Is Musket a good boy?” Dad said as he gave him a treat. “Yeah, Musket’s a good boy.” Mom and Dad soon needed constant home care and for over two years Jane was often the sole caregiver from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. every single day. Dad suffered from Alzheimer’s and needed constant attention. Mom’s hip problems kept her in a wheelchair often left her unable to care for herself. As the months wore on, Jane became increasingly weary and despondent. But Musket became a gift to relieve the pain and stress of caring for both her parents. When we took them out on drives, Musket rode in the back seat with Dad and me. Dad’s dementia tended to express itself in frequent (cont’d on page 11) (cont’d from page 10) tirades and nonsensical observations. Musket knew what to do. Lying by his Pop-pop’s lap, he kept Dad calm and happy. Even as Dad’s memory deteriorated and he failed to recognize friends, Musket was never forgotten. When we had either of them on the phone, they always asked. “How’s my Musket?” “He’s fine and he sends his love,” Jane replied. Dad often fell and needed to be taken to the emergency room. He quickly grew agitated, not understanding why he was there. Jane called me at work so we could bring Musket to see Dad. All it took was a wagging tail and a lick to make Dad calm down. Musket was allowed to lie on the bed, which elicited smiles and “Oh, he’s so cute,” from the nursing staff. No one tried to take Musket from his Pop-pop. When Mom was hospitalized for hip surgery, he again came to the rescue, keeping her happy. Last year, Dad’s doctors agreed his Alzheimer’s had reached a point where he needed professional care. So Jane finally made the hard decision and found a nice assisted-living facility to provide good care for both her parents. Musket rode in the back seat with Dad while we drove to the facility. Jane was worried about how her father would take it. But he only had eyes for Musket. When we pulled into the parking lot, the director, a sweet lady named Carolyn, came out to greet Dad. She also greeted Musket, which put Dad at ease. Mom and Dad settled in, making new friends while playing games and enjoying their well-earned retirement. Only a short time later, Dad was rushed to the hospital with an aortic aneurism and internal bleeding. There was no hope. Jane and her sisters took Mom to see him. Musket and I were not able to be there. Jane had a small Labrador plush toy, which she gave to her father as he lay dying. “Daddy, this is Musket,” she said, a quiver in her voice. Dad took the toy and put it to his face. “Musket, he gives me kisses.” He was remarkably lucid as he said goodbye to his family, knowing the end was near. Over the next few days he slipped farther away, still holding his Musket. He died late at night, and Jane and I went to see him. Jane took Musket into the room where her father lay, and in his hand was that same toy. Musket stood on his hind feet and gave his Pop-pop a goodbye kiss. At the funeral a week later, Musket was there to comfort his Nanny and family. We visit Mom every week. She always asks to see Musket first. She introduces him to her friends as “My Grandson Musket.” When Jane and I kiss her cheek it’s already wet. Musket is a great guide dog, a canine ambassador, setting an example of good behavior and training. He gives me the freedom to work and travel. But is that his greatest gift? No, far from it. His gift is to make distraught, grieving, sick, disabled and lonely people happy. Musket has changed lives. If I had to choose between being blind and having Musket at my side, or being sighted without him, I’d gladly and sincerely choose the former. We have all been blessed with Musket.