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hooks a leash on Nugent’s collar. “She’s right. But Nugent isn’t wearing his guide harness right now, so he’s off duty. He knows that he’s not working.”
    I kneel in front of the happy dog and let him smell my hand. He sniffs it over very carefully, then gives it a big slurp.
    â€œI like you, too,” I chuckle. As I reach out to pet him, Nugent rolls over so that I can scratch his belly. Oooh, he loves that!
    After a few minutes of petting and playing, John fastens on Nugent’s harness. It looks exactly like Scout’s. Nugent stops acting goofy as soon as the harness is on. He sits attentively by John’s left foot.
    â€œDo you want to walk with him?” John asks.
    â€œCan I? Wow! Sure!”
    I take the harness from John. Nugent looks over his shoulder and smiles at me. John tells me to grip the handle lightly and to keep it back by my left leg.
    â€œHe’s there to guide you, not to drag you down the street. But be prepared. Nugent walks quickly. The commands are simple: ‘Forward,’ ‘Halt,’ ‘Left,’ ‘Right.’ If he slows down to investigate or smell something, you say, ‘Hup-up.’ Got it?”
    â€œGot it,” I say. “Nugent, forward.”
    And we’re off—fast! I have to power-walk to keep up with him.
    â€œYou weren’t kidding,” I tell John. “What happens if Nugent gets a handler with short legs, like me?”
    John strides beside us easily. “Matching the dog and handler is the most important thing we do. Nugent will be a good guide for a tall, athletic person, someone with a strong personality, who isn’t afraid to charge into a crowd. Relax your hand a bit.”
    Good advice. I’m clutching the handle way too tightly.
    â€œWe’ll walk through the park to town. When we get all the way down to the corner, tell Nugent to take a right,” John instructs.
    We walk along in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the beautiful day and the company of a good dog. My legs have warmed up, and I can match Nugent’s gait now. This is different from walking Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock (and every other dog I’ve walked) wants to hunt around, smell, and explore. Nugent wants to move, to get where we’re going.
    Scattered around the park are other guide dogs working with instructors or their new handlers. I think I see Mr. Carlson and Scout, but I don’t want to holler and distract them. The only sounds are good ones—people praising dogs, telling them how good and wonderful they are. This place has what Brenna would call “good vibes.”
    â€œCan I close my eyes?” I ask. “You know...”
    John nods. “You want to see what it feels like for James and Scout, right? Go right ahead. Trust the dog. He knows how to take care of you.”
    I look straight ahead. The sidewalk is smooth. There’s nothing in our way. I close my eyes and keep walking.
    â€œWow! It feels like we’re speeding up.” I open my eyes. “It’s kind of scary.”
    â€œTry it again,” John urges.
    I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not going to open them again. I’d like to slow down, but Nugent is setting the pace. The harness! With my eyes shut, I notice the position of the harness in my hand a lot more. I can feel how Nugent walks, his shoulders rolling slightly from side to side.
    â€œWait a minute,” I say, my eyes still closed. “What’s he doing?”
    Nugent has slowed down. Now he stops, still standing at my left side.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I ask.
    â€œNothing. He’s waiting for you to tell him what to do,” John says. “The sidewalk here is shaped like a T. You can go left or right. If you keep going straight, you’ll walk into the road. Nugent is trained to cross only at corners, so he won’t let you do that.”
    â€œOK, Nugent, right.”
    The handle shifts as Nugent turns