Caitlin was brought to my room at the Seeing Eye on the afternoon of January 4, 1994. I asked twice how her name was spelled. I would have spelled it Katelyn. Now Caitlin only seems the right way to spell it.

My instructions were to spend time with her, to play with her, to pet her and not to discipline her. We did that for a long time. I was getting tired. Doesn't a dog ever have enough attention? Suddenly, Caitlin just fell over and didn't move. I touched her. She didn't move. I picked up one of her paws. She didn't move.

Oh, no! I thought. I've killed her! How am I going to tell them I killed this $20,000 dog.

I put my hand on her chest. I felt her heart beating. I felt her chest going up and down. She was sound asleep. All the playing and petting and attention had worn her out. At sixteen months old, Caitlin was still very much a puppy and she slept like a kid–out cold.

***#Particulars

• Born September 6, 1992
• Chocolate Labrador Retriever
• Daughter of Walsh and Raisin
• Raised by a fourteen-year-old boy with a mother, brother, father and dog already in the household.
• Died July 10, 2006

From our first meeting, Caitlin and I had a dynamic relationship. In what follows, I don't comment on her guide work in detail. She was excellent

• in her work
• in her visual memory
• in her learning new routes and new routines

Caitlin's greatness as a guide dog makes it possible to remember her with gratitude and laughter.

​* Still A Dog At Heart

Caitlin was a handful from day one. Even at the end, she was incredibly strong and opinionated. I never quite got the knack of a leash correction so I depended far more on persuasion and asserting my position as alpha female.

Caitlin viewed my children as litter mates. I was particularly aware of this the day my daughter came home from school and fixed herself a plate of nachos. She ate them and left her plate and the just-opened cheese on the table. Seeing a yummy opportunity in the unguarded and within reach cheese, Caitlin ate the whole pound. If I had left the cheese, it would have still been there at dinnertime. This, I learned, did not apply to anything left on a surface level with her nose. Food on coffee tables were fair gain.

Caitlin could not tell me about her early life. I only knew the few facts I list above in the Particulars. However, I was able to deduce some more information:

1. The boys were active. Caitlin wanted to chase bicycles, join the soccer game, play rambunctiously. she seemed familiar with the playing fields around the school.
2. The family watched football. She would stop near a television with a game on. The name "Joe Montana" seemed to get a reaction.
3. They were junk food junkies. That dog could hear a pretzel bag open anywhere in the house. It was the only people food I ever shared with her and that only near the end. In a shopping mall food court, Caitlin would walk past a discarded piece of hamburger to get to the French fries.
4. Along with her command vocabulary, Caitlin knew the phrase Night night.

I brought her home, spread out a blanket on my side of the bed and attached her to her bed chain. She just stood there, apparently not knowing what to do. How do you tell a dog this is your home?

• This is where you live now.
• This is your space.
• It's time for bed.

I said, "Night night." and she laid down.

Even now, it makes me sad. I thought of being a fourteen-year-old boy, trying to be grown-up and yet still very much a boy and saying to your Seeing Eye puppy, "Night night."

Shortly before her death, I had to go out-of-town. I couldn't take Caitlin with me. I left her with friends. I called it going to camp because she had kids and cats to play with and could spend time on the deck watching the traffic go by–all activities she enjoyed. The night before she was to come home, her "counselor" called to say Caitlin seems quite lonely. Would I talk to her on the phone?

What do you say to a dog over the phone? I said Hi and You're a good girl and finally, Night night. That worked. She settled down for the evening.

​* Church Stories

A great deal of our working time was spent in church. Caitlin really didn't care for church. Her favorite part was recessing. She did that with great enthusiasm and speed which often threatened to disrupt the decorum of worship. We were always among the last to recess. Torchbearers, acolites and crucifer as well as the choir needed to precede us.

There are many worship stories to tell. Let me relate three of them. They all happened at First Lutheran Church, Jamestown, new York. They all happened in the nave, a huge room that seats a thousand people, has a choir loft, a balcony and a sixty-five-foot ceiling.

In Caitlin's understanding of human language, dog always meant Caitlin. She considered herself a person. As an individual, she had her own opinions, developed a circle of human friends with whom she had relationships apart from me.

For several years now I have been attending an early morning weekday healing service. We kneel at the alter rail. Caitlin settled herself down next to someone. As the priest anoints and prays for each one individually, members of the healing team lay hands on that person, too, and pray. Caitlin's solution to being skipped was to get the person next to her to pet her.

Recognizing petting when she saw it, sharing the peace was very important to her at this service.

​Final Journey

With some expansion here and some editing there, I use the email I sent out to family and friends Monday, July 10, 2006.

Mother Susan and I took Caitlin to the vet for her final journey at noon today. Caitlin has been failing. This week she stopped eating. Nothing would stay down, even biscuits.

Excursus: Biscuits. Caitlin was very fond of dog biscuits. In the last few months of life, she preferred them to her regular food. The vet suggested I pour low sodium chicken broth over her food. That worked for a while, then even that did not interest her.

Saturday evening I went to the 5 o'clock service at St. Luke's. When I came home, I found Caitlin in bed already. This made me certain we were very near the end. It wasn't dark. It wasn't even six o'clock yet.

Sunday she moved onto the kitchen floor and seemed pretty much out of it. She drank water once. I checked on her regularly throughout the day.

I decided to camp out on the studio floor next to the kitchen overnight. I didn't want her following me into the bedroom. I wasn't sure if she could. I didn't want her to be alone at the end or think I had abandoned her. I wasn't sure if I would wake up often enough to check on her.

During the night, she lost bladder control and seemed unable to stand though I found she could get up to drink more water. I changed towels underneath her to keep her as dry as possible and ran the washer and dryer throughout the night.

After evening worship on Saturday, Susan had said to call on her for whatever I needed so i did. The vet could take us at noon if I wanted to be present when she received her shot.

once the time had been fixed I did normal tasks during the morning. I also took a shower. When I was getting dressed in the bedroom I heard something. It was Caitlin coming to see what I was up to. I had been gone too long. Maybe something was wrong. In Caitlin's mind, I was always likely to need supervision, or at least, that is what I always told myself when I found her waiting outside the bathroom door or watching from her blanket in the bedroom.

Susan and the S t. Luke sexton came to carry her to the car. Caitlin didn't care for this. She tried to get down while we were in the elevator.

She seemed to enjoy being in the van. I petted her. I told her over and over again what a good dog she was.

Excursus: Vans. At the Seeing Eye the dogs are brought to and from the kennel for their training in vans. When in class, both human and dog are transported to and from their training routes in vans. Caitlin loved traveling in a van. One day when my daughter had taken her out for me, there was an open van in the parking lot from the local cable company. Caitlin jumped in, ready to ride. I'm glad a van played a part in her final journey.

When we arrived at the vet's, Caitlin turned herself around to be ready to get out of the door. She sat up and looked out the window. She walked into the room which has an entrance from the parking lott so you don't have to go through the waiting room. I had not thought it necessary to bring her leash. I expected we would carry her.

Like all good funeral folk, the clinic personnel have it down.

• Write the check first.
• Tell them what you want to do with the body first.

After the injection, it takes about two minutes for unconsciousness. Caitlin stuck her nose in the technician's business. What was she doing? Caitlin was always good about shots. In fact, the vet's never bothered her. The groomer's on the other hand … they got you wet and touched your feet. Yuck!

Gently, I pulled her nose away. Susan and I prayed. God watch over my dog and me. I began speaking to her about this final journey, reminding her of all the places we had gone together.

"She's gone," the tech interrupted.

Caitlin's head dropped. She was still warm. It was as if she was asleep. We got her settled on the table so I could step away.

I decided to have Caitlin cremated to keep her near me. I've always thought people who did this were carrying things a bit too far, however, I decided it is what Caitlin would want –to be with me. I always thought she should have a proper interment.

The ASPCA which handles animal cremation in this area returned Caitlin's ashes in a sealed jewelry box. I bought a dog tag in the shape of a dog head with angel wings and tied it onto the latch with a leather thong I received at Lenten worship to bind unto myself today the strong name of the Trinity(Lorica)

I set the box on the bookshelf Chip made for me which stands near my desk where I am writing this now. Caitlin often laid between me and the bookshelf. Several angel figurines surround the box.

There are many more stories to tell about Caitlin. These are some of my favorites and seem to fit with my theme of faith journey.

Losing her has been like losing a part of myself. All of my daily living seems to have been wrapped around her. I feel as if I am unraveling in her absence.

Caitlin was never a comfort.

• If I was anxious, she was anxious.
• When I sneezed, she came to be reassured I was all right.
• When I left her, she waited, sometimes for hours, at the door for myreturn.
• If I went into a room, she followed.
• When I was working somewhere, she was present, stretching herself outon the floor so I had to climb over her in order to get somewhereelse.

Caitlin told jokes. They were dog jokes, of course, quite childish. Blocking my path was one of them.

Another way she understood humor was harness on, harness off. I taught this to nursery school children.

When Caitlin was in harness, she was working. She laid on the floor very still. When her harness was off, she was at play and could be petted. The children processed it as a game.

"Put the harness on!" they cried. I would. Caitlin became like a statue.

"Take it off!" With her harness off, she rolled onto her back and put her feet in the air. The children swarmed all over her.

The more we played, the more correct Caitlin became with her harness on and the wilder she became when the harness was taken off. She and the children loved the game.!

• Caitlin taught me about interdependence and loyalty.
• She taught me how to be present to someone else without speaking.
• She taught me how much she meant to other people. I received cards,phone calls and memorials to mark her passing and to honor her lifeamong us.
• She was one of God's creatures who did God's will unquestioningly.