Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I thought that you specialized in dogs that helped with PTSD and seizures. Is it easy to train them for diabetics?” I asked curiously.
She wiggled her hand in a so-so gesture. “Sort of. At least, not any more hard or easy than seizures or panic attacks. It’s just them being alert to a different problem with their charge. I’ve been working with a dog that I think would be a great pairing. But he’s still quite young, and I need to work with him a bit more until I’m sure he’s ready. But… we’ll see.”
“How do you train these dogs?” I asked curiously.
The house shook with a boom of thunder and Delanie jumped, then pressed her hand over her ample chest—an ample chest that was very beautifully displayed in the dress she was wearing—and started to explain.
“It all starts with discipline,” she said. “We have to train them to be a good dog before they can do anything else. It starts with sit, stay, come, heel. Things like that. Then we move into the more experienced programs of obedience. Once they’ve obtained that, we go into the training for other specialties, such as PTSD. Some of the first signs of a panic attack is elevated heart rate. Sweating. Hyperventilating. Things like that. The dog learns to recognize those signs, and then we start to train them on what to do if they do recognize those signs. For instance, Hayes’ dog. If he starts experiencing any of those signs, he’s trained to get Hayes’ attention. First it’ll start with gentle nudging. Touching his nose to Hayes’ hand. Then if that doesn’t help, he’ll start licking his hand. If that doesn’t work, he’ll start nudging. Barking. Then he’s taught to stay with his human, offering comfort, until Hayes pulls himself under control.”
Hayes, one of my buddies on the SWAT team, had been a prisoner of war. He’d come home with quite a few problems that kept him from interacting with society at times. Ares, his now-wife, who was also a SWAT kid—kids of the original Kilgore SWAT team members like me and Booth—had contacted me to sound out Delanie to get Hayes a service dog.
The dog was perfect for Hayes and helped him be more regular with day-to-day activities.
Like going to the grocery store, or the mall.
“What about the blood sugar?” I asked. “Is that something they can smell?”
“We’re not actually quite sure how they figure it out. I mean, it could be the symptoms such as the slowed heart rate or respirations. A change in their body composition or odor. I don’t know. They’re just able to detect it. This dog will be trained to alert the father since it’s unlikely that the kid will be able to do anything about it.”
“How old is the kid?” I asked.
“According to Janvier, the man that got the service dog from me last year, the kid is around four. He has type one diabetes,” she explained.
“Rough,” I said. “That’s about Asa’s age. I couldn’t imagine him having something like that.”
She made a sound of agreement and stood up just as another boom of thunder rocked the house.
“Damn,” she said. “I forgot to close the garage door to the kennels.”
My brows rose.
“It was a nice day today. I was giving them some fresh air,” she explained. “I’ll be right back.”
She hadn’t even made it two steps into the living room before I caught her by the arm and pulled her toward me.
“I’ll do it,” I said as I brushed past her and went out her garage door.
Delanie and Dillan had a four-bedroom farmhouse that they’d added a garage onto. The garage housed their kennels where they put the dogs when they weren’t home.
I’d asked once why Delanie locked them into their kennels instead of just allowing them to have free range of the house. She’d explained that service dogs weren’t like other house pets. They were working dogs that had a job to do. And since they had a job to do, they couldn’t just ‘be a house dog’ like normal pets. At least not when she was training them.
They have to have a structured routine. They have to have their own space. They have to have strict rules, because when they go to their people, they need to be solely and entirely focused on their charges. I am not their charge. I am their teacher.
I walked out through the garage door and took the covered pathway outside to the added-on building that was the kennel area.
There, I grinned when I saw all the dogs.
She had four all together right now, and each one of them was cute as hell.
After talking to each one of them, I went to the garage door and closed it with the button. Once it was closed, I once again spoke to each dog, rolling my eyes when I saw the brand-new pet beds in their kennels, as well as a fucking television that was across the room giving them some noise.