Introduction 'When your life is on course with its purpose, you are your most powerful.' --Oprah Winfrey
Ricochet would be the first to admit she is not a perfect dog. She digs holes, chases birds, stalks gophers, and climbs up trees after squirrels. She still barks at the garbage truck and has a panic attack if a balloon pops.
And that's okay. We are all a little quirky, broken, strange, or different. That's what makes us special. Ricochet's journey is about what we all want: to be accepted for who we really are. To be encouraged and celebrated for what makes us unique and not chastised for what we can never possibly be. To embrace the notion that we are all imperfectly perfect.
But even though Ricochet is an ordinary dog--perhaps as 'ordinary' as any dog in a shelter right now--Ricochet possesses and radiates an extraordinary spirit. Hers is a spirit of purity, compassion, kindness, and an incredible ability to reach into the souls of others. Even as a puppy she was the silly one, the exuberant one, the confident one. But complementing this playful, goofy side is an uncanny knowing that seems to exist just beyond time, just beyond the normal day-to-day life most of us are trying very hard to control. And it's in that place that I find Ricochet.
I've always loved animals. But it was Ricochet who taught me that dogs can be wise teachers and animal messengers, offering us profound lessons if we only stop to listen.
Many times they know what we don't know or perhaps what we once knew but reasoned or rationalized away. Their divine nudges are often disguised in wet noses, wagging tails, loving looks, and pensive stares, and they can push us back on the right path to knowing, but only if we open our eyes and hearts to their intuitive messages. And the truth is, we could all use a little guidance.
Life is not always easy. Sometimes it's messy. Despite our efforts to control our lives, in reality, we have absolutely no control. When our carefully constructed plans unravel, we are left at a crossroad. That was the reality for many of the people you will read about in this book, including me. They were coasting through the calm waters of life when a crashing wave blindsided them and took them under. When they emerged from the shock and opened their eyes, they felt the sting of salty tears and saw on the horizon a future different from what they had ever imagined. They were forever changed.
But these resilient souls prove that times of struggle can reveal our strength; that we can emerge from whatever the obstacle to find joy and purpose again. Ricochet has been blessed to cross paths with these amazing people, and in her unique way, she helps them to be free, to heal, to be whole. Through their stories, mine, and Ricochet's, I hope you'll realize that there's always hope, no matter who you are or where you are in your journey.
Ricochet came into my life on a wave of serendipity. The truth is I fought it instead of riding it, coming close to emotionally drowning myself. But when I finally embraced the wave and accepted that a higher power was charting this remarkable dog's course and taking me along for the ride, my world began to change.
When bad things happen to you, you can retreat into the darkness alone or you can open your heart and reach out to others with trust and vulnerability. I think you know in which direction Ricochet would nudge you. With a wagging tail and a look of love, she would probably tell you to 'Go with the flow, keep your paws up, and face the wave, no matter how high.'
Chapter 1
The Catalyst
'Life begins where fear ends.' --Osho
Chicago, 2003
I sprang upright in the darkness.
My eyes popped open wide to see the glow of my alarm clock: 4:48. Phew, I heaved a deep sigh of relief, my heart still racing. It was just a nightmare--the same nightmare. I was safe. Nobody was chasing me. No one was trying to kill me.
Taking a measured breath to calm my nervous stomach, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and rubbed my eyes, slowly adjusting to the dark room. It was as good a time as any to greet the day; there was much to do in anticipation of my new houseguest. I still had training treats and other puppy supplies to buy. Making my way to the coffeepot, I smiled thinking that I was already spoiling this little girl who I hadn't even met. I had applied and was accepted to raise a service-dog puppy. According to the paperwork, I'd be caring for a female golden retriever/Labrador mix named Rina. I wasn't quite sure how to pronounce her name at first, but this eight-week-old cutie had stirred something within me that had been dormant for some time. Looking down at the photo of her sweet puppy face, I already felt a responsibility to this little yellow bundle of fur. Rina would live with me for a little over a year. When the time was up, she'd return to the organization for advanced training, and then she would be placed as a service dog for a person with a disability.
I'd always wanted to make a difference in the world. In fact, my favorite movie of all time was It's a Wonderful Life by Frank Capra. James Stewart plays George Bailey, a distraught man whose imminent suicide attempt on Christmas Eve is interrupted by his guardian angel, Clarence. Clarence shows George how different--and worse off--life in his community would have been if he'd never been born. I often wondered if I'd ever made a difference in anyone's life. I didn't want to leave this earth without truly helping at least one person, and I thought that raising a service dog would be a good opportunity. And, since my husband had moved out, I not only had the time, but I had the space, too.
That afternoon, on June 20, I pulled into Chicago's O'Hare Airport, my eyes searching out the cargo area. I wasn't a fan of dogs flying in cargo, but I had to abide by the rules of the training organization. I wondered what it would feel like to be an eight-week-old puppy separated from her mother and littermates for the first time. The dark and rumbling belly of an aircraft had to be a scary place for a tiny puppy nosing her way into the world on a solo flight.
I paced in the waiting area, wavering between anticipation and concern. My heart thumped a little faster when an airline employee appeared, carrying a crate. I was expecting to comfort a shivering and nervous puppy, but when I looked inside the crate, I locked eyes with a confident young pup who was on her feet, vibrating with energy and ready to bound into my life.
And when I jiggled open the latch, that's exactly what she did, jumping into my arms. She was so small, so precious, and so perfect. Her chocolate eyes and dark nose stood out against a soft, pale yellow coat. Even through her puppy-cuteness, her wise and thoughtful face might have seemed very serious if it weren't for her busy pink tongue lapping at my eyes, nose, and mouth. I felt an immediate connection with this little pup!
'Look at the puppy,' a passing woman exclaimed, as she quickly turned and made a beeline for us.
'She's a service-dog-in-training,' I answered proudly, already feeling protective as this stranger moved in to pet Rina's head.
'Well, if her job is to be cute, she's already doing great work,' the woman said with a laugh as Rina licked her hand. 'I could fall in love with her.'
So could I, I thought.
Rina would be my canine charge until she was about sixteen months old. I'd be responsible for giving her a safe home, taking her to obedience classes, providing socialization, and, most important, loving her. Sure, I knew I'd have to return her to the training organization, and I knew, too, that I could easily get attached to her. Just thinking about it, I felt the first poignant twinges of my decision already. But I also believed that eventually Rina would be a faithful companion who would change someone's life for the better. Little did I know at the time that she would play a bigger role in my life than I could ever imagine.
Back at my house, I carried her up the wooden steps onto the porch overlooking the lake.
'You and I are going to have so much fun out there,' I said, motioning to the backyard.
Holding her gingerly, I unlocked the deadbolt and turned off the alarm. Once inside, I set her on the floor, and she was off in a flash, sniffing around the house, checking out corners, and pawing at the new toys.
Watching her explore her new world with such joy was more fun than I'd had in a long time. As the weeks progressed, I enjoyed watching her learn and grow. She loved to scout out the nooks and crannies of the lakeshore, scrambling over logs and nosing her way through the grass like a great lion cub in the wild jungle. Such an adventurer she was. The first time she crept up to the water's edge, she gazed down at her reflection in the water and her tail began wagging furiously. She looked up at me eagerly, as if to tell me that she had spotted a new friend to play with. At night, we'd play endless games of fetch, and then we'd cuddle. The fuzz of her fur would tickle my nose as I sat with the pooped-out puppy sleeping in the crux of my neck. The two of us had a wonderful time playing, but we worked hard, too.
A star pupil in her puppy kindergarten class, Rina passed her obedience 101 class with flying colors, and we coasted on to adolescent classes. She adored playing with other dogs, especially her best friend Zoe. She'd pull me and pant excitedly whenever she spotted a potential friend, so we worked to tone down her display of enthusiasm. Tugging on the leash is not acceptable behavior for a service dog because it could potentially yank a disabled partner into a harmful fall.
I'd been instructed to use a 'gentle leader' with her, a collar-and-leash system that wraps around the dog's neck and rests loosely around its nose. This was the organization's collar of choice, as it would allow the trainer to steer the dog's nose and thereby the dog's body. Unfortunately, Rina was not a fan of this contraption. After brief, unsuccessful struggles to free herself, she'd shut down, lying on the floor looking defeated. I hated seeing her like that.
Rina had other idiosyncrasies, too. In particular, she was an unabashed Kleenex thief, scouting out tissues no matter where they were hidden, even in my purse. She didn't tear them up or eat them, but she loved to proudly carry her find around in her mouth. I'd just laugh and hold out my hand. 'Give,' I'd say, and she would drop the tissue in my hand with obvious disappointment.
'I know. I never let you have any fun, right?'
©2014 Judy Fridono. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Ricochet: Riding a Wave of Hope with the Dog Who Inspires Millions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.