Thinkin' about Elvis

Elvis, age 14.5, the sweetest best boy. Photo by Holly Threat

I was thinkin’ last night about Elvis. Day that he died. Day that he died.

Elvis Presley Blues, Jimmy Buffett’s ode to The King of Rock ‘n Roll has been drowning out the hum of Christmas carols and sometimes my current audiobooks, The Comfort of Crows and Intermezzo.

My parents loved Elvis Presley. My mom stood in line for hours in 1974 to score concert tickets when he performed at the Bayfront Center in St. Pete. Six years later, our family vacation to my mother’s birthplace in Stuttgart, Arkansas, included a stop at Graceland in Memphis.

Decades later, I’d also love an Elvis, but not the one whose nickname included Pelvis, for his signature swivel-hips moves. The Elvis that left the biggest impression on me was the 10-week-old black labrador that was placed in my arms in 2010.

He would live with us for a year while our family taught him commands and house manners, took him on outings to public places, and loved him into the best boy he could be.

Our little Elvis was named after a former guide dog, and he already excelled at washing my face with his slobbery kisses and nuzzling in the crook of my neck. He carried a legacy, and it was the job of me, Rick, Jordan, and Samuel to do our best, so that hopefully one day he could someone’s eyes as a guide dog.

Elvis learned how to sit, stay, heel, come, and at least a dozen other commands. He honed his social skills, resisting the urge to pounce on houseguests. Miss Manners would’ve scoffed at the early habit of chewing the baseboard and drywall in our foyer, but thankfully he lost his taste for wood and gypsum.

Elvis was the 2^nd puppy we raised for Southeastern Guide Dogs, now Dogs Inc. We became puppy raisers in 2009, after our daughter Jordan requested to raise a puppy for her bat mitzvah service project. We attend twice-monthly meetings that include training and purposeful outings. The unpaid role is filled with moments of humility and grace, especially when your pup poops in a public place. Trust me, it happens to every raiser at least once.

Everything we do is for the dog’s future, and that of the visually impaired person or veteran whose life he or she will change. Dogs Inc. says, “These dogs are given to those who can’t see and to those who’ve seen too much.”

Elvis quickly acclimated to home life with the OG grand dame, our black labrador, Peppermint. She was three-and-a-half when we adopted her from Labrador Retriever Rescue of Florida after we lost our labradors Henry and Maggie following a fire. Some people who surrender dogs must feel guilty, and therefore cite a reason that may be considered a justifiable fib. “Doesn’t get along with other dogs” was the absolute opposite of what Peppermint was.

Peppermint was 5 days from her 15^th birthday when she died. What a gift those years were. Not only did she help us heal after the loss of our dogs, but she was also a de facto puppy raiser. Elvis knew that Peppermint was in charge, but they were also fast friends.

I could recount all the outings Elvis enjoyed, the funny moments, or the cute things he did, but the epic 10-state road trip from Florida to New Jersey is what we still talk about.

We took socialization and pup exposures to the next level, starting with our first night in Savannah. Upon checking in at the Grand Bohemian, the door attendant presented Elvis with a giant Milk Bone, which he promptly devoured on the mat at the entrance before we even checked in.

After a few bounces on the hotel bed, we showed him where his crate was and explained that while he may have been treated like royalty upon arrival, the bed was off limits.

The next day we arrived in Charlotte, North Carolina. Elvis inspected the race cars and watched us play driving games at the NASCAR Hall of Fame. The Irish dance competition Jordan was attending was another test. Elvis was unphased by the jigs, reels, hundreds of kids, fancy costumes, fiddles, and crowded ballrooms. He soaked up the attention from the teen girls who encircled him on the floor while they waited to compete. Such a good boy, and a bit of a flirt he was.

Our trip continued through Virginia, Maryland, Washington, D.C., Delaware, and Pennsylvania, before we reached New Jersey, where my Aunt Frances lives. This was also a family visit with cousins from California and another Irish dance competition.

Elvis loved dipping his paws in the Atlantic Ocean on the Jersey Shore, “helping” build sandcastles with his nose, inspecting tree frogs, snakes, and spiders the Liberty Science Center in Jersey City, and taking a ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty.

What a traveler we had in this now-adult pup. The penultimate experience of Elvis’ incredible road trip was our day in New York City. On the train into Grand Central Station, Elvis met the newest Gerber baby, an adorable toddler with light red hair. He maintained the required “four (paws) on the floor” as he accepted her gentle pats on his head.

New York City is overstimulating for many, but Elvis behaved like a pro. After days of long car rides, a ferry trip, and a train, he confidently hopped into a taxi in Times Square and took his place on the floorboard, with Rick in the passenger seat. He charmed the driver, who spoke little English, but connected with Elvis’ soulful brown eyes. The fact that he was well-behaved didn’t hurt. The puppy who ate our baseboards had grown up, and we were already envisioning him working with his person in a big city.

After stops at The Lego Store, M&Ms New York, American Girl, and lunch, we popped into The Plaza for respite from the heat. The concierge immediately approached our group of 9. We thought he was going to ask us to produce our room keys. Instead, he offered Elvis a cold bowl of water, and an invitation to stay as long as we like.

Forget Eloise, this was Elvis at The Plaza.

A few weeks later, Elvis returned to Southeastern Guide Dogs for advanced training. We’d done this once before with Jim. We knew what saying goodbye felt like. Still, it wasn’t easy. The trainers soothe us by telling us they never look back, and it’s true. We consoled ourselves a few weeks later with a new puppy. The best way to rid yourself of missing the pup you raised is to do it all over again. We call it The Vortex – these precious souls suck you in and keep you coming back for more.

We’d done our jobs. Checked all the boxes. We loved Elvis as hard as we could. It was time for him to show us what his future would be.

A few weeks later, our puppy group leader, John, called me. I was at work with our new puppy, Eckerd, at my feet under my desk. Reaching down to pet her, I struggled to understand his words.

On-campus assessments revealed that guide or service work was not in Elvis’ future. Even though I knew this was a possibility, I was optimistic about Elvis. I also know that to live a life of service to others, a pup must be practically perfect in every way. But Mary Poppins wasn’t, and neither were we.

Puppy raisers pour their hearts into teaching the pups who are entrusted to them, but dogs choose their careers. There are no failures, as I often kindly explain to people who refer to career-changed former guide dogs in training as flunkies. It took me 6 years and 3 changes of my major to graduate college. I don’t consider myself a failure, and neither was Elvis.

After delivering the news, John asked if we wanted to adopt Elvis. Raisers usually get the first option to adopt a career-changed dog that they’ve raised, but Eckerd was still young, and we weren’t yet a 3-dog family like we are now.

Begrudgingly we decided to let Elvis be publicly adopted. The 90-day no-contact period passed quickly, and I was delighted one day to see a Facebook friend request from a man named Leon who lived in South Carolina with a message that he and his wife Holly had adopted Elvis. He reported that Elvis had happily settled into their home. The photos Leon sent confirmed that Elvis was indeed content. A friend request from Holly followed, and I learned that she worked in special education and Leon was an occupational therapist. Their hope was to have Elvis certified as a therapy dog.

The following year, we were on yet another road trip to another Irish dance competition in North Carolina. I hadn’t thought about Elvis in a while. We were busy with Eckerd, trying to do all the right things so that “we” wouldn’t fail again.

It’s easy for puppy raisers to feel this way. We place lofty expectations on ourselves, because of the promise these dogs hold to change someone’s life for the better. As we passed through South Carolina, I scrolled through Facebook and saw a message from Leon with a recent photo of Elvis with their newly adopted dog, Lady, a retired breeder from Southeastern. Elvis had a sister once again!

I remembered that Leon and Holly lived in South Carolina and responded to Leon to tell him we were passing through. It turns out we were 15 minutes from the exit to their home when I received that message, so Leon offered to meet as at a Wal-Mart just off the highway – with Elvis!

We wanted to surprise Jordan and Samuel, so we told them we had to pick up something at Wal-Mart. When we pulled into the parking lot, Leon was waiting there with Elvis.

What a reunion. The slobbery kisses, boisterous hugs, and gratitude for the wonderful life Leon and Holly were giving Elvis wrapped up this puppy raising experience with the biggest bow possible.

Throughout the next 12 years, Leon and Holly sent birthday photos of Elvis, updates on his life with Lady and then his brother, Otis. What a gift we had in this connection. There is always enough love to go around.

Elvis may not have ended up doing the job he was bred and born to do, but his life’s work was in the impact he made on Leon’s patients, Holly’s students, their lives, and our lives.

Every time I received a message from Holly or Leon, I’d screenshot it to share with Rick, Jordan, and Samuel. When I received Holly’s message on Dec. 17 that they would be saying goodbye to Elvis on Dec. 21, I was sad, but not surprised. For some reason I’d thought about Elvis that morning while walking our newest puppy in training, Skye. I looked down as she sniffed the ground, and I saw Elvis. I’ve been thinking about Elvis, not only on the day that he died, but in the days since. I think about Leon and Holly, too, as they grieve the loss of one of the best boys.

There is a reason that dog is God spelled backwards. The belief in a god requires us to have faith in what we sometimes don’t understand, like why the dogs we love can’t live forever.

Run free, Elvis. You’ve no doubt reconnected with your sister, Lady, and hopefully you’ve met all the other dogs I’ve loved throughout my life. And if you have a hankering for a thick white baseboard, I hope you’re enjoying exercising your chompers. I’ll be thinking of you often.