by Arlene Hauben

Created on: October 29, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

When we flew back to Florida, my Standard Poodle Jake, a certified service animal, stretched out in the bulkhead space at my feet. The flight was smooth as glass, but he kept lifting his head to look up at me with forlorn, questioning eyes. Somehow he knew I was taking him home, finally, after a six-week sojourn in the Northeast.

It had been a hectic getaway out of Miami, driving 1400 miles to the New York City suburbs with a hired driver at the wheel of my car. We arrived at my daughter's house exhausted and stressed. Where were we? My 11-year-old black poodle ran around the place frantically looking for his father, his bowls, and his toys.

My partner Barry, who was recovering from major spinal surgery, had suggested, "Why don't you just take Jake and go to New York for the summer?" I had thought, "This is my chance to get away from this horror." He had been close to death, in a paralytic state and was now an invalid in spinal casing. His family had hired a nurse to help care for him. I did not make a good caregiver, and fell into a nervous, depressed state of mind.

Jake was the tie that bound us, and soothed us. The love I always felt for him went deeper than that of the love for my children. He knew every word I spoke and could read my mind. The day we left Miami, he was scared and anxious. Once we arrived in New York, we drove to Vermont
to my younger daughter's wedding.

We were welcomed to my friends' house, dog lovers, where Jake took up attendance on the braided rug in front of the TV, and the one by my bed. He was relaxed in the house and we walked frequently in the huge back yard and in the dog-friendly town. But he was always watching me, waiting for my next move. Thankfully, he bonded with John, my friend's husband, and ate his kibbles, which John mixed generously with filet mignon. Still, I knew by his glances that he missed his father, his dog walk along the Intracoastal water, and the beautiful dog park we had back home.

A week or so after the wedding, I loaded the car and drove south back to my daughter in New York. It was time to look for a job and an apartment. Jake and I were going to stay in New York.

He seemed uneasy though and was not welcome by everyone in the family. Four-year-old David adored him. Danielle was nurturing and loving. The oldest boy, Brian, found him annoying and said he should go home. Sadly, so did my daughter, not an animal lover.

I was in total conflict about taking him back to Miami. Our attachment was fierce, but I knew

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