As I sit here waiting to go out on my afternoon trip, Eclipse is curled up peacefully napping in her crate.

It’s hard to believe it was just a week ago when this tiny four-footed ball of curiosity walked into my life.

It’s amazing in general what these dogs do, but especially amazing how much progress is made in just one week.

Are we a perfect working team?

Absolutely not.

We have a long way to go before we can guess each other’s thoughts, read each other’s movements, and just know what the other is thinking or feeling.

And even then, there will be moments I ask her was she actually trained, and she wonders where my head is.

We are in the transition period.

All guide dog handlers experience this on some level while training with a new dog.

The dogs, who are two or nearly two have gone through lots of changes in their short lives.

They’ve lived in a loving puppy raiser home, spent months with a beloved trainer, and now are expected to turn over affections and guide total strangers.

To put it bluntly, everyone has left them, so it is not surprising they are a bit unsure of who we are and how long we might stick around.

The initial tail wags and licks can be deceiving.

They may like you, but they aren’t sure if they want to work for you yet.

That is why it takes weeks to train with a guide dog, and miracles don’t usually happen overnight.

It’s both ends of the leash though.

For me, I’m coming off a nine-year partnership with a dog who rarely made a mistake, was rock solid even in the busiest subway stations, and was far smarter than me.

At least that is the way I remember every moment.

Chances are I’ve forgotten the initial transient phase of nine years ago.

I’ve forgotten the walls, trees, poles I ran into initially, or the distracted sniffing.

Because when we did click as a team, it was pure bliss and magic.

Magic tempered with the occasional mistake and bad day.

I believe this is why I, and probably other guide dog handlers, keep coming back.

We forget how difficult it is in the beginning and remember the freedom of flying as a perfectly coordinated being.

We tend to make unfair comparisons between the old and new dog.

Didn’t you compare your boyfriends, or other players on your sports teams?

Eclipse and Lizzie are as different as night and day.

Eclipse isn’t Lizzie, and Lizzie isn’t Eclipse.

They are who they are, and who they are meant to be, individuals, not cookie cutter images of what a guide dog should or shouldn’t be.

Eclipse and Lizzie are both extremely intelligent but show it in different ways.

Eclipse isn’t a swaggering test pilot who brags about every combat mission, wants everyone to know how high and fast he has flown.

Lizzie is.

Eclipse’s intelligence is subtler.

She will stop at the curb, show me the handle on the door, or put her head on my seat in the dining room, but she doesn’t care if anyone else notices or comments on this amazing feat of canine competence.

Lizzie did.

Where Lizzie hurled herself into work. Eclipse is more circumspect, enjoying the journey rather than rushing to the destination.

There is nothing wrong with either of these views of the work life balance.

Where Lizzie wanted to go go go, Eclipse enjoys an enthusiastic game of Kong or chew on the bone.

This has taken me a bit to get used to.

But I remind myself, someone else is having these same issues.

Eclipse has been prepared for life as a guide by a lovely young woman with a brilliant future as a Seeing Eye instructor.

She sounds, looks, and moves differently than me.

She has done an incredible job in the eight months she’s spent with Eclipse.

The fact Eclipse, even at this early stage, consistently stops at steps, stops for traffic, and shows some pleasure when working with me is a testament to this.

I make mistakes and so does she.

Usually she is right, and I’m the one who belongs in the dog house.

It’s scary training with a new dog.

There are those nagging questions.

Will she like working in New Zealand?

Will she successfully transition to my lifestyle?

Will we have a long partnership together?

All guide dog handlers ask these sorts of questions of themselves, and they are perfectly normal.

I wrote Eclipse a letter even before I met her.

It’s a letter that could express the feelings of any guide dog handler, and I will post it in a different post.

But what I tell myself, and Eclipse one week on is, “Good Girl, you’re doing great.”