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Perhaps the most amusing thing about puppy raising is that sometimes, people (who obviously don’t actually read Lomax’s “Puppy In Training” jacket) think I’m visually impaired.

Especially when I’m wearing my black sunglasses and walking him down the street.

The bold ones ask me, “So, if you don’t mind my asking, are you totally blind?” But it’s the hesitant ones I most enjoy, the ones who just shoot a sideways glance toward my face as we’re passing. Is she or isn’t she…?

A friend suggested I use this to my advantage in situations where Lomax and I are denied access to a store or restaurant by a cranky merchant. “Just stare blankly, feel for the door and say in your sweetest voice, ‘I’m so sorry to have troubled you! God bless!'”

Heh heh heh.

The hound and I attended a conference for work today, which was held at a nice Embassy Suites hotel near the airport. It went well. The rain had mostly stopped, so I didn’t walk in to a room full of strangers with a smelly wet dog, which was a relief.

He did, of course, stink things up on his own once I positioned him beneath the table…which was a laughable occurrence (at least for me) because my roommate was remarking just last night that Lomax has been quite mild on the gas-o-meter for the last several days. So much for that. Problem was mostly solved, however, when I put him in a “down stay” in the corner of the room. His occasional stretches, yawns and Lab-trademarked sighs were met with the usual lower-lip-out, head-tilted, silent “awwwwwwwww” faces from my more dog-centric co-workers. Good times.

Anyway, as we left the session for a little walk around the center court of the hotel’s lower level — which was decorated with nifty ponds complete with koi, turtles and ducks (!) — I noticed there was a glass elevator.

So I took him right in (he’s quite accustomed to solid elevators) and pushed the button corresponding to the fifth and highest floor. And as the doors shut and the elevator moved up, I had a very brief moment of panic, which went a little something like this:

“IDIOT! WHY DID YOU PUSH THE FIFTH FLOOR BUTTON? WHAT IF HE FREAKS OUT? BARKING OR WHINING OR PEEING FOR FIVE FLOORS COULD HAVE BEEN BARKING OR WHINING OR PEEING FOR ONE FLOOR!”

It was then I looked down to observe Lomax reacting as he seems to react to just about anything: with head held high, tail wagging and a goofy, tongue-out smile.

On Saturday night, Lomax and I attended a “drive-in” movie event on the soundstage at the studio where I used to work. It was a fun evening; we celebrated the tenth anniversary of the company with a screening of the original Creature From the Black Lagoon (in 3D, as you may have surmised by the photo) and a delicious carne asada taco feast.

While we were mingling pre-screening, I attempted to take Lomax out to the parking lot for a visit with “Kenny Asada,” captain of the grill. Barbecuing requires fire. And where there’s fire, there’s smoke.

And smoke, apparently, is a sign to the furry one that he needs to save my life by pulling as hard and as quickly as he can to get us outta there. It was like the Flintstones trying to start the car.

He didn’t bark or whine or put his tail between his legs and freak out, but he was clearly aware that there was some kind of dangerous thing happening over near the grill. I managed to calm him down and get him back inside (trying all the while to act as though this were nothing for him to worry about, a completely normal situation…because, after all, it was). There was a little smoke on stage, too, and he was not happy about that, but when we were safely out of range of the fire, he snapped right back into his usual happy self.

My roommate thought it was a wonderful and heroic thing that Lomax was trying to save my life from the terrible fire. She said, “That’s a good thing!”

“Sure,” I replied. “Until the blind person wants to go to a barbecue.”

Our first puppy meeting together. The dog costume contest.

I was concerned that the costume wouldn’t hold, the helmet or sword would go askew and obscure his vision and movement, that Lomax would wiggle his way out of it in the mad excitement of meeting dozens of new pups and people, that a spontaneous game of puppy flag football would break out and his fine red sash and faux-leather skirted accents would pay the price before the judging began. The contingency plan, of course, was that I would assert it was all part of the act, that Lomaximus had just emerged victorious from a brutal gladiatorial contest.

But there was no need. My beloved charge, my handsome little man, was well-behaved and fairly controllable…and I must say, looked mighty proud and confident in his getup. The much-hated helmet that had inspired death-ray looks of canine scorn in practice runs at home remained secure upon his lofty brow (he was too happy about the presence of others and being the center of attention to care much for the minor inconvenience). No one mauled him, nor did he maul others, though he did earnestly long for some extended sniffs in the general direction of the intact females in their pretty dresses and tiaras.

I had the opportunity to FINALLY, after just over two and a half years as a “future puppy raiser” attending meetings with either no dog or someone else’s, officially introduce myself and my furry foster child. Our happy moment was met with applause and cheering from those who have known me as their go-to puppysitter and a joyous participant in others’ graduations. Of no less importance was my announcement that Lomax was NOT dressed as a Trojan, as he had been announced (I am a UCLA grad with blue & gold blood in my veins), but as “Lomaximus, mighty Roman warrior.”

We came home with a (presumably) delicious rawhide chew tied in festive ribbons, the prize for Best Dressed…which we absolutely were, without question.

Finally, a hearty “Hats Off To You!” goes out to my good friend and former boss Ian at New Deal Studios, without whose tools, expertise, creativity and appreciation for the absurd I could not possibly have modified a child-sized Roman soldier costume to fit a wiggly Labrador Retriever. Thanks again, Ian! I owe you another latte.

My group offers a 10-week class called “Puppy Kindergarten” for members with new 8- or 9-week-old pups. More often a learning experience for the people than the dogs, the kindergarten class encourages and teaches us how to begin working immediately to gain the trust and obedience of a creature that would, in the hands of the average person, probably be no more than an adorable and barely forgivable tasmanian devil (of the Warner Bros. sort).

But the kindergarten teachers are wise and patient, and the simple tricks they know are profoundly effective.

I took year-old Lomax to kindergarten not because he needs to brush up on his basic skills, but because I could always use a refresher…AND because Lomax loooooves other dogs, which is a fine thing for a family dog, but not such a fine thing for a service dog. Not everyone with four legs (or two, for that matter, as Lomax is nondiscriminatory in these matters) is a potential playmate.

His brother Liam comes to these classes, too, because this is apparently a genetic enthusiasm. Liam must stay down under Matt’s chair and observe the class, and behave without whining and fidgeting and sucking up to “his people” for attention.

But I took Lomax through the class itself. It must have looked comical, three other tiny puppies in the on-their-back “cradle” position with their handlers, and me with the remedial student, having to actually reeeeeach forward to grab and inspect his back feet.

He did a fair amount of wiggling and sniffing because he’s not just friendly but also intact (“GIRLS LIVE HERE. I SMELL GIRLS. GIRLS. GIRLS. GIRLS.”), but by the end of the class, he seemed to be fairly attentive and calm. The real test will come at his first official South Bay puppy raisers meeting this coming Monday, which will be wall-to-wall with people and dogs who are new and exciting. And they’ll all be in costume.

Photos to come, I promise.

There’s nothing quite so soft and sweet
As this, dear puppy, Heaven knows!
As though you sense my icy feet,
You rest your head on my cold toes.

Lomax and I helped man (woman? dog?) the South Bay Puppy Raisers booth at the annual Walk For the Animals in Long Beach last Sunday, which means we’ve now officially attended our first GDA event together. It was fun hanging out with some of the South Bay regulars, and brother Liam was there, which made it even better (pics to come). The two of them carved a canine crop circle in the grass and sniffed mutual dog butt like there was no tomorrow (“Hey! I know you! I know you! I know you!”).

Then there was a little blessing of the animals, which required our standing in the midst of a huge mass of people and pets — Lomax wasn’t sure what to make of the free-range tortoise — and straining to hear various remarks and benedictions and whatnot over the barking/growling/whining/”NO!”-ing crowd. “Blah blah blah ecumenical blah noncommittal notion of a higher being blah blah blah don’t we all love the little creatures blah blah all dogs go to heaven blah St. Francis blah blah.”

Then we stood in line in front of our blessing-giver of choice (we found ourselves a charming Catholic priest with a very short line), who addressed Lomax by name, proffered a quick “Father-Son-Holy Spirit,” sprinkled the little man with holy water and “God Bless”ed us on our merry way.

Perhaps the loveliest part of the day, though (because as a regular churchgoer, Lomax is quite accustomed to being blessed), was the post-event hangout in the nearby back yard of Ann, another puppy raiser. Seven Labs off leash, all very happy to see each other.

He slept very well that night.

I laughed when my dad bought some Israeli military-issue gas masks for the family in case of some, what, gas-related emergency? You know, it was the ’80s, and dad had a few “survivalist” friends who seemed bent on being able to live in an underground bomb shelter stocked with an arsenal and a convenience store.

But Lomax spends several hours a day under my desk while I’m at work, and I’m not ashamed to admit that one or two of those gas masks would come in handy right about now.

Frequently Asked Questions about puppy raising:

Q. How long do you have these dogs?
A. About 16 months — we get the pups at 8 weeks and keep them ’til they’re about a year and a half.

Q. Where do the dogs come from?
A. GDA has its own breeding program, and they occasionally accept donated dogs from local breeders.

Q. What kinds of dogs are they?
A. Labrador Retrievers, Golden Retrievers, German Shepherds, Standard Poodles, and some interesting crosses like Labradoodles (Lab/Poodle) and Goldadors (Lab/Golden).

Q. How do you train them?
A. We take our dogs through basic obedience training, train them to have good house manners, give them lots of exposure to people and animals and public places, and shower them with love.

Q. You can take a dog anywhere?
A. Just about — most people understand, once you politely educate them, that it’s important to get the dog used to the kinds of environments his future master might encounter in the course of his daily life. Office buildings, grocery stores, busy streets, elevators, restaurants, crowds, schools, sporting events….

Q. Do the dogs go to work with you?
A. Absolutely! Blind people have jobs too, y’know.

Q. Do they ever get to just be dogs?
A. Oh, believe me — when a puppy’s not wearing his “Puppy in Training” jacket that signifies to him and everyone else that he’s working, he can run and play and wrestle and snort and wiggle and have treats and act, for the most part, just like any other dog.

Q. What happens to the dogs who don’t make it?
A. GDA calls these “career change” dogs. If a dog is dropped from the program, it might be offered to another kind of agency for different work that’s more suited to the dog’s temperament or habits. For example, if you just can’t break a dog’s habit of obsessively sniffing the ground whenever he’s out for a walk, they might try to get him work as a search and rescue dog.

Q. And if that doesn’t happen?
A. The puppy raiser gets first dibs! If the raiser can’t or doesn’t want to adopt the dog as a personal pet, the dog will be given to a wonderful family from the VERY long (six years at last count) “I Want to Adopt A GDA Dog” waiting list. Don’t worry — they all end up with excellent homes one way or another!

Q. How can you give them up? I could never do that.
A. Sure, it’s difficult. But puppy raisers support each other emotionally, and we all know the meaning behind the mission: this is a gift we give to someone else, a gift that will change a life. You should come to a GDA graduation sometime. Then you’ll understand exactly why we do this.