Life. Unleashed. Canine Companions for Independence provides highly-trained assistance dogs for children and adults with disabilities, free of charge. The most advanced technology capable of transforming the lives of people with disabilities has a cold nose and a warm heart!

-The Canine Companions for Independence Website

Anna & Emily: Two Girls, One Tale

This past year my family and I have been raising a Canine Companion for Independence puppy, Anna. She's a black lab. She's adorable. And someday, she'll hopefully help someone in a wheelchair to get dressed, turn on and off lights, grab a dropped set of keys, and open doors, etc. Canine Companions for Independence (CCI) breeds, trains and places labs and retrievers with people who need a working dog to help make life more abundant and joyful. We're among a large and lucky group of people around the nation who raises the pups for about a year: exposing them to public places, teaching them a series of commands, potty training them, and just plain loving them.

Though Anna has chewed one of Emily's favorite toys and the speaker for her brother Ben's iPod, we have grown quite attached to Anna. We like tossing the Frisbee with her in the front yard. We like snuggling with her after she has had a bath. We relish putting on her yellow cape with blue trim - her working garb - and taking her into Starbucks or Einstein's or the post office. We get a kick out of the fact that Anna has become a star of sorts in our neighborhood. Everyone knows her and has hopes for her life of service and companionship.

In just a few short weeks my husband, three kids and I will be driving Anna to Ohio (to the North Central Regional Center) where we'll turn Anna in to her professional trainers. Even as I type those words, I feel a knot forming in my stomach and a catch gripping the front of my throat. It's going to be hard to say goodbye. I can imagine how quiet our house is going to be when we return from that trip. I tear up just thinking about Anna leaving behind her favorite blanket and chew toys and the five of us, who've grown to love her so much.

Last week, Emily and I took Anna to a local Canine Companions for Independence event, Ruff and Buff. There, Anna socialized with other dogs, participated in some training activities, took a walk with other pups, and had her blood drawn from a local veterinarian volunteer. The blood draw was for a study CCI conducts annually to help reduce the anxiety in dogs transitioning from puppy raisers' homes back to the regional centers. In the car on the way home from the training, Emily asked, "Momma, why did they take the blood from Anna? Are we going to get to keep that to remember her after she goes to Ohio?"

I started laughing. I probably would've started crying, without the laughter. "Oh, Em, that's so sweet," I said. "But, no, the blood is going to be used by CCI for a test to help Anna with the transition she is about to make."

"Oh," Emily said. I could tell by her voice that she was hoping for more of an answer.

"You know, Em," I said catching a glimpse of Emily with her little arm draped around Anna's huge Labrador head in the back seat. "You know that it's going to be hard for us to say goodbye to Anna. And, guess what, Honey. It's going to be hard for Anna to say goodbye to us, too. She is going to be leaving all of the sights and sounds and smells and the schedule that she is used to. She is going to be leaving the house and the walks and the people that she knows and loves."

Gottcha Day: A Goodbye and A Hello

In an epiphanal moment I was taken back ot November 20, 2005 when my husband, Bryan, and I took our daughter Emily into our arms for the first time. Emily, then Ling XuRan, was wearing a jade green jump suit, lacy white bobby socks on her tiny feet, and a homemade beaded necklace of multi-colors strung on a hot pink strand of nylon string. Her Ai's (the auntie caregivers at the Social Welfare Institution) were tenderly and excitedly trying to tell us all about XuRan in rapid well-intentioned Mandarin.

"Emily?" I asked in a careful voice, shaking off my daydream and trying to catch Em's eyes in the rearview, "Is there anyone else in our family - other than Anna - who has had to leave everything she has known in order to enter a new life with new people who love her?"

Emily was quiet for a couple seconds. She leaned her cheek on Anna's head. I think she might've even given the sleeping dog a kiss on her soft warm ear. "I have," Emily whispered. "When I was in China and I was one, and I could walk."

"That's right," I said. "Before you came to America, you had a special bed in China and a home with a foster mommy who loved you so much that she taught you to walk and she made a very beautiful necklace for you. Remember that necklace?"

I could see my daughter nodding. "You knew Chinese words and tastes and smells. Kange was your favorite food and rice milk was your favorite thing to drink." Emily was petting Anna, now, while taking in all of my words with care that's often lost in coloring or the next creative idea for outside play with neighborhood friends.

"Anna and I are special," Emily said.

"Yes you are, Em," I heartily agreed. "both of you have had special journeys. Both of you have had to say difficult Goodbyes and long awaited Hellos. Both of you have been loved by different groups of people, different families. Both of you have memories of good things that will be with you for the rest of your lives. both of you have a path in your life that only you can walk. And, both of you are missed by one family and treasured, every day, by another."

I could not hold back the tears as I imagined saying goodbye to Anna, but more importantly as I thought of the foster family and birth family in China who I still pray for every day. I would give anything to be able to tell them that Emily is loved, that she is beautiful and smart and strong-willed . . . and happy and well-cared-for and companioned by sometimes annoying, yet good older brothers. I wish I could send them pictures from her birthday parties and all of the papers on which she has drawn pictures of black dogs and written words that matter most to her: Mommy, Daddy, Ben, Ayden, Anna, Love, Emily. I wish I could give them assurances and peace and gratitude.

I thought about Anna's blood which Emily thought we were going to keep. And, I wondered (I hoped, really) that something as warm and life-giving and organic as the blood in their veins would let Emily's China Family know that she is O.K., that she is loved. And, that she and her new family loves all of them, too.

"Mom," Emily said, "you promised we could get milkshakes on the way home."

"You're right," I said. At that precise moment, I noticed the bright red and white sign pointing out our favorite spot to grab chocolate shakes. I put on my blinker, turned in and ordered both of us large ones with extra whipped cream and three cherries. From our booth, we could see Anna in the front window of our VW. Her sad eyes kept us in sight at all times, her pink tongue centered in a broad smile was waiting to lick Emily's chocolaty cheek. Em and I smiled back at Anna. My daughter and I sipped our cold sweet shakes in silence. We didn't need any more words, just each other's company and the profoundly life-changing story we've shared.