Through Stevie's eyes

THROUGH

STEVIE’S EYES

Copyright © 2024 Marina Casanelles Gili All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production have been altered to protect the privacy of the individuals involved within this narration. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Dedication

To my sweet boy, Stevie. Thank you for showing me the true meaning of unconditional love and resilience. This story is dedicated to you, my precious companion.

I want to acknowledge Ellen Fair's support, dedication, guidance, and assistance throughout the writing process. Thank you, Ellen, for helping me bring Stevie's story to life and sharing it with everyone.

This book is a true story about a blind dog. The author made only minimal modifications to make it easier to read while staying true to the original tale.

For videos of Stevie go to YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9eWdLyQGAdBw9rXSg9m8UQ

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1: As A Puppy ......................................................................... 1

Chapter 2: Stevie’s Sightlessness........................................................ 16

Chapter 3: Stevie’s Lifeline ................................................................ 28

Chapter 4: Stevie’s Remarkable Abilities ........................................... 52

Chapter 5: Becoming More ................................................................. 79

Chapter 6: Search And Rescue Training ............................................. 93

Chapter 7: Getting Ready For Certification ...................................... 116

Chapter 8: Certification..................................................................... 125

Chapter 9: Work Well Done ............................................................. 143

Chapter 10: Trip To Spain ................................................................ 157

Chapter 11: Moving To St. Croix ..................................................... 178

Chapter 12: Moving To Washington State ....................................... 200

Chapter 1

As A Puppy

As dusk gave way to the serene glow of a clear night, the full moon hung prominently in the sky a celestial beacon that seemed to watch over the Earth. With his seasoned intuition honed through twenty years of breeding top-notch hunting dogs, Art felt a distinctive stir of anticipation in the air. On nights such as this, tranquil and almost 1

reverent, the very rhythms of nature seemed to align.

Lucy, Art’s prized English cocker spaniel, lay nestled within the rustic confines of an old barn that Art had converted into a well-equipped breeding space. The barn itself was saturated with memories and the echoes of many litters past, and tonight, it was Lucy’s turn to add to the storied legacy of Art’s kennels. This was her first litter, bringing a unique blend of excitement and anxious hope to Art’s experienced heart.

He had prepared a spacious pen for Lucy, lined with soft blankets to provide comfort and warmth away from any drafts or disturbances. It was his custom, a personal commitment etched through years of practice, to accompany his dogs through the birthing process. For Art, the whelping was not merely a business affair but a moment of bond and kinship with his canines.

As the clock hands moved, marking the silent passage of time, the barn remained a pocket of quiet activity. Art watched over Lucy with a vigilance that was both tender and focused. In the stillness of the night, Lucy seemed to be in a deep slumber, her breaths rhythmic and unhurried, her body sprawled in the comfort of her pen. Yet, Art knew this repose was the calm before the transformative storm of life-bringing activity.

The dogs Art bred were not just animals; they were hunters, each one bearing the lineage and the promise of field excellence. Art’s love for the hunt was inseparable from his love for the breed. English cocker spaniels were his companions on the crisp morning hunts, his partners in the rustling reeds on the hunt for ducks. Each dog was an exquisite testament to Art’s dedication to the sport and his unwavering standard 2

for athleticism and aptitude.

With a distant smile, he recalled the many litters born under his watchful eye, each a chapter in his life’s pursuit. The barn was an archive of those joyful and sometimes agonizing experiences of life’s fragility and triumph.

It was in these quiet hours, with the consistency of the moon’s watch, that Art allowed himself to reflect. Breeding was not simply a profession but a calling, a continuous reach toward perfection in his canine wards.

This night, as with so many before, promised the gift of new beginnings, of puppies that would grow under his careful guidance to become the next generation of exquisite hunters. Art settled into his chair, a steadfast sentinel, waiting for Lucy to stir for the first signs of labor to commence.

He was ready, as he had always been, to assist in the miraculous arrival of new life a time-honored ritual that filled him with pride and a profound sense of purpose.

As the clock hands inched their way toward midnight, Art kept a watchful yet patient eye on Lucy. Nestled within the confines of the barn, the stillness was occasionally punctured by the soft rustling of straw as Lucy grew increasingly restless. Her unease was a telltale sign to Art; decades of breeding experience whispered to him that the pivotal moment of whelping was drawing near.

In response to Lucy’s mounting anxiety, Art stepped closer, assuming the role he had played countless times before part midwife, part comforting presence. His voice dipped into tranquility as he spoke to his trusted companion. Breathe, sweet Lucy. I am here, and everything will be okay, he murmured. Words were beyond Lucy’s comprehension, 3

but the soothing timbre of Art’s voice was a balm, a familiar sound that eased her into a state of relative calm.

The night crept onward, and the barn’s shadows played against the walls as Art waited. A few hours later, he began to notice the unmistakable signs of labor progressing Lucy’s abdomen tensed rhythmically with contractions. Observing with growing attentiveness, Art prepared himself mentally for the task ahead.

It wasn’t long before the first puppy entered the world. Within moments, and with practiced hands, Art greeted the newborn. Cradling the small, wet bundle in a clean towel, he carefully cleared its nose and mouth, ensuring the puppy’s breath would not be hindered by the remnants of its amniotic cradle. Gently, he rubbed the towel over the tiny animal, stimulating circulation and evoking the first gasps of air into its lungs.

Now breathing and showing signs of life, the puppy was carefully placed adjacent to Lucy, who instinctively took over. With motherly diligence, she began to lick and nuzzle her offspring, her tongue cleaning and stimulating her pup. This sequence continued, a rhythm that nature herself seemed to orchestrate, and approximately every half-hour, another puppy joined the growing litter.

Art had been privy to an ultrasound image some time ago; he knew that Lucy carried eight precious lives within her. One by one, they came forth each separated by the briefest span of creation until all eight lay wriggling and mewling beside their mother. They were a picture of health, complete with all their tiny toes.

After ensuring each puppy was cared for, Art turned his attention to the remnants of birth. The placentas were carefully removed from the pen 4

and delivered in due course with each puppy. His eyes then turned back to the scene of Lucy tenderly coaxing her pups to nurse. This inaugural feeding was critical; the colostrum, rich with life-sustaining antibodies, was their first and most important meal to kick-start their immune systems.

Sitting in for a few more hours, Art watched over the newborns, attentive to any signs of distress or complications. His face wore a contented smile as he observed the eight brown puppies two girls and six boys finding their way to their mother’s belly. The puppies’ coats were so soft and wavy, with a beautiful, rich choc Ampirical Process Map olate color that reminded you of the coziest blanket you could snuggle up with on a cold winter’s day. Their tiny forms clung to Lucy, who eagerly nursed them as life’s first chapter unfolded before them.

Art had already fitted them with their first collars tiny bands of different colors. These were more than mere identifiers; each color was a commitment to the individual care and attention each puppy would receive under his expert eye.

As the symphony of soft whimpers and satisfied slurps filled the space, Art reveled in the sight before him generations of knowledge and decades of dedication culminated in the nurturing tableau that encapsulated his life’s work. Eight new lives, each with a future as a hunting companion, began their journey under the caring watch of Art.

Art had embarked on a familiar yet always unique journey with the arrival of Lucy’s new litter. During the first delicate week of their lives, Art watched over the slumbering forms of the puppies with a seasoned gaze, knowing that their world was entirely circumscribed by the warm 5

underbelly of their mother and her nurturing presence. Lucy was their world feeding, cleaning, and warming them with an effortless grace born of instinct. Art’s role was to observe and ensure that Lucy herself remained unstressed and comfortably fulfilled her maternal duties.

The barn was filled with the tender symphony of puppyhood soft nursing sounds interspersed with periods of quiet rest. These were peaceful days, moments captured in the tranquility of nurturing life. By the end of that initial week, the pen began to resonate with new sounds whines and yelps as two inquisitive pups started to crawl, their leg muscles strengthening with each ungainly movement. Art witnessed Lucy tenderly attending to their needs, stimulating their tiny bodies to function correctly with her gentle licks and nudges.

As days turned into two weeks, another milestone approached. The puppies’ eyes, tightly closed, gradually began to open to the muted light of their straw-lined world. With vision came the burgeoning curiosity, and before long, they were wobbling on uncertain legs, embarking on their first unsteady explorations a testament to life’s indomitable impulse.

Transitioning into the third week brought palpable changes. Energetic bursts punctuated the once calm pen, prompting Art to expand their enclosure. He constructed a space where Lucy could retreat from her boisterous offspring, affording her respite while allowing the puppies room to explore and play further. Observing their interaction with the environment and one another was among Art’s simple pleasures. Even in their tenuous attempts at play, the seeds of their personalities were sprouting a joyous spectacle to behold.

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As the puppies approached the one-month mark, Art recognized the importance of broadening their world to include human contact beyond just him. He invited his family to share in the nurturing process. Eager hands reached for the wriggling balls of fur, giggles, and soft words enveloping the barn. Each puppy was cradled and fussed over, with Art’s gentle reminder that no pup should be left upheld; every one deserved to be showered with affection.

They were delightful, filled with uncontainable energy and a mischievous spirit that echoed through the homestead. Their tiny paws danced on the gravel, crushing fallen leaves, joyfully chasing one another in playful circles. Woofs of pure delight reverberated through the air as their wagging tails showed the sheer happiness they had brought one another. The puppies ventured into the sprawling farmland surrounding the homestead, their delicate paws tickled by the vibrant green grass. A gentle breeze whispered its secrets into fluffy ears as the pups left a trail of tiny paw prints behind as if making their magical journey. Two puppies could detect even the tiniest hidden treasures buried beneath the Earth’s surface with a nose that seemed to possess superhuman capabilities. They would follow their noses with unwavering determination, like fearless explorers embarking on a daring mission, unearthing secret possessions unknown to anyone else.

The days rolled by, each bringing a discovery as the puppies grew, their bodies and senses maturing. With six weeks on the horizon, Art’s veterinarian friend made his visit another appointment woven through years of mutual respect and camaraderie. The vet’s eyes lit up at the sight of the vibrant little creatures before him, lively and hale.

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They have been an easy litter, and Lucy has been a great mother, something that I am always worried about when it’s their first litter,

Art explained, his voice tinged with pride and relief. The vet’s hands were practiced and gentle as he examined each puppy, confirming their robust health before administering the vaccinations that would shield them from disease.

As the vet worked, he couldn’t help but share Art’s sentiments, vocalizing his admiration, What a beautiful litter you have here, Art.

They were words of simple truth, as evident in the lively pups’ gleaming coats and vivacious spirits as in Art’s quiet smile of satisfaction. Each had been cared for and nurtured with a devotion that paid homage to the rich tradition of breeding OK hunting dogs and lifelong companions.

As the day passed, the puppies’ playful nature only blossomed, and their bond with each sibling became invaluable. They formed an unbreakable pack, unwaveringly loyal to one another within the confines of their little corner of the world. The vast fields became their playground as some chased after birds and rabbits. Their boundless energy propelled them effortlessly over fallen branches and logs, their fluffy coat disguising the uncanny agility they possessed. They would leap into the air in moments of liberation, defying gravity with each graceful bounce.

Art surveyed his estate with a sense of anticipation threading through him. Over the years, hunters drawn by his reputation had come to rely on the precision with which Art matched puppies to prospective owners.

With Lucy’s litter frolicking at his feet, it was time to discern which among them harbored the latent potential to excel in the hunt and which would be more suited to the role of a cherished pet.

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Working as a breeder, Art had refined a meticulous approach to evaluating prospective hunting dogs. It was an intricate dance of observation and interaction, where physical vigor melded with mental acuity to single out the likely candidates. Art watched them in varied settings from the cloistered confines of the barn to the expansive and beckoning outdoors. He looked for eagerness and acumen, taking note of their alertness and curiosity, their nimble strides exuding a burgeoning boldness that the makings of a good hunting dog required.

The yard outside the barn, a swath of vibrant green, served as Art’s open-air studio. Here, under the wide sky, he would watch them play, assess their temperaments, their stamina. It was a place where their nascent traits could be unfurled, where keen noses could twitch in the thrill of discovery, and bodies could be bound with an inherent understanding of the land.

Two decades had shaped Art’s expertise, and he felt an affinity for the nuanced insights the Volhard Puppy Aptitude Test (PAT) offered. This battery of trials aimed to untangle the weave of each puppy’s dispositional threads, revealing not just the animal’s present state but shedding light on the potentiality of their future demeanor essential factors, particularly for those destined for the discipline of the hunt.

Yet already, two of the fledglings seemed less suited to the rigors and demands of the hunt. It was not a deficiency no, Art knew well the value of a dog whose destiny lay along a gentler path, companions destined for the hearth rather than the field.

For the six promising pups, Art’s regimen was a series of targeted exercises drawn from the PAT and his extensive experience. They 9

showed general promise their temperaments aligned with the ancestral call of the hunt. Among the litter, though, the puppy with the purple collar was an outlier an embodiment of the raw, appealing spirit that caught Art’s practiced eye.

The little one was the epitome of amiability, approaching people with a spirited air, his tail an exuberant pendulum. Holding him sparked no revolt; he accepted touch with an easy grace, his passivity dispelling any notion of excessive assertion.

Sound did not faze him; he met it, acknowledged its existence, and recalibrated swiftly, secure once the depths of the disturbance had been plumbed and deemed harmless. The novelty of a new environment did little to dampen his spirit; he may have appeared a touch ungainly in his chaotic embrace of all directions, but he was energy unspoiled by reticence. Art had observed his keen attention to the birds that dotted their skies, an attention that preceded even Art’s own awareness.

In the symphony of scampering paws and playful growls that filled Art’s yard, one particular melody always stood out: the determined dash of the purple-collared pup in pursuit of any object cast into the sea of green.

With an insatiable zest, this little one transformed the mundane act of retrieving into an art form.

His enthusiasm for the game was unparalleled. When a toy was sent spiraling into the air, his little body tensed, a coiled spring ready to unfurl. His eyes were sharp and focused like those of a seasoned hunter.

With an explosive burst of energy, he was off, bounding through the grass with a single-minded determination that set him apart from his littermates.

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There was an almost joyous tenacity in how he chased down the toy.

His tiny legs would propel him across the terrain, undeterred by the distractions that captivated the others. It didn’t matter where the toy would land in the thick of the brambles or across the furrowed lines of a field his commitment to retrieval was undying.

Arriving at the location, whether through instinct or the pure bliss of the chase, he would unearth the