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I’ve been working on a fiction story for the last few weeks but keep getting interrupted by reality.

At our house, you just never know what’s going to happen.

Tonight, as I wrote about a princess, my German Shepherd came galloping up the stairs.

He’s my safety net; hopefully I won’t need help anytime soon, but I’m training him as a service dog.

We’ve been working on things like:

  • Help! (I lie on the floor as if I’ve fallen and he helps me back up.)
  • Dish. (He hands me his bowl.)
  • Open. (He uses a paw to open an unlatched door for me.)
  • Take it to the laundry. (He trots whatever I hand him back to the laundry room. That one’s just for fun.)
  • Sit-stay. (He waits for me to verbally release him from a sit.)
  • Hush. (He stops barking at other dogs. We’re working on this.)
  • Leave it. (He ignores whatever…

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