My beloved Savannah got kicked out of her therapy dog class last week.

Let me rephrase that in more congenial terms: It was gently suggested by our wonderfully diplomatic instructor that Savannah might want to abandon attempts to study toward passing a therapy dog exam in the coming months, and consider taking on the training at some future point in her young life.

Her housemate Rikki was welcome to continue. But I couldn't see taking Rikki to class (held at a church in far west Little Rock) and leaving Savannah at home to wonder what she'd done wrong to be abandoned. Not that she would, if she was well stocked with a supply of chews and passers-by to bark at.

Still, now I know how parents feel when one of their children, who they are convinced is beyond exceptional, learns from experienced educators that the child is not all that.

Like the lyrics to "The Acid Queen" by the Who explain:

If your child ain't all he should be now

This girl could put him right

I'll show him what he could be now

Just give me one night.

Savannah is smart, affectionate, enthusiastic, a fan of all humans, athletic, lively, prone to follow the beat of a different drum, and not all that fond of each and every member of the canine set. Somehow, I deduced that those qualities could be harnessed in an orderly manner during seven weeks of classes.

Therapy dogs, we were told on the first day of class, go into the community to provide comfort; their jobs are to be petted. There are also service dogs and emotional support dogs, with different degrees of training and certification.

I know a lot about this because my little Schnauzer mix Audi (who wandered into our lives as a stray years ago at our previous residence) attended these classes and passed her certification exam with flying colors. She commenced to charm children at Hillary Rodham Clinton Children's Library, worshippers at Pulaski Heights United Methodist Church (where parishioners shared bites of doughnuts with her as she sat in their laps), various festivals and outdoor gatherings, and loads of fund-raising events. I lost her a few years ago; I can't imagine many dogs are as treasured as she was.

Instruction for therapy dogs is centered around handing out tiny soft treats for proper behavior on command: sitting, down, coming when summoned, "leave it" (abandoning a desirable treat or toy), and walking alongside their human on a loose five-foot leash. "The quicker you treat your dog, the quicker they learn," advised our trainer as she wrangled not only my two four-leggers but about eight others, ranging from fluffy Labradoodles to a charming French bulldog who showed great skill at sprawling on the floor, whether the behavior was requested or not.

Rikki gamboled around the room in her usual self-possessed manner. She sat on command, strolled casually on a loose leash, and paid little attention to the other dogs in the group. She didn't seem much interested in obeying a command for "down," but she would have figured it out eventually.

Savannah was much too interested in mixing it up with her classmates and at engaging with their humans. After observing her for a while, the trainer rendered her judgment: It's not the right time for Savvy to be here. And I wasn't going to drive 25-some miles to the class for six more weeks to keep educating Rikki, who didn't seem to care about it one way or the other. Leaving Savannah at home would seem to be unkind.

The class organizer later emailed me this message in an effort to comfort me: "Although I'm sorry you've decided to not pursue certification for these dogs, I respect your concern for leaving one dog behind while the other one gets to go. I've had two sets of litter mates who were in different training classes, and it's better for training purposes but harder on the dogs and their parents so I understand. In fact, one of my dogs got certified in the fall of 2019 and the other one couldn't get certified until 2021."

Our departure made space for other dogs that were on a waiting list for the class, which is very popular.

The organizer's final words: "We thank you for your interest in the training program and know Rikki and Savannah can bring comfort and joy to people in other ways."

This idea was echoed by a co-worker when I told him of Savvy's fate; he noted that his dog Rocky would probably have been booted out on the first day as well. Not that he, nor Rocky, would have cared.

"They're our personal therapy dogs, and there's nothing wrong with that," he said.

Karen Martin is senior editor of Perspective.

kmartin@adgnewsroom.com

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