Page 110 of The Making of Marnie Jones

Kennedy nodded approvingly. “They’re four weeks old.”

Olivia stopped at the large fenced pen. “Can I? I mean, may I? “

“Of course.” Kennedy opened the swinging doors. “First, you approach the mother and let her sniff you. Her name is Tiffany. Hold your hand out, knuckles up, and let her smell.”

The puppies were already yapping excitedly at their heels, but Marnie and Olivia let Tiffany sniff them.

“She's a golden lab.” Olivia vibrated with enthusiasm.

“That's right,” Kennedy confirmed. “The dad is Monty, also a golden lab.”

Olivia quickly counted. “Seven puppies. Is that a lot?”

Kennedy grinned. “Litters can range from a few to a dozen.”

“A dozen?”

“Tiffany had eleven brothers and sisters. She was the runt.”

Marnie gaped at the healthy mama. If she was the runt, what did her littermates look like?

Introductions complete, Kennedy indicated the women could now interact with the writhing, squirming bodies.

Olivia promptly plopped down in the pen and picked up the closest puppy.

More mindful of her surroundings, Marnie gingerly pulled one into her arms. Despite the wriggling, she secured the small body against hers. “How big will they become?”

“Most will be as big as mom, if not bigger. Dad’s no slouch himself, merely a few pounds smaller than Tiffany.”

“Are they barn dogs?”

“No.” Kennedy squatted to pet one of the little squirmy puppies. “Several of them are going to go into a dog-assistance program where they'll be raised to be service dogs. The others will go to families.”

“How do you decide? How do you know which ones will make good service dogs?” Olivia’s interest was clearly piqued.

“Too soon to tell. When they get to be about eight weeks, we’ll choose those who are the most fearless. We’ve exposed them to humans as much as we can so they’ll adapt quickly. My sister, Torah, runs a program for service dogs. She has three trainers who volunteer with her so, along with herself, they can take four puppies.”

“Must be hard to part with them.” Marnie gazed into the deep-brown eyes of the puppy she held. How could she give it up after having raised it?

Kennedy met her gaze with soft, expressive eyes. “When you know they're going to a wonderful family, it's much easier.”

Olivia sat cross-legged on the ground, two puppies in her lap and one in her arms. Her gaze traveled between Kennedy and Marnie. “They're cute.”

“They are.” Kennedy gently placed the puppy she held on the ground. “I should've brought you here last. How am I going to show you the rest of the ranch?”

Reluctantly, Olivia relinquished the little bundles of joy.

Marnie placed hers on the ground, and the puppies made their way over to Tiffany.

Within moments they were latching on to get their lunch.

Leaving the pen, Kennedy swung the door shut. Leading them from the barn, she walked around the perimeter of the riding ring.

“Our focus here is on helping people connect with animals. Tiffany is a comfort dog. Torah’s dog, Bishop, is also a comfort dog. We use them in times of tragedy or disaster. Often the opportunity to be around dogs itself can be healing. The same is true with horses. We find once a client starts tending and caring for a horse, bonds form. It's not perfect, and it doesn't work every time, but I’ve found it effective. We also offer traditional talk therapy when, or if, clients need it.”

Kennedy stopped and hitched a boot onto the lower rail, looking into the ring. “We’re aware of your situations and can help. None of us can claim understanding of what you've been through, but we’re capable of helping you move forward.”

Olivia mimicked Kennedy's relaxed pose.

---