A year ago, I welcomed Cory into my home and my heart. She was a life-changer from the first day. I had no idea going into this that raising a puppy for the BCAGD would impact every facet of my life. Boy, did it ever.

The very best moments with Cory happened frequently: having her fall asleep with her head in my lap, watching her romp and play with her toys, seeing her understand and apply the training and having her look up at me with such loving eyes when we went for a car ride. My heart swelled for the puppy and each cuddle strengthened the bond between us. I had imagined this. In fact, I had mainly considered this when I signed up for the volunteer position. I hadn't considered the amount of sacrifice it would take to do the job properly. And I hadn't fully understood how these sacrifices would impact other people in my life. I have to thank my supervisor for being so unfailingly understanding. I could not have done this without her support. And I need to thank all the friends and fellow puppy raisers who helped me with Cory. Their assistance was invaluable.

The worst moments with Cory happened on a regular basis in the beginning and now occur on only rare occasions. She had separation anxiety and could not control her outbursts of energy (excitement and frustration led to her jumping, snarling, biting and zooming around the house at full speed). The list of things she destroyed is fairly long: shoes, clothes, baseboards, Christmas lights, phone and TV cords, greeting cards, blankets.... Pretty much anything she could get her teeth on suffered. Now, it is only her toys that are ripped apart (under supervision).

The hardest part of being a volunteer puppy raiser (and one I never considered) was the toll it took on my health. From lack of sleep to a repetitive strain injury, I seemed to go from one hiccup to the next. I had no idea how physically demanding this role would be. I have learned that a person needs a great deal of strength to train a puppy in this program.

The easiest part of the job was crushing on the puppy, when she was very good and when she was just plain goofy. Cory loves people and is always overjoyed to see me after I have been away or she has been with another volunteer. She wakes up happy, is always eager to play and have fun, is excited every time I take her to the gym, a coffee shop, on a walk or to the park. She puts me in a good mood, even when my shoulder is aching.

So it is with a mix of pride and sadness that I prepare Cory for the next phase in her journey. She moves on to advanced training to be an autism support dog on November 27. I think she will make a young boy or girl very happy. She loves training and will be eager to learn how to help her new master. I look forward to receiving updates on her progress and to seeing her with the lucky child whose life she will change forever.

I will miss Cory and the house will feel very empty without her. The year of the dog ends a bit early for me. But oh, what a year it has been!

Research provides the backbone to a story. Sometimes, we can base the story on our lives, and we have years of "research" to draw on. But far more often, writers create a world, a character or a situation that is new to them. And then we have to discover all we can about it to make the story come alive.

I love researching places. It was a pleasure to return over and over again to the San Diego area when I was writing Plastic. My trips allowed me to soak in the atmosphere, pick up on differences in dialect or vocabulary and heighten my descriptions of the natural surroundings.

Researching characters is practically a daily occurrence. I'm always storing away tidbits of information heard or seen: the way someone reaches for a pen, compassionate glances, angry words, etc. Once I start writing a book, I build the character partly by gathering up some of these tidbits and partly by putting the character into scenes and seeing how he or she reacts.

Where the real work of researching comes in for me is the unknown situation. This takes time. The main character in Plastic was a former beauty queen. A world I knew nothing about. I read books about former beauty queens and spent far too much time on the Internet reading about pageants, watching videos of contestants and looking at photos from the time period when Debbie would have been competing. I discovered a few uncomfortable things but they made me cringe more than cry. Not so with my next book.

My next book has a much darker subject matter, and the research can be tough. It's important to me that the story be told, and I want it to ring true. So I am delving into the research when I have little pockets of time. And then I need to take a breather. How lucky I am to be able to pull back from the darkness. For some people, this is their truth. In telling this story, I have to honour the people who actually live through such difficult circumstances. The women who have so little choice in their own lives.

Gung hay fat choi. Welcome to the year of the dog!

I got a head start on the year back in November when
I welcomed Cory into my home. As I mentioned in my
last post, Cory is a black Lab in training to become
a service dog with the BC and Alberta Guide
Dog Association. And Cory is teaching me a lot
about hard work, loyalty and sacrifice. My life
changed overnight, and it was not at all what I
expected. But then few life-changing events ever are.

As with any such adventure, training a puppy comes with a whole set of challenges. Dogs don't speak English and find our fussy ways confusing and frustrating at times. Add on to this the myriad rules specific to guide dogs, and we have a recipe for mutual frustration. Cory couldn't be crated and she suffered from separation anxiety. If she couldn't see me, she panicked. And then destroyed things. We had a very rocky start to our year-long relationship. She demanded constant attention, which put a halt to my writing, my social life and even my job. Unless she was sleeping, I had to focus my attention on her. Cory did not like to sleep during the day. So my evenings were crammed with trying to catch up on work and finding silent ways to cook or clean so as not to wake her.

Then there were the nights. Cory woke up between two and four times each night to do her business. Sleep became a precious commodity that I stole in two-hour chunks. As the weeks progressed, and my lack of sleep made it harder to focus and keep smiling, I really questioned whether I could make it through an entire year with her.

Then, a full two months after she arrived, things started to improve. Small miracles appeared, like sleeping from midnight to 7 am. Her baby teeth started to fall out, and she bit and chewed less often. She took naps during the day. She stopped freaking out if I left her alone for short periods. As she matures, she is becoming more manageable and more enjoyable to be around.

But the experience so far has taught me two important lessons: I can never take on such a demanding volunteer role again while I am working and I am not cut out to be a puppy trainer. I will honour the contract I signed and do my best to make sure Cory passes her service dog evaluation. At times, the thought of her helping a person with a visual impairment or autism has been the only thing keeping me going. Because I know my year of sacrifice will give someone else a decade or more of companionship and assistance. But I also know that these dogs deserve to have the best trainers, people who have more time and energy to devote to them.

Cory will continue to teach me about compassion, patience, consistency and a few other surprises. I know I will feel proud of my efforts when it is time for her to move on to advanced training. But I also look forward to having my life back and to devoting myself to my writing again. With a little distance, I will be able to distill some of the mayhem of this year into my fiction in one form or another.