Jason snorts. Does he have allergies or something? I should check with Beau when I see him again.
Inside the pet store, it’s like someone bottled chaos and pumped it through the air vents. Squeaky toys are screaming, kibble bags crinkling, children shrieking joyfully, and there’s a dog a few aisles away who sounds like he’s making a TikTok thirst trap for other dogs. Lots of enthusiasm. Zero technique.
But Jason ignores all of it, staying glued to me.
“I need…” I start.
My phone pings as I use dictation. “What does a seeing-eye dog need on day one?”
The robotic voice reads: “Basic necessities include collar and water bowls, harness, leash, treats, grooming tools, enrichment toys, dental chews?—”
Jason takes two steps away, then nudges my shin. Hard.
I reach out. Bowl.
I laugh. “Okay, I guess we’re starting with that.”
As we move, I use theBe My Eyesapp to scan labels. The volunteer on the other side describes colors, brands, and price tags. But the weirdest thing keeps happening. Every time I say I’m looking for something, Jason seems to find it before the volunteer does.
Every. Single. Item.
Harness? He guides my hand toward the hanging metal buckles.
Soft bed? He noses the display until I touch the fluff.
Treats? He drops a bag in my hand like a man on a mission.
“Are you…” I stop mid-sentence, kneeling. “Are you leading me?”
Jason whines as if to deny it.
I laugh. “I think you are. Have I just bagged the most intelligent seeing-eye dog ever? You know, Jason, I am going to go with yes, no matter how crazy it sounds. The universe owes me. Big time.”
He places a paw larger than my hand into my palm as if to say, “Damn straight.” Or maybe that’s just me losing my marbles.Violet Ashford reporting for crazy duty.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “You’re ridiculously cute.”
My heart squeezes. No matter how impossible it seems, he really is helping me. Guiding me. Choosing me.
Wait ’til I tell Meemaw and Hattie about him.
We leave the store with more bags than I intended, and Jason tugs one until I let go and he can carry it in his mouth. I mean come on. I’d like to know if any other seeing-eye dogs are this helpful. In the Uber, he rests his head on my knee.
And for the first time in a long time, something inside me whispers that maybe I really could do this. Maybe independence isn’t a fantasy. Maybe trust isn’t foolish. Maybe connection isn’t something only sighted people get to have.
Because sitting here, with a giant, quiet, gentle creature breathing softly against my thigh, I feel safe.
And hopeful.
And not alone.
Chapter 9
Jason
If humiliating myself were an Olympic sport, I’d be standing on the gold-medal podium today.
The second we step into the pet store, every head swings in our direction, like we’re auditioning for a nature documentary.
