Finding Her Footing in a Ghost Town
Final post in the Traveling with a Service Dog series, featuring our most advanced public access with a service dog yet.
The Procedure Room and the Paper Hat
Doctor’s offices were already old news to Lady Priscilla. She’d spent enough time with Dad in exam rooms to understand the rhythm of human medicine — from blood pressure cuffs to pulse oximeters, nothing fazed her anymore.
But that day, there was a glitch.
Dad had informed the office well in advance that he’d be bringing his service dog. But somewhere along the line, the message didn’t make it through. Fortunately, the staff — always incredible — responded quickly and gracefully. They made it right. And in doing so, they handed Lady Priscilla an unexpected training opportunity.
The tech, who always doted on Dad, explained as we walked down the hall that the room would be a tight fit. Without missing a beat, she grabbed a second staff member and they got to work — rearranging the room, shifting metal furniture, and making space for us all. It was kind, but it was loud. The tile floor amplified every clatter. Four people and a dog in a room the size of a closet. Chaos. Echoes. Movement. Talk about a real world service dog public access test!
Before either of us could issue a single cue, Lady Priscilla calmly backed herself against the far wall and sat down.
No barking, bracing, or signs of stress. Just a quiet decision: This is the best way I can stay out of the way.
And she held that position — composed and watchful — until everything settled.
Once the room was ready, Dad sat on the edge of the bed while I pulled a chair beside him. Lady Priscilla laid down between us. Dad, still in street clothes, received his paper hat and disposable booties. And, of course, he showed them to his dog.
She gave them a little sniff… and then gently tried to take them. To her, they looked like toys.
One simple cue: Not for you.
She immediately laid her head back down. Calm, collected, back on task.
She stayed that way while they took him for the procedure. Right through check-out. Until we walked back out into the sun. Next level service dog training completed without a whimper!
The Haunted Ride
I don’t know what I was thinking when I booked the ghost tour. It wasn’t a walking tour. Or even a trolley. It was an eight-passenger golf cart — and it didn’t start until well after Lady Priscilla’s self-appointed bedtime. Talk about advanced public access with a service dog!
When we approached the cart, she looked at me. Then at Dad. Then at the cart again.
And then she sat.
If you’ve never met a Dutch Shepherd in protest mode, let me explain: 68 pounds can somehow become 680. When Lady Priscilla decides not to move, you’d need physics and divine intervention to budge her.
Thankfully, we had pre-boarding time and weren’t holding anyone up. I climbed onto the cart and slid across the seat. She watched, unmoved. I offered a handful of treats — nothing. I scooted closer and held the treats under her nose.
Still nope.
And then Dad — calm, no-nonsense — gave the command: “Up.”
She sighed. Relented. Hopped up onto the floorboard, leaving just enough room for him to get in. Then tucked her head down… just like she had in the car on the first night we brought her home. Closed in. Unsure. Retreating to safety.
The others boarded. The guide started talking. But I couldn’t hear a word. I was too busy petting her, speaking softly, letting her know she wasn’t alone.
And then — somewhere around the second traffic light — something shifted.
She lifted her head. Looked around. Took in the breeze, the lights, the scent of the night air. Curiosity began to outweigh fear.
By the time we reached our first stop — an old cemetery slightly elevated above the sidewalk — she was all in.
She leapt down from the cart… and then hopped directly up into the cemetery, ahead of us both. I scrambled after her. The guide gently pointed out the stairs. Dad just smiled.
“She made her own path,” he said over his shoulder.
She explored the cemetery with quiet awe — the shadows, the stillness, the energy of stories long past. No spooking. No startling. She simply absorbed.
When it was time to go, she hopped back on the cart like she’d done it a hundred times.
She’d found her footing.
Final Reflections
This trip wasn’t just a series of “firsts.” It was a proving ground — not for perfection, but for partnership.
Lady Priscilla didn’t ace every moment. She barked once at a cafe dog. Hesitated at the golf cart. Needed redirection here and there. But every time she was tested, she came back stronger. Braver. Smarter. More herself.
She wasn’t flawless. She didn’t need to be.
What she was — and what she is — is present. Committed. Fully engaged in the journey. And always trying her absolute best.
From the quiet wisdom of the doctor’s office to the soft strength of a haunted night ride, Lady Priscilla showed us something vital: that greatness isn’t measured in commands obeyed or distractions ignored. It’s in the moments when instinct and training meet — and the dog you’re guiding becomes the one guiding you.
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