Puppy love with a higher purpose

Take one look at Isaac. Go ahead. Stare into those trusting brown eyes and tell him you'll care for him, feed him and spend so much time with him that you won't remember what it was like going to the grocery store without him trotting by your side.

Say this, but remember that in about a year he will be gone, living in another home, loving someone else. You might get the occasional phone call, but it won't be the same. He will have moved on. And so, too, must you.

That's the way it is with puppies in training to be guide dogs. "There's no question — it is horrible, it is hard to give them back," said Sheryl Speight of Sammamish, whose family has raised four puppies over the past five years for Guide Dogs for the Blind. "But we can't stop. It's like we're hooked."

The puppies — Labrador retrievers, German shepherds, golden retrievers and Lab/golden crosses — are bred to help the legally blind live more independent lives. Foster families who take them in during that critical first year teach them perfect manners, get them accustomed to noisy distractions and help them evolve from frisky pups into focused working dogs.

Speight got the idea after seeing a local newspaper ad for puppy raisers and thinking it would be a good way to teach her teenage daughter about the spirit of giving back.

This month, the Speights picked up Isaac, their fifth foster puppy. The yellow Lab, now 12 weeks old, traveled in a van from San Rafael, Calif., where he was born with other dogs undertaking a similar path in life.

About 800 dogs are bred annually through Guide Dogs for the Blind, a nonprofit overseeing training in eight Western states. Founded in Northern California in 1942, the agency has 1,000 families enrolled in the program at any given time, said spokeswoman Tamara Barak.

"The goal is to make them good canine citizens," Barak said. "They are training to be the eyes of a blind person for many years to come."

While working, the puppies wear a green vest emblazoned with the logo "Puppy in Training." Foster families such as the Speights take the puppies everywhere, even to the movies. They teach the dogs 13 basic commands such as "sit," "stay" and — ahem — "do your business."

"They have to learn how to relieve themselves on command," explained Annie Speight, 18.

It happens to be a new trick Isaac just mastered. Annie, along with her mom and her dad, John Speight, were eager to show off his skills last week and took Isaac outside to their front yard.

"Isaac, Isaac, do your business," Annie urged.

He walked around the grass, then peered up at his onlookers. "C'mon, do your business," Annie said again. Ever the gentleman, Isaac obliged.

The leader of the local puppy-raising club checks on Isaac's progress about twice a month. By the summer of 2006, the Speights will hand Isaac over to Guide Dogs to attend "graduate school" in Boring, Ore., for an intensive five-month training course where he will learn the intricacies of how to guide a blind person.

The failure rate is high. About half make the cut, Barak said. "The dogs have to have the right kind of temperament and perfect health."

Those who make it through the rigorous training attend a graduation ceremony where the puppy raisers meet their dog's new blind owner. The group's Web site advises guests to bring tissues "because it is always a moving event."

The green vest means it's training time for Isaac and Annie Speight.

Dogs may be sent anywhere in the U.S. Those that don't pass, called "career-change dogs," pursue different lines of work, such as search-and-rescue or pet therapy. Others are adopted. As for Isaac's future, the Speights are optimistic. They have raised two dogs who were successful graduates and two who weren't. With this little one, it's still too early to tell, John said.

Training adorable puppies into young adults primed for a higher calling is an experience that has changed the three of them in subtle, profound ways, they say. John and Sheryl discovered a community of new friends through regular meetings at the local puppy-raising club in Issaquah; Annie got over her painful shyness when she was forced to talk to strangers who peppered her with endless questions about the puppy.

But the time when they have to say goodbye always looms overhead.

"The No. 1 question you get is, 'Why would you do this? How could you give them up?' " Annie said.

"One of the blind owners said that we'd given her back so much of her freedom," she said. "Knowing that it was my dog that really changed somebody's life in such a huge way. ... It's the best feeling you can possibly imagine."

Sonia Krishnan: 206-515-5546 or skrishnan@seattletimes.com