The Surprising Gifts of a Service Dog

By Theresa Jahangir, Educational Advocate

Bagel, our service dog, enjoying a Mount Hood fishing adventure.

This week is Hidden Disability Awareness Week, and I’ve been thinking about sharing an update on our service dog. As I began writing, I realized that much of what I want to say is really about hidden disabilities and what a service dog has brought to our family in that area.

On August 8, our child graduated with their service dog, Bagel, at Canine Companions in Santa Rosa, California. This milestone marked the end of a three year process that culminated in Bagel’s official match and graduation.

Canine Companions is an incredible organization that matches service dogs with people of all ages who have disabilities and provides the dogs at no cost. Because of this, the process is long and thorough: more than two years on the waitlist, multiple screening interviews, and finally, a two week intensive training at the facility where you learn to care for and continue training your service dog before bringing them home.

The Two Week Training

For a family with disabilities, going anywhere for two weeks is no small feat. When I met with Canine Companions for our first interview two years ago, I remember thinking, “There’s no way we could ever travel for two weeks, share a bedroom, and survive.” Two years later, I still had those doubts.

But we knew this dog could change our lives, so we took the leap. We packed all the life saving meds (Type 1 diabetes families, you get it), the accommodative bedding (anyone else sleep only in a bed tent?), and every other support item imaginable, and we did it.

When we arrived in Santa Rosa, what unfolded was nothing short of magical. We met ten other adults and children with disabilities, all equally excited to meet their future service dogs. Over those two weeks, we got to know them and their stories, and by the end, they felt like family.

In today’s politically unsafe world, it’s rare to find yourself with people from all walks of life and feel immediately united. The dogs made that possible.

My eight year old has always dreamed of attending summer camp with friends, but we hadn’t been ready for that (none of us had). Yet this two week training became a kind of family camp full of shared meals, laughter, and a sense of belonging. Our child connected easily with others through the shared experience of dog training. Questions like, “Who do you think you’ll match with?” or “How did your dog sleep last night?” became bridges to deeper conversations and friendships.

At the end of the training came an elaborate graduation ceremony, where hundreds gathered to celebrate the dogs and the people they would serve. For our family, this kind of public celebration of disability was new and deeply moving. People came to celebrate us.

We left in tears. Our child sobbed loud, happy tears and said, “I’ve never cried happy tears until today. I never knew I could be this happy as the day I graduated with Bagel.”

And through it all, Bagel has been our quiet rock — steady, calm, and grounding for our child and for all of us.

Making the Invisible Visible

Once we came home, I expected to use all the commands we’d learned for anxiety management, co regulation, and retrieving emergency meds. These are Bagel’s trained “tasks.”

What I didn’t expect were the unexpected gifts she would bring.

When your child has a hidden disability, strangers sometimes judge or offer unsolicited advice because they don’t understand what they’re seeing. We often take our child to a local park where they like to fish (catch and release) even though it’s technically not allowed. For us, fishing provides regulation and calm, which are essential.

Bagel at swim lessons; always a cheerleader.

Before Bagel, we endured plenty of hurtful comments at that fishing hole. But now, with Bagel’s service vest, there’s an unspoken understanding. Her presence signals that someone in our family lives with a disability. That small bit of public awareness offers comfort, the sense that maybe, just maybe, one less person will misunderstand our child.

We take Bagel everywhere, to swimming lessons, the library, and errands. She provides others with an easy way to connect with our child without putting social pressure on them. When our child tells the librarian, “I lifted up all the shelves to look for hidden books,” Bagel’s calm presence helps that moment be met with a smile instead of correction.

The Disabled Person Comes First

At graduation, one of the new recipients who was also the graduation speaker said something that has stayed with me:

“These dogs give people with disabilities an experience where they finally come first.”

That sentiment felt so true. In most spaces, people with disabilities are rarely prioritized. But with Bagel, our child does come first. Bagel is their dog, trained to meet their needs. They graduated together. This is their partnership. We’re simply here to support and cheer them on as they grow together.

Comfort for the Whole Family

And finally, perhaps the most surprising gift: Bagel has brought comfort to all of us.

Bagel playing dress-up with our child.

Families affected by disability often live isolated lives. Friends drift away because “things are too complicated.” Family members may love but set limits, “I can’t visit you, your house is too stressful.” Activities and community events often aren’t designed with us in mind, movie nights or sports events that are too loud, too late, or too overwhelming.

But Bagel is always here. Her calm, steady presence fills our home, even when our child isn’t engaging with her. She helps me in small, almost tender ways, closing

the fridge door while I cook, following me downstairs to change laundry, nudging the dryer door shut.

I don’t need this help physically, but emotionally, it’s profound. Having another being by my side in the work of caregiving, quietly supporting, is a gift I didn’t know I needed.

Bagel has changed our family in ways that reach far beyond her tasks.  She’s made the invisible visible. She’s built bridges where there were walls.

And she’s brought comfort, not just to our child, but to all of us.

About the author: Theresa Jahangir is a parent and Educational Advocate in Portland, Oregon. She has a masters degree in School Counseling, and two decades of experience in public schools. She works in private practice helping parents advocate for their children with disabilities in public schools. To find out more, or to book a session visit her here.