Why do we love dogs? They offer the simple and constant kind of affection that people crave; it can be far less complicated than the love of another person.

What is it we see when we look in our dog’s eyes? Love and trust. Maybe we’re just projecting these human emotions onto our canine pet, but they feel real.

The bond works both ways.

It seems that, as a person, we are taking care of our dog. But the dog takes care of us, too — perhaps with simple tasks like fetching a newspaper or slippers, but also with the deeper and more important job of making us feel good about ourselves, listening without interrupting, greeting us each day as if it were a once-in-a-lifetime reunion, offering warmth when we feel cold and lonely or playfulness when we feel sad.

Service dogs are even more essential to their humans. “Service dogs are trained to help people with disabilities live more independent and happy lives,” writes Luis Carlos Montalván in the book Tuesday Tucks Me In.

Montalván served in the United States Army for 17 years, including several combat tours in Iraq. He wrote a bestselling book, Until Tuesday: A Wounded Warrior and the Golden Retriever Who Saved Him. And then Bret Witter collaborated with Montalván to write a children’s book about his dog, Tuesday. The book is filled with photographs taken by Dan Dion of Montalván with Tuesday.

The story is told from the point of view of the dog as Tuesday helps Montalván with both the ordinary and the extraordinary. His dog wakes him with loving licks and brings him his socks and shoes “with just a bit of slobber.”

Then reminds him, “Don’t forget your medicine.”

The book explains, beside a picture of Montalván in combat fatigues, “Luis is a disabled veteran. He went to war, and he came back home in so much pain that he couldn’t live a normal life. So I do tasks for him. I even sleep with him, which helps control his nightmares.

“He has daytime nightmares, too, called flashbacks. He gets nervous when people are around...or there are sudden movements...or loud sounds...so each morning, we sit together outside our apartment building, waiting, until his breathing and heartbeat tell me he’s calm. Then I walk beside him, always on his right side, so Luis knows that I am there.”

Montalván explains in the book’s afterward that his disabilities include post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury — the result of war. “In 2003, after I was wounded in Iraq,” he writes, “I started to have difficulty sleeping and walking without pain. After my second tour of duty ended in 2006, things got worse. Eventually I stopped leaving my apartment. I felt angry and ashamed about my conditions, and I withdrew from friends and family. Tuesday saved my life.”

That’s a different kind of lifesaving than the heroic fictional dogs of traditional children’s literature — for example, Lassie alerting his young master’s family that he has fallen down a well.

Montalván should not feel ashamed. A mental wound from war is just as real and difficult as a physical wound, and sometimes much harder to heal. His book does a great service to others who suffer from such mental problems by helping us understand his struggle, and admire his courage, thereby lifting the stigma.

Montalván lauds ECAD, Educated Canines Assisting with Disabilities, which started training Tuesday when she was three days old. Two years later, Tuesday knew 80 commands. Since partnering with Montalván, Tuesday has learned 60 more commands. He can turn on lights, fetch objects, and open drawers.

But just as importantly, Tuesday provides comfort and support for Montalván. Montalván urges support of the not-for-profit organization, and so do we. Each trained dog changes a person’s life, setting them free.

We learned about the book from Gail Brown, a long-time children’s librarian at the Voorheesville Public Library. “PTSD is such an imprecise mental disorder,” she said of post-traumatic stress disorder. She went on about Montalván’s books: “They really helped me understand what people are suffering from, coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan.” Brown talked about PTSD as “a silent disease.”

And she’s right. We may not notice someone with PTSD the way we would someone, say, who is using a wheelchair. A service dog can make us more aware. “Please always respect service dogs and the people who need them,” writes Montalván.

This is good advice for anyone with a service dog, but particularly for veterans like Montalván. People who have been wounded in the service of our country — and some of those wounds are, indeed, invisible — deserve our support.

Montalván will be at the Voorheesville library with his dog on Friday, Nov. 7, at 6:30 p.m. His talk is free and open to the public. Brown said his $950 speaking fee was secured with help from the New Scotland Kiwanis and the Voorheesville Friends of the Library, and other community agencies — a fitting tribute for Veterans Day.

We urge you to come and hear his story.

For those who can’t make it, read the book.  Better yet, read it to a child you love. Brown recommends it for children in third grade and older.

“The book paints a very honest picture,” said Brown. It is a picture worth looking at, capturing the love between a man and his dog, between a veteran and his hero.

While the subject is serious, the picture and words are at times humorous. One picture shows the golden retriever lying by a bathroom stall. “Yes, even there,” says Tuesday’s narrative voice. “I told you: Luis takes me everywhere.”

The book is also infused with hope, and love.

Montalván spends much of his time visiting disabled veterans and advocating for better treatment of all people with disabilities. Sharing his dog with other veterans helps Montalván , says the book in Tuesday’s voice: “He feels he’s giving back. ‘Veterans are my pack,’ he tells me. He means they are his family.”

“I still have difficult days,” Montalván writes, “but Tuesday is always there for me. He listens to my breathing and heartbeat — did you know dogs can hear human heartbeats? — and knows when I am about to have a panic attack. He nuzzles my arm, so that I remember where I am. I try to repay Tuesday’s love every day with grooming, petting, and affection. We are best friends, and I would never let anything bad happen to him, just like he would never let anything bad happen to me.”

We were reminded last week by the Guilderland Elementary School librarian of the importance of good books for children. Children at that school are dealing with the deaths of two of their fellow students.

“Try to find a good book about what death means,” advised Meg Seinberg-Hughes. “That will get the conversation started,” she said, and can lead to a discussion about “all the wonderful things we remember.”

In a similar way, Tuesday Tucks Me In can give parents a way to talk to their kids about difficult matters like war and injury in the context of hope and love. Most every child has felt the bond of having a pet and can understand what Montalván is feeling on that level.

The book concludes, in Tuesday’s voice, “I know Luis needs me. But he loves me, too. I’ve heard him say, many times, I have been brave in my life, but I’ve been sad, too. I’ve been afraid, and I’ve been alone...but now when Tuesday tucks me in, I’m happy.

Because I’m home.”

The book’s last picture, which illustrates those words, shows Montalván, sound asleep, with his arm around Tuesday, who has made a pillow of his chest.

Each of us, at one time or another, has been sad or afraid or alone. We all need a sense of home — a place of warmth and love where we feel accepted. A dog can give us that. And a good book can help us understand those universal human needs and how they can be met.

— Melissa Hale-Spencer