At the beginning of the story, I should mention that before this trip even began, I did a bit of research on hands-free luggage. That's how I stumbled across a suitcase-converted backpack—a clever little invention that I decided to try. It turned out to be perfect: fully packed with three days' worth of clothes for me, plus four days' worth of food, products, and toys for Ace. Surprisingly, the weight wasn't bad at all. It made traveling feel lighter, simpler, and much more manageable.
Ace and I decided it was time for our eighth road trip to St. Pete. We had missed out on an outing earlier when my friend couldn't make it, so this time we said, "Fine. We'll do it ourselves—yes, just us." And off we went, booking a very nice, clean, and well-located hotel in downtown St. Pete and arranging shuttle service to and from Tampa International Airport. And another reunion with Phoebe the flamingo.
The Sunday drive was easy enough, though Ace kept nudging me with that "Mom, something's wrong with the tires" expression. Nothing was wrong at all—it was just that the road between Lutz and Tampa had been built with a ridiculous number of markings. We went over them nonstop. Blip-blip-blip-blip-blip. Ace was not impressed by this percussion concert. Still, excellent environmental exposure.
We arrived at Tampa International Airport and off we went with our carefully selected luggage: the suitcase-backpack hybrid, the little backpack, treat pouch, and Ace leading the way with purpose. He remembered everything—locating the relief area, restroom, finding Phoebe, and even guiding us toward an area for snacks. We never went near the escalators because I didn't cue for them, which turned out to be perfect since the airport is extremely strict about keeping service animals off escalators.
We met Ace's puppy raiser on the ninth floor of the short-term parking garage—easy access for us, and easy for her to spot us. Before she even came into view, Ace heard her approaching. His whole face lit up. Even with all his excitement, he kept himself in work mode, showing just how far he's come.
From there, we all headed to the Museum of Fine Arts in downtown St. Pete, where the staff kindly let us use their staircase at no cost. Wonderful people. Our stairwork session was beautifully recorded—every glide, pause, cue, and step. The stairwell even had an oblong vertical window, which Ace kept alerting to at first, like he suspected something mysterious was happening outside. Once he confirmed the world wasn't ending, he slipped right back into perfect work mode.
Next came Sunken Gardens. The maze-like paths, the lush, peaceful atmosphere, and of course—the flamingos. Not many, but the ones that were there were exquisite. I captured soft pink feathers, gentle curves, and quiet movements. Ace was fascinated—mesmerized, even. Maybe he smelled shrimp on their breath.
Then came the pedestal. Ace found it as if he had been on a scavenger hunt. He proudly presented himself like a champion claiming his platform. I swear he looked "trailquialized"—his own serene, spa-day version of tranquility—maybe even a little spiritually renewed.
And then came Santa Claus. Ace did not approve. He kept giving me the "Mom, why is this man holding my leash?" look. His eyes stayed glued to me the entire time. Santa had no chance.
Before giving Ace a break, we encountered a set of bleachers with extremely narrow stairs. Once we reached the top, I discovered there was no railing for me to use on the way down. So we improvisationally rerouted. Ace walked along the bleacher seats—like a gymnastic dog with impeccable balance—and together we descended safely.
Eventually we arrived at our beautiful downtown hotel on Central Avenue. Ace and I were excited to test the stairs from the top—seven floors up. His puppy raiser filmed us going up and down 28 total flights in under four minutes. I was bursting with pride.
Later she texted me:
"Perfect! My thoughts and experiences witnessing everything today were honestly overwhelmingly positive and I was so proud of him and you and all of the work that you both have done! You would never be able to guess that he had any kind of struggles or challenges at all."
That message meant the world.
Ace and I also explored the hotel concerige, where a glowing white Christmas tree stood tall. Ace saw the wrapped boxes underneath and immediately assumed they were his presents. Naturally, he posed beautifully for a photo. The relief area, however, left something to be desired—pebbles and stones, no grass unless we circled around the block. But like the professional he is, Ace handled it without complaint. I'm sure the valet staff understood.
It was one of the best Sundays we've had—full of adventure, progress, connection, and joy. We treasured every moment with Ace's puppy raiser and her mother. This was Laura's third reunion with Ace, and once again, he made her beam with pride.
The next morning, we waited for the weather to cooperate and finally stepped out after a few chats and quick research. We located the trolley stop, and while waiting, Ace examined every passing vehicle—especially a Tesla Cybertruck. He stared at it long enough to debate whether he should request a ride before concluding it might not fit him. No offense, Elon Musk.
When the trolley arrived, I silently hoped Ace would be okay—his one puppyhood trolley incident had left a mark. Well, he hopped on like a seasoned pro reclaiming his confidence. I could have cheered.
The ride toward the pier was comfortable, and I noticed plenty of roadblocks along the way, reaffirming that choosing the trolley was the smartest move. Once we got off, everything clicked. We recognized our surroundings. I finally understood the layout of the trolley staging area. We passed the bench where a certain photo was taken—still not taking a picture there.
We headed straight to St. Pete Pier. Navigating independently felt wonderful. We learned the route, understood the layout, and walked all the way out to the tip—even descending two small flights of stairs at the end. The sea breeze was cool and perfect. We were proud of ourselves for making it on our own.
We skipped the museum because Ace needed a nap, so we caught the trolley back and returned to the hotel for rest. Along the way, we noticed a few neat places to explore later—though some were closed because it was Monday.
At the end of it all, Ace and I stepped out into a chilly 44 degrees with gusty wind swirling around us and said, "Heck with it—let's go." We explored Straub Park and The Vinoy in that brisk air and it was absolutely exhilarating. High-level dog distractions were everywhere, yet Ace managed them beautifully—aside from reacting to one barking dog at the pier.
The scenery took my breath away. It had been a long time since I worked with my first and second guide dogs in that area and returning with Ace made the experience deeply meaningful in a whole new way.
Another chapter written. Another memory kept.
Three videos to share: one short clip and two full-length videos.