I didn’t realize for a long time that we had a blind dog, nor that I had become a seeing-eye human.
Sure, she fell off the walkway a couple times and stumbled over the curb, but for the most part Suzie trotted beside me as easily as she always had.
The fact we walked a broad path around Spring Lake, probably fooled me.
As soon as we learned the truth, however, walking her became a little more problematic.
We followed the same paths around Spring Lake, which she managed fine as long as bikes didn’t come too close.
I usually walked and talked with friends; she kept track of her surroundings by the proximity of my voice. We’re connected by a leash and years of practice walking together.
Unfortunately, she walked so smoothly, I often forgot I was a seeing-eye human and more than once walked her into a rock formation guarding a bridge. She startled, fell back and I felt awful.
Blind dog and directions
Gordon Setters are smart dogs and she knows lots of words.
But if you were a blind dog and your owner shouted, “Stop!” would you continue to hurl yourself down a path?
If your owner told you, “wait,” would you doggedly follow after her, even if it meant you ran into bushes, bird baths and stumps of wood?
The only command that seems to work these days is, “Sit.”
Stay? Not a chance.
You also have to make noise, for while she cannot see she can hear.
This became obvious the day our toddling granddaughter paused and the dog
walked right into her.
She hadn’t made enough noise for Suzie to realize she was there.
Of course Suzie still follows the toddler around–she smells interesting after a meal.
Issues
Yesterday, she led the way around Spring Lake with me on the end of an extended leash.
She trotted like the prow of a ship, not pausing as we covered the three miles around the lake.
A small terrier cowered as we went past. “Is she friendly?” the owner asked.
“Blind,” I said. “And I don’t trust her with a dog she cannot see.”
On the other hand, when her old walking partner Murphy, an Australian Shepherd, arrived on Monday, she ran up to him and spun around chasing her tail in glee.
Did she care that she nearly ran into the two-foot high flower bed?
Books about blind dogs tell you to differentiate different parts of the house so the dog can figure out where she is.
We’ve got throw rugs in front of the doors and her food dish sits on a plastic place mat on the hearth. She’s only lived in the house nine years, but still seems to have trouble.
I’ve taken to clapping my hands or snapping my fingers to keep her following me.
Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t; too often it seems she has a mind of her own . . . and “watch out!” doesn’t seem to slow her down.
Trust
You have to trust a seeing-eye dog or seeing-eye human and that makes me wonder.
How often does God, who sees my life in all it’s timeliness past and future, try to get my attention with finger snaps or tugs of a leash?
How often do I launch out on my own, blithely unprepared for the rocks God is trying to help me swerve around?
Just because I can’t seem to see something, doesn’t mean it isn’t really there.
So it is with Suzie. She can only launch out confidently if she knows two things: that I’m still attached to her at the end of the leash and that I know where we’re going.
The same with the Lord; thanks be to God.
Thoughts? Reactions? Lurker?