I'm Not Blind

"You don't look blind. What's wrong with your eyes?"

I'm continually amazed that total strangers, passing in the grocery store or walking through the mall, will walk up and demand to know what's wrong with my eyes. So far I've maintained control and not blown my disguise as a cheerfully coping, well-adjusted disabled person.

One of these days, though, I may not be able to resist the perfect response: "I don't look blind? You don't look stupid!" No.

Besides, the attention needs to be directed to the dog, not toward the rather hippy old Hippie leaning on her harness. Instead of scoring a great come-back, I suck it up, smile sweetly and say, "My eyes are fine. This is my mobility dog. She helps me walk."

The next question is always the same. "Why does he have a muzzle on? Does he bite?"
Right. I always bring my vicious, biting dog into the supermarket produce section.

"It's not a muzzle. It's a head collar, just like a halter on a horse."

You would think someone had passed out a script. The next line, always, is, "Can I pet him?"

"No. She's a working dog."

Mostly, yes, Serendipity helps me to walk. But she also helps with the laundry. We start out in the walk-in closet sorting the clothes. If MDH has left socks beside the bed or his jeans on the floor, she can bring those to me. Once a basket is filled, I tell her, "Get it," and head for the laundry room. Seri brings the laundry, dragging the plastic basket by an attached nylon strap. Once the load is delivered, she claims her reward. Sometimes that's a small biscuit, but more often she'll want me to toss something for her to chase.

Serendipity also brings in the newspaper, letters and catalogs. She'll pick up and return articles I've dropped, such as handkerchiefs, pens, water bottles or bobbins. Like most dogs, she gets terrifically excited when the big brown delivery truck pulls up, but unlike most dogs, after barking her head off, she gets to run out and carry the box in from the porch. Size doesn't matter. If Seri can get her teeth into a box, she can carry or drag it into the house. Once I have removed the contents, she claims the carton, proceeding to destroy it then disperse the remains throughout the house. Eventually this turns into the game called "Pick Up the Trash," which culminates with her carrying the bag filled with shredded carton bits out to the recycling bin. So much fun from one delivery!

But my dog's main job is helping me to walk, and that's where she really shows what she's made of. Quite truthfully, she is a big hairy cane with a brain. More than that, she is a source of forward motion that transfers energy to keep me mobile. Serendipity goes with me everywhere, to church, stores, restaurants, theaters and hospital visitations. With her beside me, I am transformed from a disabled person into a privileged person.

Why don't more people have service dogs? I suspect it is because many have the misconception that only the severely disabled can qualify, and that assistance animals must be provided by certain charitable organizations. In reality, anyone disabled person may use a dog for assistance. The flip side to that privilege is the responsibility to keep that dog in constant control and assume responsibility for any damage or disturbance the dog might cause.

Privilege and responsibility; I have freedom because my dog and I both are well disciplined.