Today I'm grateful that my dog, Stanley the killer bichon, is blind and I can see and that it's not the other way around.
Day 6. I've got this funny feeling…and it's hope. I'm sitting here watching my dog. Stanley is about 16 years old and totally blind. We drag him everywhere, the poor thing. He's been up and down the East Coast and the Bahamas on a sailboat, lived on a mountain where all variety of animal view him as a possible appetizer, Mexico where the fleas are bigger than he, and worse of all Kansas where it's almost a blessing he can't see cuz he ain't missing much. It's almost like a cruel joke we play on him, kind of like moving the furniture around on Helen Keller. Just about the time he gets used to a place and has figured out where his food and water bowl and the largest pieces of furniture are and he's just about quit running into the walls we pick up and move him again. Brand new hazards to figure out. I imagine if I were him, I'd sit in a dark room and refuse to move and whine all day. But he keeps on plugging and his tail keeps wagging. I'm not sure he knows he's blind. I think we forgot to tell him. Maybe I am a little bit like Stanley. I hope so. No matter how many times I hit the wall, I bounce back and just keep trying. And today my tail is wagging.