2 Feet, 4 Paws & 1 God

Bumbling Along

Let me tell you about the very first walk I did with a guide dog, here is an excerpt from my book.

Eventually, later on that same day Lynne takes me out with my first-ever guide dog, a dog named Bumble. Bumble is a beautiful, two-year-old golden retriever bitch, very like my own dear Tessa. Someone is trying to win me over, knowing I have a soft spot for dogs that look like this. Well, it isn’t going to work. I’m wise to this strategy and made of stronger stuff.

I desperately want to ruffle Bumble’s fur and make a fuss of her but I know that once I do that the game will be up and I’ll be getting a guide dog. That simply isn’t about to happen. Lynne follows along behind us constantly nagging me to praise my dog but I resist again, so poor old Bumble gets none of the praise she deserves. Lynne carries on repeatedly nudging me in the back, telling me to praise my dog but I simply don’t listen.

Little do I know as I stand on the kerb outside the centre that my life is about to change forever.
I’m convinced the whole thing is a waste of time and am on the verge of passing the dog back to Lynne and walking out on the whole thing. But then we come to our first junction and something special happens... For many years now I haven’t been able to stand on the edge of a kerb without losing my balance and swaying like a drunk. This is a side effect of my condition and has led to a great deal of ridicule, leaving me feeling very self-conscious. Crossing roads has become something I fear not just because I can’t see the oncoming traffic but also because I’m always expecting someone to make a wisecrack about the drunk about to fall off the kerb. I’ve even begun to plan routes so that I cross as few roads as possible, often taking routes that take me far out of my way simply to avoid crossing as many roads. This is a highly impractical solution but it’s nonetheless become the norm for me. Journeys needed extra planning and extra time must be allowed.

But now, as we reach the kerb Bumble places herself at once between me and the edge of the kerb, forcing me back from the edge and freeing me from that swaying sensation. Suddenly, in one life-changing moment a guide dog has grabbed my attention. I’d never have thought such a thing possible. This was not part of the plan.

Later on, back at the centre, I sit down for my evening meal, ready to take a new look at things. This is my first meal with my fellow blindies and somehow it doesn’t seem as bad as I’d always imagined it would. Around the table I see people who are vibrant, interesting, witty and intelligent. There is no sign of a dodgy haircut. They are just like me in fact: cool, trendy, lovable and modest. There is no sign of a hand- knitted, baggy jumper and no one offers to take me on a trip to the seaside. It’s not at all what I’ve been expecting.

For years I’ve deluded myself into thinking I wasn’t like these people. I’ve always refused point-blank to accept my sight impairment. It’s never occurred to me as I’ve been about my business crashing into things and staring myopically at things for ages on end, unable to read them, that other people already perceive me as being sight impaired, irrespective of the impression I try to create. As far as I’ve been concerned, if you have no dog and carry no cane then no-one knows. How wrong can you be? Yet for years that really is what I’ve truly believed. 

Gradually, I start to realise that we each have very little control over how other people perceive us. What matters is who we know ourselves to be. Bugger! How could I have been so stupid?

Later that evening Lynne takes me out for a second session with Bumble. It’s 6.30pm and since it’s October it’s already pitch dark, moonless and definitely a night when the old Dave Lucas would have found some lame excuse not to be out. I use various ploys to avoid facing the fact that on a night as dark as this I simply lose all confidence and become totally night blind... (Night blindness is a recognised diagnosable eye condition and one of several I suffer from).

Perhaps it’s too cold. Or I’m washing my hair. Or maybe there’s this program about dung beetles that I just can’t miss.

But tonight here I am out in the dark with this dog, being followed about by this strange woman who keeps giving us instructions in a very loud voice. And yes, I’ve even been persuaded to wear florescent clothing. They told me it’s for insurance reasons but I reckon it’s just so they can get a cheap laugh at how uncool I look. I plod along, feeling cold, uncomfortable, embarrassed and frightened.

I’m about to take my third lesson. Bumble and I are settled at the kerb. Lynne says that when I’m ready I should give Bumble the command forward and cross the road. Until now, I’ve never been able to judge the speed of traffic and for years I’ve been crossing roads using my ears alone. The logic goes if you can’t hear anything it must be safe. Of course, this is not a foolproof system and I’ve been run over twice because of it. I’m also used to being frequently screamed at by terrified motorists as I step off the kerb in front of them. (I must admit, this has almost been happening every day recently.) As Lynne explained to me earlier on, I’ve even been in constant danger of being run over by a milk float – let alone by a No. 57 bus.

I listen to the traffic and decide that the nearest car sounds far enough away to be of no danger so I give Bumble the command ‘Forward’. Nothing happens. I actually feel her dig her paws in and refuse to move. Hey, I think, this dog is faulty. I want my money back! Then I hear Lynne behind me sniggering. I don’t know what you’re bloody laughing at, I
think. I change the tone of my voice to what I think sounds a more authoritative one and once again I give Bumble the command to move forward. Still nothing. Not a flicker. This dog is definitely a dud. They can have her back. This whole guide dog thing is a waste of time. Then, very suddenly, I hear a roar as a bus thunders past, inches from my nose. Bumble had spotted it and had judged it too close for comfort. So no matter how many times the fool at the other end of the harness asked her, she was not going to move. Guide Dogs refer to this as intelligent disobedience.