The Key To Life Is In Your Dog's Soul

She was a present for my 20th birthday. Marchel and I were living in Michigan near a large Amish population. A litter of pups had been born in October, fluffy black & white and tan & white pups. I was desperate for a companion. Moving from New Jersey to Michigan proved to be more trying than I'd anticipated. The conservative area with signs touting the sins of abortion and the horrors of hell were a bit of a culture shock. Marchel was working days while I worked nights. My isolation was more than I could bear. I begged to get a dog knowing the cost of buying one was something we couldn't afford, but I was losing my mind and I knew a dog would help ease my pain. Marchel arrived home one night to say he had a surprise for me.

The next day he took me down a winding path to an Amish farmhouse whose yard was littered with pups and one anxious mother dog. The puppies bounded about, playing with each other, the air, themselves and tangling up the feet of the visitors here to choose a new friend. My new friend didn't wait for me to pick. She made up her mind the minute we put our feet on the grass. Her soft fur wrapped around my ankles as if it stamp me "Property of Baby." As you can imagine, I was instantly smitten. I casually glanced at the other dogs, but knew my choice had been made. This little one had found its new home.

On the flight back to New Jersey, I thought of her big brown eyes. Most people thought she was a show dog with her prancing gait, black & white markings, and those oh so human eyes. Many a day had passed where we'd simply look at each other and know what was going on. I wondered how we'd adjust our radar.

I was anxious to show Baby nothing had changed, that my love for her was still the same if not more so. I opened the door to our home and saw her try to run towards me. Her tail up, wagging, recognizing my scent. I got down on my knees to hug her. She danced about, licking my face, smelling my clothes and hands, occasionally barking and sneezing. My hands rubbed all over her back, scratching those hard to reach places. If she'd wondered where I had been, she didn't show it. She was simply happy I was there.

The next few weeks were difficult. Her adjustment (and mine) took time and effort. Her stubborn indifference to Marchel, as if she thought he had taken her sight, did nothing to help. I diligently tried to train her each day for a sightless world. She in turn tried to cling to her independence. Keeping her head from finding sharp points and hard walls were a constant problem. Some days I hid in the bathroom, crying as though a loved one had been lost and not my pet's vision. Baby may not have been able to see my tears, but I didn't want her to hear them either.

I'd always wished for a cuddly dog. One who'd curl up on the bed or couch next to me, beg for rubbies, and never want me to leave their side. Baby's independence never allowed for that type of relationship. Even as a pup, she wouldn't sleep on the bed with me. The floor was apparently more comfortable. For her, playtime and walks were when she wanted me most.

Chase me mamma. Faster mamma. Watch me run in circles. Here I go, you can barely see me!

Those days are now behind us. Baby steps gently and walks slowly. Her prance and gallop have been put to rest. The floor has been replaced by my feet. She now tries to be part of me - with me - on me. She checks during the night to make sure I'm still there; she lays at my feet as I work on my computer so I don't get up and leave; she curls up at my side on the couch, my body keeping hers warm.

They say be careful what you wish for. They say you'll never know exactly how it'll turn out. And the mysterious 'they' were right. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but how are we to know when or if our errant wishes will be met.

But this is our life and you can't change what the genie's already granted. Baby and I proceed with caution as we learn and test the boundaries of what a sightless dog can accomplish. If anything, our relationship has been renewed and our bond strengthened.

© Karla Nappi, 2003
http://keytolifeisinyourdogssoul.blogspot.com/