[Critique Group 1] November submission for critique

[DQ Noriega]

I thought I would get this off early. 

h Dark and Lonely Times

 

The next part of our story will not be easy to write.  Most people can
understand the concept of a guide dog assisting a blind person to move
freely and safely through a complex world.  Dogs after all have been
performing numerous tasks for mankind for thousands of years.  They have
drawn heavy loads across the frozen tundra, protected and driven herds
beside their masters.  They have helped hunt, guarded homes and property.
They have searched for explosives, contraband items and lost individuals.
Even the mongrel pet dog has offered his companionship and alerted his owner
to danger.  I think that what makes the bond between a dog guide and its
handler so unique stems from the fact that the members of the team are in
continuous proximity.  Through good times and bad the dog is the one
constant in the life of the blind handler.  

 

Tammy was intelligent, intuitive and eager to serve.  She developed a large
working vocabulary of words she understood as commands.  I traveled where I
pleased, when I pleased because I never walked alone.  Her size and alert
expression intimidated people.  This fact gave me the confidence I needed to
ask directions because I felt safe approaching strangers with Tammy at my
side.  Although she was not aggressive in her own defense, she felt that
protecting me from all harm was covered in her job description.  The
willingness of many dog guides to place themselves in danger to safeguard
their blind handlers is phenomenal.  

 

Tammy performed a full body block, placing herself between me and anyone or
anything she thought threatened me.  She was fearful of large loud-voiced
men, walking sticks, umbrellas or anything resembling a weapon.  Such things
made her tremble and press close to my side.  Yet she faced them down if she
thought the threat was aimed at me.  

 

It is hard to quantify the emotional support a dog guide provides to its
handler.  Unconditional love is a rare and beautiful gift.  Tammy's
sensitivity to my moods, her desire to comfort and her honest affection gave
my life balance.  The bond between the partners in a working guide dog team
is deeper than almost any other relationship in life.  Unlike a pet, a guide
dog is with her handler twenty-four hours a day. My freshman year of college
called on every ounce of Tammy's talent.

 

When I answered the pay phone outside my door on an October Tuesday, I was
startled to hear my mother's tear filled voice.  Dad had lost his job.  The
company he worked for was going under and my family was losing our home.
The house had been part of dad's employment contract. They were going to
load clothes and some household things into three cars and head back to
Michigan.  Both mom and dad had family living near the Indian reservation
set aside for the Saginaw Chippewa Tribe.  Although we had lived in
California since I was halfway through third grade, they viewed Michigan as
home.  Mom said they would leave on Saturday.  I returned to my room to
collapse on my bed in stunned confusion.  Tammy came to rest her head on my
lap.  She vocalized softly.  She seemed to be saying, "I am still here.  I
won't leave you.  I will always love you." This was one of the things she
did when she sensed I was upset.  The noises she made in her throat almost
sounded like "I love you," minus the consonants.  She seemed to know when I
needed to hear it most.   

 

Our cat-loving friend Curt borrowed a car from his roommate and drove us to
the house of my mother's best friend.  I got there in time to give my family
good-bye hugs.  I tried to reassure mom that I would be okay.  I couldn't
give up my dreams of achieving a college education.  I couldn't climb into
my brother Rob's old Chevy Malibu or sing and play with my baby sister in
the backseat of mom's gold thunderbird.  I stood waving good-bye while my
family started driving the many miles back to their roots on the Isabela
Reservation without me. I needed to learn to be a grownup independent woman.
Thank God I wasn't expected to do it alone.  A beautiful loving black
Labrador/German Shepherd was there beside me. Her glossy coat soaked up many
tears over the next few months.  Whenever I started to slip into depression
or became overwhelmed, my Tammy played the clown and made me laugh or
offered comfort through her loving presence.    

 

My stuffed animals and white bedroom furniture lovingly stenciled with pink
roses by my brother Rob had all been sold.  Only the few bits and pieces I
had taken with me to my dorm room remained to remind me of my childhood.
Thousands of miles now separated me from my supportive crazy clan.   

 

I suppose my Uncle, who had decided to join me as a student at Stanislaus
could have been considered my guardian, but the college administration
didn't agree.  He was an art student and only five years older than I.  We
seldom saw each other since he shared an apartment with another male student
off campus.  He was the closest thing I had to a big brother.  However our
lifestyles were quite different.  

 

The art and drama majors I knew seemed to buy into the hyperbole about drug
use being the route to self-actualization.  Although I have always enjoyed
creative people and had many friends who were musicians, actors, or artists,
I avoided drug use.  I knew that I had suppressed many dark memories from my
childhood.  I was a strong willed little girl.  When my father returned from
Korea he had suffered a head injury that caused him to have a tendency
toward violence.  If I didn't feel a punishment was justified, I would not
yield and a spanking could turn into a severe beating.  I felt it unwise to
allow those memories free from where I had locked them up.  I feared what
might escape under the influence of mind-altering drugs.  My uncle used more
alcohol and Marijuana than I thought wise.  As a totally blind girl, I
avoided dulling my senses with anything because I thought I needed all my
perceptions available to me to function.  I had seen the destructive effects
of alcohol on family members.  Being Native American, I knew that alcoholism
was a potential threat present in my genetics.  I never criticized others
for the choices they made.  My uncle was very dear to me and did his best to
protect me.  He overheard a discussion between some of the girls from my
dorm.  They thought slipping LSD into a drink and giving it to me would be
funny.  He put a stop to the plan and warned me to be more careful of
friends like them.  In his own way he looked out for my well-being.  

 

There was a serious discussion by the college administration of placing me
in foster care.  Since I was still a minor and disabled in the bargain, they
panicked over who would be responsible for me during holidays or if I became
ill.  The dormitory closed down during school breaks and suspended food
service.  My cooking equipment consisted of a toaster and a two-cup
coffeemaker my grandmother gave me as a graduation gift.  I could walk the
mile or so to a small market, but was limited by how much I could carry back
with me or store without refrigeration.  The authorities were not in favor
of my remaining in my room when all the other students left over the
holidays. After one of the girls in the dorm caught Mononucleosis and was
forced to leave school until she recovered, I couldn't help worrying what I
could do  if I got sick.   

 

Thank goodness for Annie and her family.  Her parents went to a lawyer and
signed a document stating that they would be legally responsible for me
until I turned twenty-one. Annie's mom reminded me of my maternal
grandmother.  She was a small gruff woman who chain smoked as she laid down
her terms.  I was ordered to behave myself and not get into any trouble. 

 

Sandy, one of the upperclassmen in the room next door asked me home for
Thanksgiving.  Annie and Cathy invited me to spend part of Christmas break
with each of their families.  Curt put his bid into take us for Easter.  At
least I had a temporary reprieve from further intercession by the state or
school authorities.  

 

The grief and fear I felt caused me to suffer migraine headaches.  A doctor
prescribed a muscle relaxant.  I found it harder to deal with the floating
sensation the drug induced than the pain of the headache.  I couldn't
concentrate on my studies when drugged and feeling giddy.  Everything seemed
out of control.  The only sure things in my life were Tammy's calming
presence, her need for care and her devotion to me.

 

Quieth2o at charter.net

 

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