[Critique Group 1] March submission

[Deanna Noriega]

Chapter 25

Singing Shepherd Boy

Whenever I am frightened by circumstances or situations I land myself in
because of my blindness, I think of the lyrics of a Rogers and Hammerstein
song.

When you walk through a storm

Keep your chin up high

And don't be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm

Is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark.

 

Walk on through the wind,

Walk on through the rain,

Though' your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone,

 

These words probably mean something different to me, because for all of my
adult years, I have shared my journey through life with a Seeing Eye guide
dog. I haven't had to face the world alone.

 

Sixteen days after I held Griffin in my lap as he crossed the rainbow
bridge, I moved like a zombie through my days. My heart held a new paw-print
nearly as deep as the first one placed there by living with and loving
Tammy. Although each dog added a new impression of his or her own, some were
deeper than others. Tammy was the deepest because she was my first guide and
was so quick to learn new tasks that she seemed to read my mind. Phoebe did
her job with such joy that she was a pleasure to work. Gentry was
hard-headed, but a deep thinker and problem solver. Griffin was funny,
loving and totally devoted to me.

When I arrived in Morristown for the seventh time, I was not ready to let go
and accept a new partner. I was still in the gray desolation of grief. Olsen
was also struggling with loss. His trainer had been severely injured on the
job about a month earlier. A large Labrador had crashed in to Rick in the
play yard causing damage to his knee. Rick's string had been divided among
the rest of his team to be finished for class. Olsen had transitioned from
his puppy raiser to a trainer. Then he had suddenly lost the man he had come
to care for and been passed around like a foster child from one trainer to
another. On the first night he was in my care, he kept rising from his mat
beside my bed to touch my cheek with a cold nose. He seemed to be trying to
reassure himself I was still there and hadn't abandoned him while he slept.

Olsen was slightly larger than Griffin. He was a solid black German Shepherd
with a tan belly and legs. He had a half moon of tan on his throat. He was
stockier than most German Shepherds with a serious focused dignified manner.
His pace and pull were good matches too. He quickly transferred his devotion
to me and our training went smoothly. He was especially sensitive to the
feelings of those around him. 

When we went to a nursing home during part of our training, he wanted to go
toward people who were afraid of him. He appeared to want to comfort them,
not realizing that his totally black face and dark brown eyes were
intimidating to people. They couldn't read his gentle nature and only
registered the erect head and upright ears. Griffin weighed about five
pounds less, but his face was appealing and expressive. People often asked
if he was a puppy. Olsen carried himself with dignity and aloof
professionalism. He quickly settled in to my work routine. We smoothly
strode the halls of the state capital. He glided through the crowds at
town-hall meetings and rallies. His intimidation factor was a big asset in
parting a path in or out of congested corridors. Gentry's size had caused
some to ask if he was a Rottweiler and Tammy's protective behavior had
sometimes made people wary of her, but Olsen didn't have to do anything but
stare straight ahead to cause people to step back. This was sad, because he
was a great worker and had a gentle soul.

 

In the first week we were back from training, I had to go to an unfamiliar
hotel to give a presentation on volunteerism. in the center of the lobby of
the hotel where my talk was to be held, was a U-shaped arrangement of
furniture. I knew that the room I needed to locate was in a corridor
leading off the back of the lobby. Olsen walked straight ahead and I found
my path blocked by a long sofa. Since I didn't know that we had entered a
horseshoe and were now at the bottom of it, I told Olsen to "Find the Way."
He looked right and left but couldn't see a logical direction to move. He
stepped confidently up on the sofa and glanced back as if to say, "Ok, hoist
up your skirt and follow me over this barrier!" Of course, when I pulled him
down, he quickly decided to backtrack around the end of the obstructing
furniture and line us up to enter the corridor I was seeking.

 

Olsen's  true gentleness was only displayed when he sensed people needed a
warm friendly dog as a comforter. In the fall of 2007, I attended a first
meeting of a support group that was being organized under the auspices of
the Lutheran Church. Another graduate of the Seeing Eye hoped to establish a
once a month blind outreach program to assist people experiencing vision
loss. Several Lutheran Congregations in Columbia agreed to prepare and serve
lunch on a rotating schedule. Priests from participating churches provided a
short devotional and prayer session. I was asked to give a presentation on
new technology, or a technique for accomplishing a task as a blind person. 

 

During the course of the first meeting of Circle of Friends Lutheran Blind
Outreach, I noticed a young woman across the room who spoke in a staccato
agitated manner.  When the group was beginning to disperse, I crossed the
room to kneel on the floor at her side.  She had indicated an interest in
acquiring a guide dog.  I asked if she would like to meet my dog. My fear
inspiring German Shepherd Dog Olsen, laid his head on her lap.  As she began
to stroke his head, she burst into tears.  

 

"When will I stop being afraid?" she sobbed. "When will this get better?"  

She had lost her vision two years earlier.  In a matter of three months, she
went from twenty-twenty vision to able to see only a small slice of the
world out of the corner of one eye.   She had dropped out of college in her
senior year and began the long arduous process of adjusting to vision loss.


 

I gave her my contact information, and took hers.  I made time to take her
to several events and invited her to my home.  I tried to be receptive,
nonjudgmental and to involve her with others.  Slowly she overcame some of
her fears and began going out of her apartment on her own.  She joined a
couple of disability activism groups. She took part in public speaking on
behalf of the disability community.  She started writing again and got a
poem published in the anthology, Blindness Isn't Black produced by VSA Arts
of Missouri. The title was chosen from one of the lines of a poem I also got
accepted in to the book.   She moved into a larger more convenient apartment
in preparation for training with a guide dog.  Perhaps she was still afraid
sometimes, and discouraged at her slow acquisition of adaptive skills, but
she began to understand that anything worth achieving takes the time it
takes.  She became more confident and began to spread her wings.  She went
to train with her own guide dog.  I gained too by our friendship. If this is
a success story, then it is more hers than mine. She overcame crippling
fears more disabling than her blindness.   She returned in equal measure
anything I was able to give. Olsen paved the way by sensing her fear and
pain and offering his affection and sympathy. I think it would have been
harder to establish trust and open honest communication if Olsen's natural
gifts as a therapy dog hadn't encouraged my young friend to open up to us.

Following is my poem that appeared in the VSA anthology:

 

Blindness From the Inside Looking Out

(First published in 2009 in the VSA of Missouri anthology Blindness Isn't
Black, an Anthology of Work By Missouri Writers and Artists Who Have
Disabilities)

  

My blindness isn't black.

I don't wander the world in darkness.

Sometimes it is silver,  

Intense shimmer makes my eyes water.

It is motion in mist,

Swirling indeterminate movement.

Something lurches at me,

Then slides away in stealthy retreat.

Colors are in my mind,

The motion only an illusion.

Someone stands before me

And I know where walls and doorways are.

This is facial vision.

The day came when the pain was too much.

They took away blind eyes,

I wondered if I would still know things.

Would I now be blinder?

Would I lose my sense of surroundings?

After the pain was gone,

The vision of the mind still remained.

Now I walk through my world, 

Beautiful big brown eyes looking out,

Non seeing prosthetics.

I know where you and the doorway are, 

The room is long and narrow.

I don't live in darkness.

I don't require eyes to see you

My blindness isn't black.

My eyes still tear up at the brightness.

They don't see like plastic.

They still watch the dancing color show.

 

 

The Company We Keep

During the 2008 election campaign, I attended a town hall meeting staged in
Columbia Missouri. The event was for vice presidential nominee Joe Biden.  I
was able to take along three
co-workers from my office because my husband went to the ticket distribution
center
in our small town of Fulton.  Tickets had all been distributed in Columbia
on Sunday
night.  Only one politician spoke before the senator, Judy Baker who was
running for
the 9th congressional district.

A woman who had jokingly remarked to a friend after seeing Barak Obama speak
at the
democratic convention in 2004, that if that man ever runs for president, "I
will have to get actively involved in getting him elected."  Four years
later, she
was leading the introductions.  After a short speech and a question and
answer session, it was time to work the rope line.  Olsen, in his usual
manner, 
slithered through the crowd until we were up against the barrier.  Senator
Biden
moved up and down greeting and listening to people.  When he reached the
spot where
I was standing, my dog was wedged between us against the curtains.  Senator
Biden
took my right hand in his and greeted me warmly, I wished him a blessing on
his journey
and safe travels.  He stepped close, leaned across the barrier to kiss my
cheek and
give me a hug.  He leaned down to stroke Olsen on the top of his satiny head
and commented that he once owned a Belgian shepherd and that my dog was
beautiful.
On the local news that evening, the camera caught Olsen and I moving through
the
crowd. Once again my Seeing Eye trained dog got me where I wanted to go with
grace
and security. What's more, because of my handsome escort, we got noticed.
Mom was
right when she exhorted me to choose the company I keep wisely.
No, I didn't tell the senator not to pet my dog; I figured they both
deserved the privilege.

Politically, the chasm between conservatives and liberals was beginning to
open up. All civility was rapidly disappearing. I attended town-hall
meetings arranged by the democratic senator representing Missouri. Loud
aggressive conservatives attempted to shout her down. I was deeply impressed
by her courage and grace under fire by hecklers. Olsen stayed quietly under
my feet until I rose to depart. Then his focused steady guide work allowed
me to leave the venue quickly and safely.

As our bond grew stronger, he began to give a single loud bark to let me
know when someone was standing in the doorway to my office. He also
announced to me that someone was approaching me or had called out my name.
This quirk caused some distress among those who were already afraid of his
solemn focused demeanor. I asked for help from my school and they sent
trainers out to work with us, but nothing we tried could convince Olsen that
I didn't need his (waiter alert) bark.

In the fall of 2009, things came to a crisis when the receptionist at the
agency where I worked dashed up to my open office door as I arrived for
work. I had put up a large dog crate in the corner of my office in which
Olsen remained shut away while I worked at my desk. Since we had just
arrived, I hadn't removed his harness and enclosed him yet. I let go of his
leash to put away my purse, briefcase and lunch bag. When Donna stepped into
the doorway, Olsen gave his bark and took a couple of steps toward her. I
grabbed his leash and began removing his harness and put him in the crate.
Later that day, the executive director of the center asked me to come to her
office. She said that three of the staff had filed a complaint that my dog
was causing a hostile work environment for them and that the receptionist
had stated that if she had not removed her hand from the doorframe, Olsen
would have bitten her. The director said she was banning him from the
office. I was shocked and distressed. My salary was necessary if I was going
to be able to contribute to the expenses of our three generational family. I
was employed in a state that allowed employers to terminate employees
without having to explain why. I had no choice but to retire Olsen.

He was only four years old and an excellent worker. 

I contacted the Seeing Eye, but they didn't have anyone in mind that could
use him as a guide. My friend Elizabeth offered to take him. She was
employed as a hospice worker. Her Quaker Church had no problem with having
him attend services with her. She accepted assignments where Olsen could
accompany her. His excellent manners and gentle soul made him an exceptional
pet therapist. He gently comforted people in pain. 

Two years in to their teaming up, Olsen suffered a medical issue that left
him paralyzed for a time. Elizabeth carried him out to relieve him and as he
recovered, helped him to learn to walk again. He returned to work with her
and lived another four years. She shared with me many of their adventures.
For example, she was visiting someone in the hospital and glanced down when
she heard a woman gasp from the doorway of the room. Olsen was sitting
patiently while a little girl counted his teeth. She proudly told her mother
how many he had. Obviously, no one at my place of work was in any danger
from my big black shepherd.

  

To Olsen

 

When I wake, my mind probes the space where you are not. Time and again
throughout the day I seek you and find only emptiness. I push the lever on
the icemaker and there is no scramble of paws racing to demand a frozen
treat. I turn to leave only to retrace my steps in search of that stolid
stick, which lurks unconcerned in a corner. I know you are well and with
someone who loves you. You haven't been forced from my side by old age or
illness. When the time is right, I will see you again. Our paths have
divided and there is loneliness in my heart where you dwelt for a time. You
made me smile when I was weary. You moved with grace through crowded halls.
You raced to bring me your toys with such joyful abandon, Dropping them
gently in to my waiting hands. You danced with delight at sight of your
harness, eager to take me wherever I wished. Why couldn't I make you
understand that your job did not include loud announcements that someone
else was seeking my attention? Sometimes, communication across the species
barrier proves impossible. Take care of my friend, fill her heart with joy
and as always, be you, a dear sweet shepherd boy.

 

Olsen taught me to keep my courage up and to accept the things I can't
change and continue to soldier on even when life gets tough.

 

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://bluegrasspals.com/pipermail/group1/attachments/20190302/efb6ff8a/attachment-0001.html>