[Critique Group 2] Leonard's submission for group 2 (due date is tomorrow.)

[Tuchyner5 at aol.com]

Hi All, 
I guess you know that tomorrow our submissions are due.  Mine is pasted 
below. This piece is meant for Dialogue. Thus it is meant  for a visually 
impaired readership.  I assume I don’t have to be too  explanatory for this group 
to get the gist of the subtleties that a sighted  readership might have 
difficulty with.  Am I right? I hope the humor and  tongue-in-cheek aspects 
come through. 
Leonard 
---- 
Not Exactly a Guide Dog  
by 
Leonard  Tuchyner 
No one would ever suspect Barney of being a guide dog --  in fact, not even 
a help dog. Though the way he leans up against me with a full  body press, 
stares at me with soulful big brown eyes, just before burying his  tawny 
head in my lap, is enough to melt the hardest of hearts.  Does he fetch? That’s 
beneath him. Does  he come when called? Only if he is coming anyway or if 
he thinks there’s  something in it for him.  This husky  fellow is only 
forty-five pounds soaking wet, but pulls like a seventy-five  pound sled dog.  
When he takes me  for a walk, he goes where he wants to go. If I don’t want to 
go there, it’s a  tug-of-war.  
Consequently, our walks can be interesting  adventures.  In those  
often-competitive events, I’m tied to him by a retractable twenty-foot leash.  This 
is more than enough distance for him to get up a full head of steam before  
he comes to a jarring stop, or pulls my arm out of its socket.  
On these walks, I have enough vision to know whether I’m  close to the edge 
of the unmarked roadside.  However, I make mistakes. I can count on  
wandering off the tarmac at least three times a week.  A couple of times a year, I’
ll trip over  a neighbor’s rock border or plow into a driveway marker. The 
old toy commercial,  “Weevils wobble, but they won’t fall down,” definitely 
applies to me.  
Barney’s not the only dog in the neighborhood, and often  one or more of 
them happen to be on their own jaunts at the same time. Since  anyone beyond 
fifteen feet is invisible to my eyes, I can’t see them coming.  That means 
there is barely enough time for me to rein my dog in before he is  within 
tangle distance of an approaching human/dog duo.  Tangling distance, in Barney’s 
case, has  two meanings.  One of them  translates into leashes becoming 
overly involved. Barney can wrap up another  canine’s human like a spider wraps 
up a fly. The other meaning of tangle is as  in, “Don’t tangle with me.”  
Barney is generally a good-natured dog-about-town kind of  guy who only 
wants to play. But there is the rare occasion when his currish  counterpart and 
he do not see eye to eye. In that case, fur may fly. If given  enough 
warning, I can tell what’s on Barney’s mind and can control the  situation. The 
operative word is “if.” Which is why, if my wife is with me, she  will say, 
“Dog ahead!”  
One reason why Diane, my wife, walks our larger dog is  because Chloe can 
be counted on to leave her smelly contributions in designated  areas. If she 
is about to violate pooping rules, her mistress will see it coming  and take 
corrective action. I would not necessarily be aware of the impending  
crime. Barney usually uses these safe zones, but he is kind of weird in that  
department. He doesn’t go once. He goes several times, leaving little tiny  
tidbits. I really can never be sure whether he’s gone or not. He kicks dirt out 
 behind him four to six times a walk. If I had to use a pooper scooper, I 
would  not be able to find the scat. To tell you the truth, I’m happy to be 
ignorant  about this issue. 
Most of the people in the neighborhood probably know I am  short in the 
visual department. However, a while back, my next door neighbor  asked my wife 
why I never say hello, or smile back at him. I’ve told him I’m  blind, but 
apparently, he doesn’t get it. She had to explain to him that I  didn’t say 
hello because I probably didn’t even know he was there. Even if I  did, how 
would I know if he were friend or foe or whether he was smiling. She  
explained that he would have to come up to me and say something. So far he has  
not done so. Of course, this is an old story for low-visioned individuals who 
 don’t carry a white cane all the time.  
We live on a lightly traveled dead end street. So that  when cars pass by, 
I often wave and smile. If the passing motorist reacts, I  rarely know. It 
sometimes feels like I’m waving at a passing cloud. It seems a  foolish thing 
to do, but I frequently do it anyway, just in case.  
Yesterday, I was startled by the sound of a car’s tires  coming out of a 
driveway just behind me. There was no motor sound. You got it --  I was snuck 
up on by a Prius. The nerve of some people driving a  stealth-mobile.  I 
must admit  however, that I say this with some chagrin, since our own car is a  
Prius. 
Automotive traffic can be a cause of anxiety for any  pedestrian. Barney 
doesn’t help the matter. He doesn’t believe that anyone on  his road would 
hurt him. He pretty much doesn’t worry about anything, except how  to get 
loose from his tether and go after that cat or deer who is tantalizing  him with 
their exotic aroma and enticing presence.  So in his state of danger 
denial, he  constantly crosses from one side of the street to the other, and I 
obligingly  follow. Usually, the sound of a vehicle on the road gives me plenty 
of warning  of their approach. So far, in his nine years on this earth, I 
have been  successful in keeping him from running out in front of these 
mechanical demons.  
Finally, when we arrive back at home-safe-home,  he heads straight for his 
water bowl,  where I slip off his collar and collapse gratefully onto a 
couch to rest  and  count my  blessings.
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