Two weeks ago my cat, Chauncey became ill. I made seven trips to the vet in eleven days. It’s been a hell of a two-week period.

The Mobil Vet, Katherine Hurley was here again today to give my baby an enema. However, three eagles so to speak landed before she arrived. I was so proud of and happy for my Chauncey Giddles.

During our conversation, Dr. Hurley asked me about my dogs - my Seeing Eye Dogs. I was, again, proud and more than happy to speak of them, all three of them. Therefore, I thought you, too, might enjoy hearing about how I came to be blind, and the three best friends I have had to help me live in darkness.

SUCCESS
BY: Judith E. Vido


Two weeks ago my cat, Chauncey became ill. I made seven trips to the vet in eleven days. It’s been a hell of a two-week period.

The Mobil Vet, Katherine Hurley was here again today to give my baby an enema. However, three eagles so to speak landed before she arrived. I was so proud of and happy for my Chauncey Giddles.

During our conversation, Dr. Hurley asked me about my dogs - my Seeing Eye Dogs. I was, again, proud and more than happy to speak of them, all three of them. Therefore, I thought you, too, might enjoy hearing about how I came to be blind, and the three best friends I have had to help me live in darkness.

Eight weeks before my twentieth birthday I was declared legally blind with Diabetic retinopathy. Living at home with Mom in a rural community and unable to drive, I was convinced my life was over, and no one would ever love me. As days passed and vision lessened, I wallowed in the depressing remembered passages of Edgar Allen Poe. Not the best company for one facing a life of blindness.
Okay, I admit it, after about three months this Poe mentality became pretty boring. I sought better for myself. A friend with a country music band got me back into the real world with the added excitement of being allowed to sing.
The latter I found easier than ever, as I was oblivious to all those pairs of eyes focused on me. I just sang and with time became pretty comfortable with the whole stage persona. Granted, I did not get to go often but it was enough, and the singing was a dream come true . Age, practice, and experience have given me confidence. My preference these days is to entertain solo and a cappella.
During this same time, I came to enjoy trips to the grocery store. It was an outing no matter how mundane. What comes to mind most often when I think of those early days was the little old lady -- isn’t there always a little old lady -- who noticed me in the grocery with my mother one morning. We had stopped in our perusal of the fresh produce to speak to one of my mother’s friends. They began talking of how sad, et cetera, it was for me. I stood aside listening while my mother enjoyed the sympathy.
At some point, I had heard enough of this doom and gloom and declared, “Don’t worry so,” I said brightly, “the way I look at it is God blessed me when I lost my sight, cause He knew I was lazy and didn’t want to work!”
It must have been my flippancy that made the woman approach me. I had noticed her in the area, for while I could not see facial features, I could see grocery baskets and bodies, checking out the carrots and potatoes at the end of the aisle.
I looked at her and smiled. She then reared back, stiffened her shoulders, and holding to her basket for dear life, demanded with a quaking voice, “What have you done at such a young age that God would punish you so?”
Oh no, one of those. Summoning my brightest smile, I pointed my nose towards the sound of her voice and said with deceptive sweetness, “The God I know doesn’t punish!”
In a flash, she was rushing up the aisle as if, the devil, not God, were at her heel. I felt badly for her with such narrow-minded beliefs. Unfortunately, such narrow mindedness was only the first of many I would encounter in my new life with blindness.
Songsterssay, we get by with a little help from our friends. One of the three best friends I have ever had came into my life when I was twenty-five. Mary was only eighteen months old, seventy-two pounds of black and silver fur, and had the softest ears of any German shepherd I ever knew. Mary was the genuine article; a Seeing Eye dog. That proud canine took me to broadcasting school, five years of undergraduate school, and all but one year of graduate school before we had to part.
From the time Mary was five years old, I wondered if I would know when the time was right, if I would even know the time when choices would need to be made. Yet, when Mary became sick after my Wednesday night class, I knew the time was here.
Would I be able to do what was required? Did I have the guts to give peace? Could I live with myself afterwards?
Seeing Mary stretched full upon the cold examination table of the emergency vet, unable to raise her head was all I needed to know she was suffering. I could and would relieve that suffering. Any more surgery for her ills would only prolong her pain.
More than ten years with Mary pulled strengths and abilities from somewhere deep within me. The decision to put her down was the hardest thing I have yet to experience. Yet, I know when the times come, I have the courage to do what is in the best interest of my beloved friend -- but it never gets any easier.
The second of my best friends was another German shepherd named Tiki. Where Mary had been my grand Duchess, Tiki was my princess. Three short weeks from the Seeing Eye to the classroom of my last year of Graduate studies in social work, Tiki and I learned to trust one another on the go. Tiki and I boldly went where many blind persons with dog guides had never gone before. So some of those trips were the result of a diagonal street crossing or a wrong turn…so we had no idea where the hell we were most of the time. We survived! And, that’s what’s important. If the dog gets you home without killing you, I was once told, that was a successful trip. I believe it!
The blizzard of ninety-six nearly purloined my sanity. I am a southern girl, and ice with snow up to my hips is not for me. Cabin fever was closing in, and I had to get out. At last the temperatures rose above thirty, nearing sixty degrees for one day. Surely, I thought, the sidewalks would be clear. I harnessed Tiki and headed up the sun soaked side of Hanover Avenue.
Icy patches dotted the one-mile route to the vet; Tiki needed a manicure with nails Dolly Parton would envy. Fearless from boredom and three weeks of being homebound, we continued on to the vet’s office.
What exhilaration! We made it and only a few places had been troublesome. Now for the trek home. Forward, hup-up!
The side street upon which the vet’s office was located I expected to be a bit rough, but we were only three blocks from Monument avenue; one of the city’s major thoroughfares. After only a half block, I began to wonder if I had not made a horrendous mistake! Piles of snow were blocking the intersections. Ice covered the sidewalks, and Tiki and I slipped and slid along the entire three blocks. It took nearly thirty minutes to access Monument Avenue.
Hurrah, I thought as I at last heard the traffic denoting our objective. Tiki stopped short of the street, and I reached out to see what the obstacle might be. Before me was a wall of freshly plowed snow! We turned heading east and found nothing but ice along the entire block. I began to silently curse, then exclaimed out loud of the stupidity of these people who had not shoveled their sidewalks. Block after block Tiki and I moved with tedious fear until yet another wall of snow and ice obstructed our way.
Evidently someone had a small home plow, for the five foot wide sidewalk was blocked by an icy barrier, waist high. Not a soul was to be heard -- much less seen, and I stood wondering what to do with no way around or through the frozen mound.
My anger toward the people who had been so careless and my own helplessness to just see turned to panic when I realized the time. Sunset wasn’t far off, and I had only gone less than a third of the way to get safely home. I had to do something, and the only choice was to trust Tiki and her training.
I took a step back from the wall of ice and gave Tiki the command hup up, meaning literally, get to business. In this circumstance it would mean take over girl and get us out of here. She turned toward the street and stopped at the curb not too badly covered with ice. I found the step and went into the street. Again I told her, right, hup-up. She moved slowly, veering around the plowed mess and keeping me away from the rushing traffic at our left. After about ten feet, she pulled me back to the curbing, or as close as she could get to it. I stepped back up on to more ice, but the wall was now behind us.
Tiki had done it! We had done it together… My arms went around her neck, and I dropped to my knees on the ice. I held her till she decided it was time to get moving and shook me off.
Cocky now, with tears of joy, pride, and fear, we started home. The trip usually took us about twenty minutes. On this day however, it was an hour and a half. Light was still evident in the sky though, as we stepped onto our back stoop.
Tiki had been nine years old on that trip and only one more year was afforded us with such long travel. She retired with a kitten to play with for the last two years of her life.
Did I mention I am lazy and don’t like to work? I don’t do mornings either!
Forty-seven years old and on my way to the Seeing Eye one more time. Up and out at five thirty in the morning with the final park time for the dogs at eight thirty in the evening. An early visit to the nurse for blood sugar testing, breakfast, a trip to the city for training walks, park time, blood sugars, lunch, another trip to the city for training walks, park time, blood sugars, and dinner. Instruction in the care and grooming as well as how to handle unforeseen incidents after dinner that last park time and then, if you are lucky, bedtime. Oh yes, let us not forget the bedtime blood sugar; everyone line up.
My third best friend is a tiny black Lab named Madonna. No relation to the rich and famous one, unfortunately. Maddie, as she is known, is cautious to a fault, ambles along like a Texan, and when she wags her tail in joy, her entire heinie wags, not just the tail. A shepherd she ain’t!
This insight nearly drove me to the decision of sending her back to the Seeing Eye. I had not expected such a drastic difference in behavior, from the way she walks to the way she acts in harness. Serious is an understatement; people tell me she looks depressed.
On the other hand, she is at this moment snoring softly at my back. No not on the floor, on the sofa. I pretend I don’t know.
Maddie romps with Chauncey, Tiki’s kitten, now seventeen pounds of playful full-grown cat company. She bobs and weaves when he rolls his paws into little fist and boxes with the punch and power of George Foreman. He bites with the voracity of Mike Tyson. Chauncey rules this house.
I’ll let you in on another secret, but please don’t tell. Maddie sleeps on the bed with me. That’s a big no, no. I don’t care; she is the cuddliest little thing.
Patiently, she has waited through two foot surgeries that kept me from walking her for weeks. Loyally she watched by the bed, when I could not have her in with me. She and Chauncey support one another in alarming me to meal and treat times, and make sure one another are groomed, if one does end up somewhat wet and sloppy at times. They together comprise my fur family and give more love and companionship than I had thought possible. Most importantly, Maddie in all her overly conscientious ways continues the independence given me by Mary over twenty-five years ago.
Many have, I know, written about their service dogs and the amazing accomplishments they have made in their lives, in spite of blindness or more difficult disabilities. I am not one of these.
I still don’t work. That is, I don’t have a day-to-day job. Still I am never at a loss for things that need to be done.
I still feel blessed that I lost my sight. The thread that runs through the tapestry of my life making me the person I am is my blindness. My life would not have taken the turns or led me down the roads less traveled without the loss of my vision. I know this as I know I could not have made it in life without my friends, both two legged and four footed.
In short I believe I am a success. In the face of all I am not, I accept and respect all I am and the trials that have created me. I know I am a success, for I survive and know in spite of it all, I am blessed. Blindness can be hard -- but life is good.
Many times I listen to the problems of people who don’t have a clue as to how fortunate they really are. They whine of no money, no boy/girl friend, how they hate their jobs, wife/husband, or any number of other issues they either have no control over, or refuse to take control of in their own lives. I have been there and done a whole lot of that. Doctor Phil would be proud of me; I got real. It always amazes me to realize that I am now an elder. Ha, I’m supposed to have the wisdom of the world. Once in a while admittedly, I do know what I am talking about. However, I have learned that sometimes it is best to let go and let God. He/She knows better anyway. I hope the little old lady discovered that and eventually met the God I know. A much nicer fellow.
By the Way, the God of my understanding still doesn’t punish: God teaches. Sometimes the greatest disasters result in our greatest miracles. And, believe it or not, sometimes God’s love is best understood through the lives of a serious Seeing Eye dog and one ass-kicking cat.

--THE END--