Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog & the Woman She Rescued (10 page)

I laughed. “Why, I’ve never done that! I was the perfect child! Completely obedient in every way. Just ask my sisters. They’ll confirm that’s absolutely true—right after they pick themselves up off the floor from laughing nearly to death!”

After our hilarity subsided, Laurie’s gaze dropped to the nubby oatmeal carpet. I could see she was drifting in thought again. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was contemplating a specific moment of conflict with her parents.

Rallying her reflections, she looked up at me. “I keep questioning whether or not to let Mia off her leash. By constantly restraining her, I wonder,
Is it safe for her body?
Maybe, but it does restrict nearly all her natural exercise. Is it safe for her mind? Nope! She tells me that every time I clip her leash to her collar. Once Mia’s on line, she acts like I’ve just slammed a prison door in her face. She hates it!

“I don’t know what to do. I do know that for my dog to exist in this world of blindness, she has to be able to learn, adapt, and grow within it. I think that can only happen if she’s allowed to explore the environment she’s going to live in. Maybe then she can discover how to deal with it, one step at a time, right?” I could tell Laurie was asking for my permission as much as my opinion.

I took the bait. “Hmm, I think you’re right. Just like you love to play the piano, this would be the same as knowing how to play in your head, but never practicing. You’ll never really learn how to play unless you practice what you know.”

“That’s what I think! I couldn’t live my life restricted by a three-foot line either. I’ve come to the conclusion that trying
to shelter her by keeping her on a leash the rest of her life is doing her no favors; that’s living in an unrealistic bubble world. I need to train her to live in the real world—the world she can’t see with her eyes. This world has challenges and dangers. Her life is full of sharp edges, drop-offs, and a wood-burning stove. She needs to learn to listen to my voice of guidance and then steer around those potential dangers on her own. I feel like the best course of action is to train her to be obedient while she is on the leash and even more so when she is off.”

With the deterioration of Mia’s remaining eye, Laurie’s presence and purpose in her life took on a fresh focus. She determined to help Mia develop the ability to survive in a new and different way.

Mia had already proved that she could overcome with ease the obstacles within her home and backyard without a leash. Since Mia would be off line in unknown environments while in her master’s presence, Laurie needed to teach Mia to know and do three things: trust, believe, and listen. Mia must trust
Laurie’s eyes to become hers. She must believe in Laurie’s decisions. And she must listen to Laurie’s voice. The only way Mia would able to accomplish these things is if she was allowed to practice them.

After many rehearsals, Laurie took Mia to the impressive Oregon Coast, with its miles of empty seashore. It was the perfect place to teach Mia how to trust, believe, and listen. Laurie could think of no setting more inspiring for coaching her friend.

Once the two of them arrived at the beach, Laurie released her wriggling dog from her leash. Mia was thrilled! She bounced around Laurie in big goofy leaps, always blindly looking up in the direction of where she believed her master’s face might be. Mia’s ecstatic body language seemed to shout, “Thank you!” Then, true to her species, she set off to investigate her new surroundings.

Fully living up to its reputation, the magnificent Oregon Coast delivers, no matter what the weather. The gray skies that day only added to the deepening sense of drama created by the heavy surf. Towering spires of black basalt rose like timeless cathedrals within the exploding waves. The cold wind whipped Laurie’s hair and tore at her clothing. She braced herself against the torrent and mused,
Days like these make me know I’m alive!

Laurie hurried to join Mia. While strolling along the beach,
she watched her dog approach potentially dangerous chunks of driftwood.

“Careful!”

Mia hesitated and turned slightly toward the sound of her master’s voice.

Laurie continued to warn. “Careful, careful!”

In a surprisingly short time, Mia learned that
careful
meant “move forward slowly.”

Laurie was pleased with Mia’s responses to her cues.

“Good girl, Mia!” Laurie called out praises for each good choice her clever dog made. Excited and proud of Mia’s progress, Laurie added other commands such as “wait” and “stay.” When Mia needed to step over something to avoid a hazard, Laurie added “step” to her list of commands.

Satisfaction filled Laurie to see her blind dog having so much fun. With minimal coaching from her master, Mia was a happy dog again, and she raced from one point of interest to another. Anyone watching her run along the beach would not have known Mia was blind. Laurie smiled as she watched her dog discover one captivating scent after another.
This day might not be long enough for Mia to explore it all
.

Laurie walked on the furrowed sand and took notice of every rock and shell displayed on the grainy expanse. The sun’s gentle warmth had broken through the gray and combined
with the wind-driven salt on her cheeks. With hands nestled in her jacket pockets, Laurie reveled in deep, wordless joy at being in this timeless place with her dog.

During their walk, dog and woman approached a cove harboring logs that had washed up among the large basalt rocks. The ebbing surf had carried the sand out from under the stones and wood, leaving beautiful curves and valleys around each of the obstructions. Although an intriguing place for Laurie, it was a dangerous place for Mia. Laurie drew in a deep breath, strengthening her resolve to guide her dog. With one cautionary command after another, she steered her blind dog through the rocky maze.

Laurie continued to call out directional advice but noticed a subtle change in her dog. Mia was not responding as quickly as she had been earlier. She was turning her head back less and less to listen to her master’s voice. In fact, Mia’s body would stiffen a little with every word of caution. Her actions told Laurie that she was resisting the barrage of instructions. Eventually, she stopped and looked in Laurie’s direction. It was as if she were shouting back, “Oh, for goodness’ sake! What danger? It’s the beach!”

Laurie raised her voice. “Mia, wait!”

Mia turned and began to walk down the beach, a clear canine response that yelled “C’mon! Will ya quit holding me back
and just let me have some fun?” She trotted the other way, utterly disregarding her master’s voice.

Laurie sighed.

Only moments later, Mia took one too many steps in the wrong direction and tumbled right over the sandy ledge Laurie had been trying to help her avoid.

“Mia!” Laurie scrambled over to the four-foot embankment where her treasured friend had just tumbled. Laurie saw that Mia had bitten her tongue.

Before Laurie reached her, Mia regained her footing and was moving away again.

“Mia, it doesn’t have to be this hard! Please stop! Girl, you can avoid all of this pain. Mia, please listen to me! You can’t see—I can! Baby, trust my eyes and my voice.” Laurie jogged after her dog, determined in her commitment to offer guidance. Mia moved away like a stubborn child and began to run from her master.

“Mia! Listen to me! Careful, careful!”

Laurie winced as Mia ran headfirst into a large washed-up stump.

Watching her dog crash made Laurie’s stomach hurt.

Laurie was undeterred and continued to call after her dog. Mia recovered fast from her impact with the stump, only to
turn and run into a huge rock. Even from a distance, Laurie saw that her dog’s nose was bleeding.

Laurie pleaded, “Oh, Mia, please listen … please!” If voice commands were going to work, her canine friend must choose to trust her.

Without warning, scenes from Laurie’s past failures moved through her head. She conceded that it was not words that changed her actions—it was consequences.

Sometimes it’s the bloody noses in life that teach us the most.

After several more painful encounters with immovable beach debris, Mia seemed to have had enough of her own way. Quite suddenly, Laurie’s voice resumed its authority. Mia’s actions proved she’d had a change of heart. Once again, she began to listen to her master’s warnings of impending danger. Mia decided that she had more fun, more security, and fewer bloody noses when she didn’t just hear her master’s voice but actually listened, responded, and obeyed.

Laurie marveled at the changes in her dog.

In just a few short minutes, Mia had learned something
remarkable—something that had taken Laurie a lifetime to try to understand. Mia had chosen to allow her master to be her eyes, to believe in her master’s decisions, and to listen to her master’s voice. Outside of a few minor bumps and bruises, Mia made it look easy to trust in a voice emanating from someone she could not see.

I leaned back in my office chair and clapped. “Yeah, Mia! Well done, little dog! Well done!”

With a small laugh, Laurie agreed and placed her notes on the old Hoosier cabinet beside her. Quite suddenly, a slight frown pinched her face; I sensed she was sifting through all that she had observed of Mia’s behavior. “When it comes to trust, believe, and listen, how can that kind of faith be so easy for my dog … but so hard for me?”

She opened her hands and lifted them toward the ceiling. “My dog isn’t teaching me to sit and stay, but to move forward in action—to trust, believe, and listen. Before my eyes, Mia has demonstrated that it doesn’t matter if I can see what lies ahead of me. It only matters that I trust, believe, and listen to the God who does.”