Did the man know what “safe” meant? He had to concede he hadn’t known until Corky came into his life. Before meeting her he’d been dancing on a weak floor. Really, the floor of his world had been like the planks in an old farmhouse. As a teenager, with his sighted friends, he’d break into abandoned houses and the boys would walk timidly over sagging boards. They might fall into the dark cellar with the next step or the next. He hadn’t been afraid. It was just blindness extended. If you live in the absence of safety you can’t magnify it.
Walking with Corky he saw he was finally guaranteed good steps. He’d never known them before. His landscape would never be the same. He saw that he would never be the same on the inside. He had a dog soul now. He and Miss Corky were twins. He understood this was real. He knew something of the ancient man who first knew how life could be more secure, more eventful, more of hope, just because of the dog.