Because My Dog Loves Me

Because my dog loves me I’m fractionally taller than I used to be. Of course this sounds silly. But then again, it isn’t. Walking with a guide dog makes you stand up straighter. “Damn,” says my dog, “damn you look good!” 


We follow the twisting tracks of the day. I’m straight. She’s fast. How perfect this team is! 


We walk through a green plush garden. Its an amazing garden. The dog says: “You ought to smell the chickadee. Now that’s a smell!” I know this is what she’s saying. Me? I hear it. A bird like a stenographer. Happy talking bird. My dog says she loves her life. I can hear her also. I think all blind people who have guide dogs know what I’m talking about. Dog-a-sthesia. You’re just walking around and darned if you’re not connected to everything. 


My dog’s inner life magnifies my own. Some people would think this is nonsense. I don’t really care. More and more, by tacit consent, I ignore the able-bodied world. I know its there. But I don’t care much about what they think. 


I’m tall. My dog is fast. We talk to birds. Over and out. 




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