[nagdu] Pilot articles

[Tracy Carcione]

When we were discussing Pilot a while back, Jeanine sent me this set of
newspaper articles, which I think are pretty
interesting, so I thought I'd share.
Pilot Dogs Class
Columbus Dispatch February 10, 2009

Reporter follows in footsteps of blind
Reporter follows in footsteps of blind

As I slipped on the mask, my confidence faded to black along with my world.
For four weeks I had interviewed Pilot Dogs students, followed them on
walks, recorded
their successes and setbacks. I understood basic guide-dog training: the
commands,
the routes, the common mistakes.
I felt sufficiently prepared, then, for an experiment: taking a guide dog
on a short
walk, blindfolded.
Yet the succinct advice one student offered before I left made no mention
of skill
or technique.
"Trust your dog," he said. "That's all you need to know."
Outside the school, my first impression of blindness seemed embarrassingly
obvious:
Wait. How can I walk like this? I can't even see. I can't see.
Before I could speak, trainer Steve Hoyt offered instructions: "Find your
dog; find
your harness."
Frantically, I waved a hand around in search of my black Labrador, a
slight rush
of self-pity washing over me.
The comfort of finding Tory didn't last long as she and I set off for a
walk around
the block nearest the school.
My harness hand bounced with the dog's wiggling stride as I staggered to
follow her
down the sidewalk. Not until I felt grass beneath my feet did I discover
the crookedness
of my path.
When Tory paused at the first curb, I reached out my right foot to feel
for it. Realizing
that I'd stopped short, I pawed the pavement until I nearly stumbled over
the edge.
The sound of passing cars made my heart race, even though I knew I was in
no danger.
Seven-year-old Tory is a guide-dog veteran, and Steve, like all the
school's trainers,
wouldn't let anything happen to me.
Still, the walk was terrifying.
Working to gain control, I tried to visualize the route I'd followed many
times when
accompanying the students. I pictured the buildings I'd pass and the
alleys I'd cross.
I tried to show off my mental map when Tory stopped at a curb: I asked
Steve whether
we should turn right onto Rich Street.
"This is the parking lot," he told me.
I thought I'd have a huge advantage over the students, having studied the
area first
with my eyes. Blindfolded, though, I had no idea where I was.
The walk was simple -- few decisions, no street crossings -- yet I
struggled to manage
it.
And I'm not even Randy Bailey, who hadn't walked much in years.
Or Elaine Brittain, fearful that a fall could break her bones.
Or Phil Jackson, who can neither see nor hear his surroundings.
Yet for me, even Tory swerving on the sidewalk proved problematic. I
didn't understand
what she was doing, worried where she was taking me.
I slowed my steps, pulling on her in a moment of uncertainty:
What if she continues into the street?
Tory didn't, though. She wouldn't.
"She's just taking you around some leaves," Steve told me. "She doesn't
want you
to step on them."
In other words: Trust your dog; that's all you need to know .
Amy Saunders is a Dispatch reporter.


Meet and greet
Training program begins with introductions of guide dogs, prospective owners

The dog becomes its owner's means of navigating the world -- his eyes, his
inseparable
companion.
But the relationship between the two doesn't begin that way.
Raised by a foster family, the dog has spent more time as an average pet
than a vital
leader.
And the person, typically blind or visually impaired for years, might not
be used
to handling an animal or even taking walks.
The strangers gradually become a team at Pilot Dogs, a 58-year-old West
Side school
that's among 10 in the country training guide dogs and prospective owners.
The four-week program is a boot camp of sorts: Students sleep in twin
beds, eat cafeteria
food and train for 12 hours a day, six days a week -- first in the
school's Town
Street neighborhood and, eventually, on COTA buses and the streets of
Downtown.
A test in the final week determines whether students can take their
animals home
and be counted among the 8,000 active guide-dog users in the United States
-- a figure
representing less than 1 percent of the estimated 1.5 million visually
impaired Americans.
The schooling is strenuous, particularly for those who don't work or who
tend to
stay close to home. Each year, a handful of the 150 students who enroll
quit or fail
the class.
"You see a lot of different moods as they go through it: anxiety,
excitement, depression,
anxiety again," said Jay Gray, executive director of the nonprofit
organization,
which provides dogs to students at no cost.
"It usually goes smoothly, but there's times it just does not."
Five students -- including three featured in this three-day package of
stories --
began the challenge Nov. 24.
During a two-day orientation, students practiced walking around the school
and learned
commands they'd need to instruct their dogs.
On the third day, dogs and students started their training together.
Randy: a world unraveled
To catch up with his slender dog, 43-year-old Randy Bailey had to move
faster than
he had in four years.
During that time, in fact, he'd hardly left his apartment. He had no
reason to leave.
His life had deteriorated in just nine months -- his health, his marriage
and, ultimately,
his sight.
First, a rare stomach infection ravaged his body, leaving but 100 pounds
on his 6-foot
frame.
Then, weakened by the illness as well as his lifelong struggle with
diabetes, Randy
in early 2004 suffered what he later learned was a series of strokes.
His vision, a little out of sorts initially, was gone by that July.
Meanwhile, his wife -- the mother of his four children -- divorced him
after 16 years
of marriage.
And, shortly after he moved out of the house with the family's Shetland
sheepdog,
Rowdy was attacked and killed by a friend's much-larger Akita.
Darkness and depression overcame Randy in a Greenville, Ill., senior
center -- the
only apartment he could find at the time of the divorce, the one he has
rarely left
since.
"I was mad at the world, and I was scared to death," he said. "I cried a
lot, I did;
I was devastated. I still am, to a certain degree."
As Randy's emotions eased, he began thinking of rejoining the world he
once knew
-- as a graduate of Northwestern University, as a high-school math teacher
and, for
the previous 20 years, as a fine-dining chef.
Heeding advice given a year earlier by his teenage daughter, Kayla, he
finally made
a move by enrolling at Pilot Dogs.
"I'm ready to get back living again," he said. "There's gotta be more for
me than
just sitting in my apartment 24 hours a day. There's gotta be."
Randy found his opportunity on that first-day walk with Brice, as the
vizsla, a lean
breed of Hungarian stock, pulled him around the block fast -- enjoyably fast.
Afterward, the dog -- which had cowered nervously upon meeting him -- was
jumping
onto his chair, body wiggling, her face in his.
For the first time in two hours, he'd stopped petting her; she wanted his
attention.
Phil: a long wait ended
In a stark, temporary bedroom, Phil Jackson finally met the dog he wasn't
supposed
to have.
Therapists had discouraged him from attending guide-dog school, fearing
the classes
would overwhelm him. Blind and partially deaf for all his 40 years, Phil
is prone
to stumbling into walls and obstacles or mixing up his lefts and rights.
A dog, though, could help him navigate his hometown of Bristol, Va., with
the accuracy,
speed and grace not afforded by his cane.
A dog could lead him to the pulpit of his small Baptist church and help
him develop
skills for a job that provides the money his ministry cannot.
Phil had wanted a dog for years -- and now, on the Wednesday morning
before Thanksgiving,
his anticipation heightened as he awaited her delivery.
Three hours later, when a trainer announced the dog's arrival, Phil
readied himself
immediately, snapping forward in his chair -- arms out and waiting for
Corky to fill
them.
The black Labrador bounded into the room, presenting herself in all her
panting,
wagging, jumping glory.
"All right, all right
!" Phil exclaimed as his hands felt for Corky's head and nose. "This puppy
cannot
realize
how long I've waited for this to happen."
He promptly ignored instructions to remain seated. If the dog was wiggling
her way
toward the door, so was Phil -- on his hands and knees, willing to follow
any path
that led to Corky.
"I've waited for you forever," he repeated.
The meeting was momentous for Corky, too; her release from five months of
training
and kennel life was cause for celebratory jumping and crying.
Such behavior confused Phil, who had never owned a dog -- or seen one.
In his deliberate, Southern drawl, he sought the wisdom of the sighted,
asking a
trainer: "When she's crying like that and you look at her, do you see
tears coming
out?"
Elaine: a 'lost soul' searching
Sometimes, a sprightly, 50-pound black Lab is no match for an 83-year-old
who, when
seated, can't always reach her feet to the floor.
" Nooo!
No, Dee Dee! We have to wait our turn!" Elaine Brittain pleaded as her
dog lunged
for a door in hopes of following the just-departed dog of another student.
At first, Dee Dee had seemed just the friend Elaine was seeking:
affectionate and
attentive -- and, as a bonus, petite and dark.
"I can see you better," Elaine told the squirming dog upon meeting her.
"And you're
little and short - just my size, yes. You're going to live with me and be
my helper
because I need a bunch of help, Dee Dee."
Only minutes into knowing the dog, though, Elaine was fighting for
control. And the
day before, even without Dee Dee yanking on her, she had lost her balance
and fallen
during a walk outside.
"I'm afraid I'll fall again," she told a trainer, her voice quivering.
"What worries
me is she's so strong. Will she settle down? I sure don't want to fall."
Concerns about her physical abilities had plagued Elaine long before she
arrived
at Pilot Dogs. She suffers from painful arthritis and degenerative vision
that has
turned her world into blurs and patches.
Until recently, the 10-year widow had been content to live alone in the
Highland
County city of Hillsboro. She made regular trips to the salon, the post
office and,
on occasion, to a bar for country-music night and margaritas.
She had been more lonely than independent, though, since autumn, when her
boxer,
Rocky, died of cancer.
"I've been a lost soul ever since," she said. "He was a wonderful,
wonderful dog;
he surely was. I never went anywhere without him."
With her sight worsening, she applied to Pilot Dogs at the urging of
friends from
her beauty shop. A companion could make her happier -- and maybe extend
her life.
Her mother, after all, lived to age 95.
"I'm not giving up yet," Elaine said. "But if I don't get another dog, I
might."












T




Public can lend a hand in a variety of ways
Public can lend a hand in a variety of ways


Want to help?
>From puppyhood to Pilot Dogs, training and placing a guide dog with an
owner costs
about $8,000.
But the dog -- including transportation to the West Side school and four
weeks of
classes -- is free to students.
The nonprofit agency operates on a $1.4 million annual budget, with 20
percent of
the money provided by Lions Clubs International and the rest from
memberships and
donations.
The school also relies on dog donations and puppy raisers.
Potential volunteers can learn more by calling 614-221-6367or visiting
www.pilotdogs.org.
The basics:
To donate money
• Checks, payable to Pilot Dogs Inc., should be sent to 625 W. Town St.,
Columbus,
Ohio 43215.
To donate a dog
• About 90 percent of the school guide dogs come from breeding programs,
but Pilot
Dogs also accepts private donations of dogs.
• The school uses seven breeds: German shepherd, Doberman pinscher, boxer,
Labrador
retriever, golden retriever, vizsla and standard poodle.
• Females between 50 and 60 pounds are preferred. Dogs between 14 and 30
months old
are accepted for a probationary period while their temperament and
training potential
are evaluated.
To raise a puppy
• A foster family can raise a future Pilot Dog for about a year, starting
when the
puppy is 7 to 10 weeks old. Guide-dog puppies are raised like pets -- with
housebreaking,
obedience classes and exposure to different people and places.
• Pilot Dogs provides a leash, collar and brush, and reimburses families
for veterinary
and obedience-school costs (but not for food).
• When the puppy reaches 12 to 14 months of age, it returns to Pilot Dogs
for three
to five months of guide-dog training. About half won't make the cut.
Breeders get
first dibs on adopting those dogs, followed by the puppy raiser and then
those on
a public waiting list.

Peaks and valleys: Training intensity leaves guide-dog students on an
emotional roller
Coaster

James D. DeCAMP
Elaine Brittain and Dee Dee prepare for a walk. The plaque behind them
honors Charles
W. Medick, a Pilot Dogs founder.
Eventually, they travel to stores, ride buses and cross busy Downtown
streets like
anyone else.
To start, though, guide dogs and their new handlers learn to find doors,
to turn
left or right, to stop at the end of sidewalks -- all in an effort to
develop walking
skills that the sighted take for granted.
Working up to street crossings takes repetition and patience during a
four-week stay
at Pilot Dogs, a West Side training school for guide dogs and blind or
visually impaired
people who would own them.
At 7 a.m. six days a week, students gather for breakfast before starting
12 hours
of obedience classes, lectures and walks lasting 30 minutes to 2 hours.
Students venture out one or two at a time, with their dogs leading the way
and a
trainer giving instructions and monitoring their progress.
Before accepting about 150 students a year, the nonprofit school reviews
applications
as well as medical and personal references, hoping to select those with
the health
and personality to withstand the commitment.
Most applicants are accepted to Pilot Dogs or another school, but the
physical and
emotional demands of the training inevitably prove too much for a few
students, who
quit or fail the class each year.
For the five enrolled in the final class of 2008, the second and third
weeks proved
increasingly challenging.
Fatigued from walking and aching from arthritis, Elaine Brittain, an
83-year-old
widow from Hillsboro, worried that her age matters more than her efforts
during the
program.
Randy Bailey, on the other hand, felt as if he were coming back to life --
taking
long walks for the first time since illness and misfortune five years ago
left the
43-year-old blind and alone in Greenville, Ill.
And for Phil Jackson, 40, partial deafness along with complete blindness
severely
hindered his abilities to walk and control the dog he wanted for his life
as a pastor
in Bristol, Va.
This story tells of the trio's training experiences in the two weeks
starting Nov.
27.
Elaine: proceeding with caution
The homeless man wanted money from her, of all people -- the little,
83-year-old
hunched over in jeans a couple of inches too short, walking down the
street with
her guide dog.
Both Elaine Brittain and Dee Dee brushed past him, silent and unfazed.
During training, a handler's focus must remain on the walk --
distractions, after
all, are everywhere.
"Find the curb," Elaine instructed the black Labrador retriever, who led
her to the
sidewalk's end.
Elaine slid her right foot over the brink to determine the crossing's
identity: Is
it a street? An alley? A parking lot? Or a dangerous piece of uneven
pavement?
Determining her whereabouts, she directed Dee Dee to turn right as the two
continued
through the West Side neighborhood near Pilot Dogs.
Unknowing, Elaine headed toward a second obstruction: two cars on a
sidewalk, parked
nonchalantly outside an auto-repair shop.
It was up to Dee Dee to steer her master around the vehicles -- and up to
Elaine
to follow the dog's chosen route: muddy, uneven ground between the cars
and a concrete
wall of the shop.
"She's so good; Dee Dee, you're such a good dog," Elaine said -- not that
she usually
tells the dog otherwise.
A week after Elaine and Dee Dee met, their work together was turning from
frightening
to fruitful.
Less often was Dee Dee bolting toward other dogs or students, to the
terror of her
elderly caretaker. And on occasions when Dee Dee still acted like a puppy,
Elaine
was quicker to correct her with a sharp "No!" and a jerk on her leash.
Still, Elaine constantly reminded herself that she thought -- no, she knew
-- that
she is too old for four weeks of such intense training.
"The stress is bad; I'm just nervous," she said. "When I'm tired, I have
trouble
because I'm weak and I'm not used to all this exercise."
With some classmates now covering up to 2 miles, Elaine often noted how
much slower
she was on simple trips around the block. No matter that most of the other
students
were half Elaine's age; she was bothered by her lack of progress.
At the end of the second week, Elaine's physical condition became more
unstable.
Tangled in Dee Dee's leash, she fell in the school lobby and smacked her
head so
hard that she was unsure what had happened.
The rest of the day, she wasn't her usual, feisty self.
Rather than bantering with her classmates during lunch, she ate mostly in
silence,
speaking up only to complain of soreness from the fall and stiffness from
arthritis.
The next week, Elaine still spoke of the spill as something of historical
significance
-- how it made her wary, even more than she already was, to walk Dee Dee
in the slippery
December conditions.
"I'm still afraid, and I'm counting the days till I go home," she said.
"It seems
like we've been here a long time."
Elaine and her classmates had 11 days to go.
Randy: on cruise control
A dog's responsibilities end here, at the tangling of highways where the
sounds of
speeding cars overwhelm all other noise.
Now that Brice had guided her handler to this place -- a West Side
entrance ramp
to I-70 and I-71 on Town Street -- Randy Bailey listened for the traffic
he could
not see.
A rush of cars heard to one side of the pedestrian suggests nothing in
front -- signaling
an opportunity to cross the street.
Discovering that moment can be nerve-racking and time-consuming --
especially at
this crossing, marred by the noisy Rt. 315 overpass above.
As Randy and Brice, a vizsla, waited for their chance, a truck breezed by
them and
caused the collar of Randy's jacket to flutter open.
"Whoa, that was close," he said, stepping back in recognition of the danger.
Several minutes passed before Randy could make the call, cross the street
and continue
the walk back to Pilot Dogs.
Before long, though, he regained a quick pace that had, at times, put him
more than
50 yards ahead of classmate Kevin Dickson.
Near the end of the walk, trainer Wayne Mathys quizzed his two students on
their
location.
"Are we at State and ?" Kevin began, describing an intersection a few
blocks away.
"Town and Grubb," Randy interrupted, providing the correct answer.
In his second week, Randy -- blind for four years, fewer years than any of
his classmates
-- was proving himself a confident walker with a keen, natural sense of
direction.
Adjusting to blindness, caused by a stroke at age 39, has taken much longer.
A therapist taught him to walk with a cane and provided him with devices
that detect
the color of a shirt and the denomination of currency. A personal
assistant helps
him with errands and finances.
Still, Randy bloodies and burns his fingers when trying to cook, as he did
during
his 20 years as a fine-dining chef. He isn't yet proficient at reading
Braille.
And despite his walking abilities, he had tripped and fallen several times
at Pilot
Dogs, twisting both ankles.
Yet Randy was determined to excel with Brice. He'd always been a
perfectionist, and
this time he needed these skills to impress others, too.
His four children -- ages 13 to 17 -- didn't know that their father had
left Illinois
to enroll in guide-dog school.
The dog was to be a surprise for the kids, who've struggled watching the
toll that
blindness has taken on him.
"I can tell it in their voices -- this intimidates them," he said,
pointing to the
dark sunglasses that never leave his face. "This is not what they're used
to."
Phil: a bumpy ride
Literally out of the school gate, Phil Jackson started making mistakes.
He turned the wrong direction, dropped his dog's harness and spun in
circles as he
tried to recover.
Trainer Mike Tessmer offered corrections as loud as his voice would let
him. But
illness had reduced his shouting that day to a hoarse whisper -- and Phil,
partially
deaf since birth, strained to hear him under normal circumstances.
At the first two curbs on the walk, Phil aimlessly continued into the
street instead
of stopping and turning to remain on the sidewalk.
He stepped on Corky's feet, making the black Lab yelp, and tripped badly
enough that
Mike had to grab and steady him.
The blindness and deafness impairing his balance, Phil then veered into
the street
while crossing an alley -- unable to sense his own direction.
"Stop! You're in the street!" Mike said. "Phil, you're a little unsafe, OK?"
During the second week of class, Phil was frequently disoriented inside
and outside
the building -- becoming lost on the way to his room, crashing into
chairs, prompting
classmates and dogs to scramble out of his way.
And with Phil focusing so much on his own travel, Corky's movements often
became
an afterthought.
Without daily reminders of the rules, guide dogs can revert to typical-dog
behavior,
ignoring duties and commands in favor of inspecting smells and surroundings.
Returning from the walk, Corky darted toward another student's dog while
Phil trailed
silently behind her. Mike, watching the lack of control, threw his hands
up in frustration.
"We blundered a couple of times this morning," Phil casually acknowledged
after the
walk. "But I'm not upset with that; it's my own stupid fault."
The next week, though, Phil started to recognize that his problems might
be unfixable.
At times, he couldn't hear the quiet engines of late-model cars or judge
the distance
between him and oncoming traffic.
And although his "Corkster" was sweet and kind, willing to let Phil nap on
her, she
nonetheless was a spunky, young dog with her own agenda.
So Phil began speaking of not passing the class -- of the possibility that
he might
return to Virginia and his church without the dog he'd wanted for so long.
"If it's meant to be, if Corky is meant to be a part of my future life and
my ministry,"
he said, "it will happen. If not, it won't.
"But I know right now I'd love to take this puppy home, I really would,
because we
have bonded
so well."


Blind Trust: Some students go home with dogs; others must try again
Trials and triumphs
Blind Trust: Some students go home with dogs; others must try again

James D. DeCAMP
Kevin Dixon, left, with Nelson, Randy Bailey with Brice and trainer Mike
Tessmer
wait for a COTA bus to take them back to Guide Dogs.
The four weeks of Pilot Dogs training culminate in the day that students
head home
-- with or without a guide dog.
For 12 hours a day, six days a week, students and dogs at the West Side
school develop
a relationship that can provide the mobility and the confidence to change
a blind
person's life.
The dogs don't become theirs, though, until the students prove their
skills in a
walking test Downtown. While critiqued by a silent observer, a handler and
canine
must board a bus, cross streets and enter a store without help.
In the days before the test, the pressure built for the school's final
class of 2008,
including some students with health or abilities that seemed increasingly
uncertain.
A sick, sore and tired Elaine Brittain, 83, thought of giving up -- even
if it meant
returning home to Hillsboro without her dog, Dee Dee.
Phil Jackson, a 40-year-old pastor from Bristol, Va., feared that he and
Corky lacked
the discipline needed to pass the class.
And, though confident about the test, Randy Bailey, 43, of Greenville,
Ill., had
another one looming: that of a divorced dad trying to impress his four
children.
The three -- along with two other classmates -- faced their fates on Dec.
17 and
18.
Elaine: against the odds
Freezing rain pounded on Elaine Brittain's metallic-blue coat and soaked
Dee Dee's
fur as the pair shuffled down High Street.
"How you doing?" trainer Mike Tessmer asked.
"I'm still with ya," Elaine replied meekly.
Sore from a fall and from arthritis, and now weary from a bad cold,
83-year-old Elaine
was growing more reluctant to walk -- especially Downtown.
She mentioned repeatedly that her little hometown didn't have buses and
escalators.
So what if Downtown Columbus did? She hadn't been there since 1945.
Skipping the Downtown test wasn't an option, though, if she wanted to go
home with
her black Lab. She had to practice, despite her fear of the icy conditions.
As she waited for a bus, Elaine asked Mike to catch her if she fell.
"Well, sure, but it'll cost ya," he joked, trying to brighten her mood.
Her worry -- the one she'd had all along during the training -- proved
well-founded
as she stepped off the bus, climbing down the last and biggest step.
"Ooh!" she cried in pain as her left knee buckled, launching her forward
into Mike's
waiting arms.
Steadying her on the sidewalk beside him, Mike took Dee Dee's leash as the
bus drove
away.
Elaine shriveled her face in despair, beginning to cry.
"You did great, Elaine," Mike said softly.
As the test approached, Elaine became discouraged, so tired and sick that
she began
saying she didn't care whether she passed. Going home was her only goal.
When the big day arrived -- following a night of freezing rain -- she was
relieved
to learn that the students would be spared the bus portion of the test.
A school van dropped Elaine off at Long and High streets so that she could
head south
toward the CVS store she would visit as part of the test.
Despite her fatigue and the slippery streets, she crossed four roadways
and entered
the store problem-free. She and Dee Dee had taken on the real world
independently,
just as they were supposed to.
Within 24 hours, Elaine learned that she passed the test (trainers
considered previous
bus experiences in deciding a student's outcome).
Her confidence returning, she playfully announced to her classmates: "I'm
going home,
kids!"
Elaine looked forward to some rest after a demanding and draining four
weeks. She'd
cried from pain, both physical and emotional, but she didn't resent the
times that
made her almost quit.
>From the suffering came the joy of Dee Dee, a new best friend.
"It's sure been an experience," Elaine said just before leaving for
Hillsboro. "But
it's one I'm real glad I took."
Phil: too many obstacles
On a busy Downtown street corner, Phil made his final bid for a guide dog.
"Corky, forward!" he declared.
He stepped toward a "Don't Walk" signal, his partial deafness muffling the
sounds
of oncoming traffic.
And failed the test -- again.
Phil and Corky weren't safe together. They'd proved as much during two
tests -- the
first one and a next-day retake -- by walking toward cars and wandering
out of crosswalks.
After his four-week effort, then, Phil would return home without the dog
he'd wanted
for so many years.
Pilot Dogs trainers recommended that Phil spend three to six weeks at a
rehabilitation
center for the blind, a place where he'd already trained for much of 2005.
Then, with his improved walking and traffic skills, he could return to
Pilot Dogs
for a three- or four-week class and a different, more mature dog.
School officials recognized problems between Phil and Corky but hoped the
pair would
click in the final week -- it has happened before. This time, though, the
differences
couldn't be overcome.
"The dog basically got bored with the work," said Jay Gray, executive
director of
Pilot Dogs. "It wasn't (Phil's) fault; it was the team's fault."
Corky, he said, might better serve someone with more skill and experience.
Phil had envisioned Corky lying at his side as he preached about healing
and hope
that first Sunday back at church.
As much as he'd loved and bonded with his black Lab, though, Phil wasn't
discouraged
by returning to Virginia alone, only thankful that he had another chance.
"If you've been as blind as long as I have, for 40 years, there's nothing
more exhilarating
than that first walk around the block," he said.
"It's like a whole new world."
Randy: full speed ahead
When Randy Bailey's children called him on his birthday in December, he
revealed
the secret he'd been keeping from them for three weeks: He was in Ohio,
working to
obtain a guide dog.
He was taking charge of his life for the first time since losing his sight
five years
earlier.
So instead of visiting him the day he turned 43, the four kids -- ages 13
to 17 --
planned to greet Randy at his apartment when he returned home to Illinois
with Brice,
a vizsla.
Now that Randy looked forward to walking -- or doing anything, for that
matter --
their monthly visits could be more active.
Randy is considering a move to his hometown of Bloom- ington, Ill., where
opportunities
are greater than those in the one-stoplight town of Greenville. He might
even return
to school, become a teacher again.
The plans are certainly nothing like the future Randy imagined when his
blindness
set in. He and his wife had recently divorced, and, despite his
introverted nature,
he could do little by himself.
"I figured I'd sit in darkness until the Lord called me home," he said. "I
was scared
to death."
Now, with Brice, he won't be sitting or waiting.
Nor will he be alone.
"It's a new chapter," he said. "Actually, it's a whole new book.
"I know this will change my life tremendously."