[Ohio-talk] White Cane Guy guidedogs and white canes

[David Cohen]

If you enjoyed reading about White Cane Guy I think this is twice as
good.  If you didn't then let Del eat it.

If ever there was a loaded statement, seeing is believing packs the
equivalent of the funniest Looney Tunes gags.  I’m thinking of
Yosemite Sam in the episode about the singing sword wherein he finds
himself along with the loveably innocent resident dragon inside the
castle turret surrounded with explosives and the dragon’s desperate
need to sneeze fire again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUCUQJBmpdQ

Seeing and believing is one thing and it is quick and easy.  Observing
and allowing the facts to be revealed takes time and patience, and
very often that which is revealed needs no words of explanation for
the truth of it is a feeling of knowing.  Or, if any words at all are
spoken the result is an “Oh my God” moment and that’s all folks.  The
question is then, how many times has public education about blindness
resulted in an oh my God moment?  In short, there’s a whole lot more
of them than there is of us, us and them is an expression of division
and when you think you know more about them than they do about you
works both ways and includes so many peopled examples.

I have two black dogs which I walk routinely.  The elder is Maggie and
she is 100% Labrador and the younger male is Snerdley and he is at
least half Labrador and possibly more as he is always mistaken for
Labrador but his crescent-curve tail, his pinched-short ears and his
twin elongated canine teeth which bow inwards to his mouth leads me to
think he’s got something else in his bloodline...  possibly Burmese
Python or the vampire Lestat.  So when I am asked, and I am very often
asked about the dogs I like to say that I have 1.5 servings of the
recommended daily allowance of Labrador.

The three of us were out walking as we do at least twice daily and
this particular day is the late afternoon of the Labor Day holiday and
parade.  The parade began at ten o’clock in the morning and finished
by noon.  Now the traffic outside on State Route 48 passes at a
reduced volume like a Sunday evening as opposed to the normal weekday
ever-present and rushing volume one can expect from the most
heavily-traveled road within the state of Ohio’s second largest
suburb.

The sidewalk on which we are walking is blocked entirely by twin
aluminum bleachers positioned outside the board of education building
two blocks north of my home, and additionally the city has stationed
portable toilets intermittently a few yards from the corners of select
blocks both north and south along the one mile stretch of the parade’s
route.  Years ago when I was passing one such port-o-John and struck
the backside of the molded plastic enclosure with my cane a bit too
forcefully a surprised voice called out from within, “Just a minute.
Occupied.”  The smile that spread across my face had a life of its own
as I recalled how many times I had accidentally knocked the doors of
hotel rooms, apartment doors and cubicle walls at work before I
thought to apply a softer touch in such a situation.

We circumnavigated the portable toilet stationed on the sidewalk
between my driveway and the nearest corner to my house and I’ve
knocked and identified with my cane the wooden sawhorse barriers
placed in the crosswalk of this first street adjacent to my house to
block any through traffic from entering the parade procession.  My
cane tap echoes the location of the upcoming curb and I sweep for the
wheelchair ramp on the other side and we three step up onto the next
block.  Maggie stops after a few yards to sniff at a routine spot, and
ahead of me I hear a voice and several footsteps and the voice is
rising in volume as it approaches.  I realize as the voice draws
closer that it is the voice of a man and walking along with him and
behind him are younger people.

“Stay to the side everybody those dogs are working” he announces and
as the group of persons passes I exchange neighborly greetings
perfunctorily because it’s important that my primary focus remain on
Maggie who on occasion relieves herself at this spot and I need to
attend my civic duty and pick up if nature calls.

“Hi. Hello. How are ya.”

“Hello sir, hi, hi sir” three voices of younger people speak in
passing and I smile but do not take my full attention away from Maggie
who is rooting in the grass to my left at the end of her leash like an
Iowa hog and snorting just as loudly.  This informs me that she is not
thinking of relieving but searching for edibles probably.  If you have
a Labrador of your own or have ever lived with such a dog you know
that no other appetite on earth compares, not even that of
professional athletes injected with HGH and steroids.  I do believe
that if I ever spilled mustard or ketchup onto her that she’d consume
herself into nothingness and find a way of communicating with me
spiritually to beg for something else.

“Those dogs are working the man tells the kids behind him and I hear
his voice like the informational voice that interrupts television
broadcasts to announce that a test of the Emergency Broadcast System
is taking place, that such is only a test and that if such was not a
test that I would be advised to take shelter and only to Tweet or post
to Facebook if the tornado strikes my neighbor’s home.

I give Maggie a cursory leash tug to signal to her to come along and
the three of us are walking northwards again.  I have the twin leashes
in my left hand, my cane in my right and keep the dogs always to my
left which took some patience and a lot of repetition to train into
them.  Obviously I cannot have one or both of them crossing in front
of me to my right side to sniff routinely but sometimes they cannot
resist.  Two legs or four, you cannot beat the arc of the cane is what
I like to say, and many times I’ve tickled the pad of a dog foot.  Dog
feat are so cool and especially Labrador duck-style feat.

The way I went about managing this dog-walking coordination was to
simply use the common stainless steel choker chains so that I could
heel them both quickly with a catch and release tug/signal, and
shorten the length of leash or leashes as necessary – Maggie always
the culprit - without the vinyl cloth collar rubbing and/or holding
uncomfortably against the neck.  This is not at all as cumbersome as
one might think although I do experience times when Snerdley sights a
rabbit or cat and he rockets ahead and will cross to my right side but
I simply stop, reattach my shoulder into the socket joint and think of
something equally as disappointing to myself like the fact that
Chipotle does not deliver in order to quell my guilt for restraining
his nature.

“I know Snerdley.  I know.  You missed the rabbit.  I love fast food
too but can’t always have it” I tell him and he chuffs at me
disgustedly.  A twin portal blow through his dog nostrils is his way
of dismissing me I’m sure.

The three of us have been walking together for five years now.  Prior
to engaging this twin walk I would walk one dog and return home to
walk the other but after months of their competitive bickering and
hearing “She always gets to go first,” and “that’s my leash! Why
doesn’t he get his own” I’d had enough and made the change to walking
them syemul-dog-taneously.

“Now listen you two” I would demand.  “If you do not stop with this
bickering I’ll go myself.  Caine and I are Abel” ha ha ha.  I
routinely engage them with playful language this way as a means of
both annoyance and distraction.

At present both dogs are pulling ahead strongly to be the first to
capture the next freshest inhalation of oxygen and I pick up my own
pace.  The sidewalk beneath my feat soon begins to slope downward and
informs me that we’re approaching the end of this block.  I mentally
throw my ears forward to the cross-street, the crosswalk and include
the passing traffic on State Route 48 to my left as I reel and shorten
their leashes in toward me.  Hearing predictability ahead we cross
this next street without stopping and maintain our pace.  It’s a
perfectly executed crossing; even the Russian orientation and mobility
instructors are pleased and their scorecard displays a 9.7 score
rating.  For me it is just one of those days when alignment is
Zen-like, and no other people approach with dogs, and no remnant of
parade food has been discarded in the crosswalk for distraction.

In this next block is where the aluminum bleachers is positioned and
both block the entirety of the sidewalk which is at least twice the
width of suburban sidewalk path because it accommodates a very nicely
cobbled-brick area surrounding a city bus stop and shelter.  I am so
very familiar with the parade bleacher setup because at least twice in
the early years of my residency here I took a five foot nine-inch
bleacher seat or step to my forehead, my cane sweeping beneath and my
ears and mind elsewhere, probably dreaming of the advent of Diane
Sawyer’s voice in my computer’s synthesizer or a Wendy’s double burger
with everything the size of a Frisbee.

Today as in previous years since my last headshot I have stepped off
the sidewalk well before the placement of the bleachers and along with
the dogs walk up the sloping grass of the Board of Education lawn to
go around the blockade.

“Hello.  I like your dogs” a woman’s voice speaks to me and Maggie and
Snerdley are heading directly for her until Maggie stops short to root
at what I can only imagine is food droppings from parade-attendees.

“Oh I’m sorry” the woman says as I tug on Maggie’s leash – Snerdley is
not a constantly begging, sniffing or food-on-the-brained kind of dog
– and I am again giving Maggie a smart leash correction of the sort I
learned how to administer when in guide dog school 20 years ago.  It
is a mental check at best, and the equivalent of a tap on the
shoulder.

“I’m sorry” the woman repeats.  “I know they’re working… I shouldn’t
have distracted them” she says apologetically but I hear she’s smiling
because well… dogs have this effect on people unlike politicians.

“No problem” I say loosening my hold on Maggie because she’s now
sweep-sniffing and no longer rooting which tells me she’s not eating
or about to eat.

“I know you’re not supposed to pet working dogs but can I…” the woman asks me.

I worked with a Black Labrador guide dog for many years and I never
did get use to this question of simultaneous acknowledgement and
dismissal.  I wonder if this is limited to those who work with service
dogs only or if it is spoken elsewhere.

“I know you’re not supposed to smoke in the maternity ward but can I?
I know the sign reads 12 items or less but...I know it’s a school zone
and the cautionary light is flashing but c’mon man, it’s a Porsche.”

“Sure” I say and ask if she attended the parade attempting to
non-sequitur a guide dog conversation which as you know is not the
reality of the situation, but seeing is believing.  I cannot imagine
being so equipped as a blind person with a cane, all my senses in
working order and only four dogs short of a sled-team of guide dogs
but this is what is seen and spoken to me routinely when we three are
out for a walk.  My blindness experience has taught me that we see
what we know and that knowing is not the same as understanding.
Knowing is good for multiple-choice tests and Jeopardy, but
understanding has very little to do with memorization.

“Yes.  We’re cleaning up and are waiting for the trucks to remove the
bleachers.  Were you here for the parade” she asks?

“Yes and no “ I tell her.  “I live just two blocks south of here and
the parade… well it passes in front of my house.  It’s like having a
marching band playing in your living room” I say to her and feel
chills on the nape of my neck as I recall the scene I’ve just
inadvertently described from The Amityville Horror movie.

“Oh I know you” she says.  “You’re the guy with the dogs” and I know
she’s saying that I am the white cane guy with the dogs more or less.
But herein I am not WCG but the blind guy with two guide dogs, working
dogs or service dogs… whatever.

“Yes that is me” I reply acknowledging her with a glance.

“I think these dogs are so amazing… I mean what they do for you” she
says bending over to pet one then the other.

What do I say” I ask myself.  Do I tell her truth, that my dogs are
regular walking, trashcan-sniffing, rabbit-chasing and obviously
harnessless dogs with no formal training?  This is a uniquely
dissonant situation for everything in plain view contradicts the
woman’s belief.  “God why are you doing this to me?  I ask internally.
“Why am I doing this to myself?  Please turn my head into a plasma
flat screen so I might be seen” I muse patiently.  “Give me the radio
voice of Art Schreiber, Rush Limbaugh or Teri Gross so I might be
heard.”

“Now where did you get them” she asks still petting and cooing to them.

“Maggie is from a breeder in Tampa and Snerdley comes from the Tampa
Humane Society where he was doing 3 to six for civil disobedience” I
reply.

“Whaaat” she asks laughing at me but I know she’s sincere and believes
the twain are working.

“The truth is neither dog is a working dog” and this I relate
seriously.  “I sort of rescued them and they are from Tampa, Florida.”

“But they work for you right” she states more than asks.

“Nope.  This works with me” I say softly, smiling sincerely and
holding my cane upright to my side above the recently shorn front lawn
I feel beneath my feet.  I know my cane’s simple utilitarian power,
but most folk know it only as an accessory to the DMV driver exam
picture and functionally like a candy-striped barber pole mounted on
the wall outside the shop.

“They’re not working for you… They’re not service animals” she replies
and I can hear the disbelief in her voice.

“No, they’re served animals” I reply.  “They get served meals in the
morning and the afternoon, dog snacks from who laid the rail and take
routine walks with me to the pet store where they are served treats
and God only knows how many discounts that I am unaware of which they
steal from the store’s lower shelves.”

The woman is laughing.  I am laughing.  I think she’s definitely a
dog-person.  This mistake has occurred so many many times since I
began walking the dogs I’ve cared for in the past ten years since my
former guide passed.  Who knows, maybe I’ll educate someone or even
better… Maybe she’ll want two dogs.

“I don’t understand.  I always thought they guided you.  I’ve seen
them take you across the street” she says.

“Take me across the street” I consider incredulously to myself?
Chinese emperors are taken places by rickshaw inside the Imperial
City.  The New York Yankees are taken by floats or convertibles
through the streets of Brooklyn in parades celebrating victory, but
the last time I was taken across a street was by pram by my mother in
the very early seventies.

“do you have a dog” I ask mild in tone and turning my gaze away so as
to make sure I am communicating understandingly.  I do not want to
give the impression that I am at all incredulous.  I do not want this
kind woman to feel anything but openness to the reality of me walking
the dogs.  I do not want to communicate a corrective “Well duh” tone
of voice to her.

“Yes, a Beagle mix” she says and hearing Beagle I so want to reply
“BeagleJuice BeagleJuice BeagleJuice” but even I know now is the time
for seriousness.

“When you walk the Beagle the Beagle sometimes walks ahead of you and
sometimes at your side.  Beagle turns at all the routine corners and
after certain street crossings. The Beagle marks territory at the
usual places and walks down curbs and up wheelchair ramps along with
you” I am explaining and she is understanding this I know because she
is now speaking to me engagingly and truth be told laughing at herself
which I can appreciate because I’ve walked into bleachers in broad
daylight.

“Oh my God.  You’re just walking these dogs.  You’re blind though,
right” she asks and she is most definitely in need of confirmation.
If ever there was an opportune time for me to walk into a tree or
bleachers it is now.  This would be called taking one for the team.

This is true I say.  You know it is, that moment when engaged by a
person unfamiliar with blindness but simultaneously in-the-know of
blindness who needs you to confirm something obvious in its
functionality like reading Braille in an elevator and pressing the
corresponding button so the light illuminates the seeing is believing
truth.  It’s like asking someone at a costume party to remove their
Batman mask even though you know this person planned to arrive as such
despite the fact that the entirety of the event is a pre-planned
Barack and Michelle Abama look-a-like costume party.

“Yes” I reply now looking uncomfortably directly at her for only a
second or two.

“Ohhhh” she exclaims and she’s cool in manner and not at all
uncomfortable with the word blind which I really appreciate.

“Sweet!” I’m elated.  “She’s cool with it.  I can get on with my
walk,” but now I’m hearing the dismantling of square one and the
proposal of site excavation and remodeling plans being offered to the
department of my ways and means ha ha ha.

“But how…?  You just walk… alone…, with that” she states a bit
incredulously and obviously pointing at my cane as if I’m holding a
soiled diaper.

I have a choice to make.  I can prolong the exchange which has turned
into a whole bunch of everything regarding blindness and maybe dispel
her disbelief.  I could make another joke and tell her that yes I do
use the cane, it works for free, I incur no health insurance costs, it
requires no room and board, does not cheat at cards and also functions
as a sweeping tool for the identification and retrieval of all the
single socks that have gone amiss beneath beds and behind the washing
machine and dryer in my home.  I could answer yes and excuse myself
and continue walking and this is what I did more or less.

“My name is David” I say holding out my hand to her and we shake.
“This cane is to me, a literal extension of my arm and hand with five
fingers each with an eyeball for a fingerprint.  It informs me of
everything I need to know 65 inches ahead of my scheduled arrival.  It
really works wonderfully in its simplicity.”

“Oh I guess so” she replied in a tone of challenged consideration.  “I
never really thought…  But don’t you need a service dog” she asked?