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

[Tollebooth]

Some people say that Nash matches my clothes for me every day.  They probably think he cooks all of the meals that I eat. Thing is if he cooked them chances are I would never get to eat him. He would beat me to it.

And by the way, let's not forget that to the rest of the world, blind equals retarded.  

How ridiculous do the statement. Yet many sighted people firmly believe in them.  Sometimes I think they CS as a danger to society at large if you're out by ourselves.   

Sent from my iPhone

> On Nov 11, 2014, at 1:19 PM, Marianne Denning via Ohio-talk <ohio-talk at nfbnet.org> wrote:
> 
> David, that is great!  I have a dog and people think the dog takes me
> to Kroeger, Dollar General...  How can you, a blind man, be let out in
> the world without, at least, a dog to take care of you?  You know dogs
> are smarter than blind people.  You are really their pet and your dogs
> take you out for walks.  I am sure they fix your meals too.
> 
>> On 11/11/14, David Cohen via Ohio-talk <ohio-talk at nfbnet.org> wrote:
>> 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?
>> 
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> 
> -- 
> Marianne Denning, TVI, MA
> Teacher of students who are blind or visually impaired
> (513) 607-6053
> 
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