by Kelly Jo Stone,
Freedom Guide Dogs for the Blind
The offer to participate in a blindfold walk was unexpected but enthusiastically accepted. We planned it for the following day. I fell asleep excited about the upcoming experience; the sunlight streaming through the window woke me with its brilliance. I checked my appearance in the mirror, happy with the way the light seemed to glow in my eyes and hair. I chose my outfit with care, aware that I would be in public. As a professional and a woman, I enjoy looking nice. My hair was straight, and I felt pretty; it was going to be a fun day.
I entered the kitchen, and while I did not mind changing my boots to a rubber-soled pair, I did so with an indulgent smile. I can walk in my boots; the heel was less than a quarter of an inch, but I changed because his worry seemed real.
I watched as he readied the blindfold. Through my volunteer work with Freedom Guide Dogs, I have frequently interacted with guide dog users. The guide dog teams I have seen were seamless; they moved as a pair with ease and confidence. My excitement mounted as he brought forth the guide dog. I had seen this dog in play and in training. The three of us walked together for several feet as he explained. He would be walking with us, and I need not worry; I would be safe. We went over how to turn left and right, not over walking the dog – feeling the nuances of the dog’s movements through the harness.
My mind mulled over his words. This was going to be so easy. I could still hear the world; I just needed to follow the dog, right? I have walked in the dark through the house; this would be simple. My confidence grew after having seen this done by so many; I would be a pro at this in no time.
He placed the blindfold on me, and the world fell into black. His voice seemed to boom at me from darkness. “Ok, put the lead around your wrist and follow it to his back. Ok, now find the harness.” I did as we had discussed, and soon the guide dog and I were in position. My confidence and excitement grew. I stood straight and took my first step.
By the fifth step, I had forgotten my hair and clothes. By the tenth step, everything had fallen away, and all that mattered was the harness in my hand connecting me to the dog that was guiding me. That connection had taken over all my thoughts. I could indeed hear the world, but in the darkness, it was a confusing and scary dichotomy of sorting out the noises and ignoring them to concentrate on the pull of my partner.
From beside me, his voice informed me that we were approaching the curb. I felt worried. How far was it? Was the way clear, and how big was the curb? What if I over walked the guide dog, and how was I not going to over walk him? I couldn’t see when he stopped. Goosebumps raised on my skin, and I felt myself center in on the harness.
I felt the dog’s body moving, felt myself following. His voice came from beside me, “Ok, there are cracks in the sidewalk here.” The rubber soles of my boots glided over the sidewalk, absorbing the uneven ground. Suddenly, I was truly happy about having changed my boots. He warned of obstacles ahead, adding that the dog should adjust to clear them. But, if the guide dog didn’t do so, he would step in; not to worry, he wouldn’t let me run into anything.
I was silent, but in my head, my fear was demanding; WAIT, WHAT! I might run into something. I felt the sturdy body of the dog and the subtle movements of the harness in my hand. I felt the slight pull as we moved to the right and became a little calmer. The stop at the curb was smooth, and I sadly over walked the dog.
Again, his voice came from the darkness, saying, “Good, he is right where he should be. Ok, now feel the curb with your foot so you can feel how deep it is.”
I reached out and felt the cavern that was in front of me. Where had he brought me? There was no bottom to the curb, it was endless, and I was sure I was going to fall off the edge and die. Again, his voice spoke to me, “Ok, now listen to the traffic, and tell me when it is safe to go.”
Listen to the traffic? I was still trying to figure out how to get the dog and me down the Mount Everest of a curb! The car engines sounded from all around me, echoing off the buildings. I didn’t know when to go! I couldn’t tell when the light turned. Suddenly the reality of a guide dog team and their relationship came into focus for me. It was not about being led by a guide dog; it was truly teamwork. The guide dog works with his handler. They guide each other. To turn right, you must have confidence in your ability and your guide to take you both where you need to go. We walked around the block, a distance I can normally cover in minutes. Still, it felt like I was navigating a foreign country with cliffs and mountains.
My confidence, while not as bright and steady, was rekindled when, from beside me, he suggested we get some food. Going from the street to the restaurant was shocking. The air was different. I could feel the wall but had no reference to what wall it was or where it led. Again, I focused on the dog; he seemed unfazed by the new location. My hand touched the bench, and I sat with a plop. I told the dog, “Down and under,” and was amazed when I felt him move down and under the table.
I was alone with the dog for several seconds; I praised him and patted his head. I sat waiting but had to keep reaching down to touch the dog. Still wearing the blindfold, I felt lost without the connection to my partner.
He placed the pizza in front of me, and I lifted the fork and knife to cut it. I have been cutting my food and eating on my own my entire life. It was a humbling experience to realize that I was struggling to cut a piece of pizza. I knew my hands were covered in sauce, as I had to touch the pizza to determine if I was cutting it. I did it and, with pride, lifted the bite to my mouth. To say it was bigger than I expected is an understatement. I choked it down, unwilling to admit just how real the struggle to cut my own food was. Again, I considered the reality of not being able to take the blindfold off. To not have the ease of my sight to assist me in everything. Respect expanded in my chest.
We completed the walk, and as I reached up to remove the blindfold, I paused for a second, listening to the world around me – the sounds of a bike passing, the birds chirping, the distant sounds of the town. I realized that while the blindfold took away my sight, it did not take away the beauty of the world.
