In the past year working with a guide dog, as well as hearing stories from friends who work with them, I figured it’s about time that I did a post solely dedicated to all things dog-with-job, specifically the general public’s reaction to them.

Why Now?

If for no other reason than I have been bombarded with inaccurate information and/or tons of questions over the past week.  Sure, I’ve had persistent questions before – and probably always will – and inaccurate information given to me from well-meaning people who might have seen a guide dog on TV; but the sheer number of them lately has prompted this.

Guide Dog Attitudes/Etiquette

I have been incredibly blessed to not deal with many extremes on this front:

– People trying to pet my dog.

When a dog’s harness is on, even if she’s laying down, she is working.  Yes, she’s cute, but please don’t pet her.  Some handlers will allow their dogs to be petted in harness, but only if you ask.  I am not one of them; my dog can be easily distracted on occasion, and it’s generally a bad idea to pet a dog you don’t know anyway.  Some people use signs on their dogs’ harness that say “Please don’t pet me; I’m working” or something similar.  I choose not to, simply because the less visible she is, the less likely I am to run into people indiscriminately petting her.

– People being afraid of my dog.

I play goalball on a sports team – and work in an office – where someone is afraid of dogs.  I have learned to keep full control on my dog so that contact between her and these individuals is minimal to nonexistent.  I only rarely come across strangers who are at the very least audibly freaking out at my dog.  Granted, on the rare occasions she will bark in harness, her bark is BIG, but her presence alone is not exactly frightening.

– Well-meaning people who offer assistance and then try and grab the leash/harness.

I haven’t gotten this myself, but I hear of it often.  Just as you wouldn’t grab the back of someone’s wheelchair, just don’t… please. Thanks.

– People feeding/leaving food for the dog.

Thankfully, this has been nonexistent for me.  I had one person once ask if they could feed her some beef jerky, but hey, asking questions isn’t a crime, even if I cringe at the thought.  But I have spoken to others who’ve had strangers come up and start feeding their guides while they are sitting on the bus, or throwing leftovers toward the dog.  Just don’t…

– People talking to the dog.

This is probably the one I get most often.  Someone will say “Good girl” to her if she does what I ask, or tell her directions when we are following them.  If Jenny is focused, I say something later, but if she’s being distracted I will stop and make her sit, tell whoever to please not talk to the dog, get an apology, and on we go!

Common questions/comments:

– “What’s your dog’s name?”

I don’t give this out in public, though I am sure that if I give her commands or try and re-focus her, her name does come out.  Most people understand this and are not offended.  I used to think about giving a fake name that didn’t sound like Jenny, but then it would perpetuate talking to the dog, sooooo…

– “What breed?”} (along this line) “Lab?”} / “How old?” (along this line) “She looks young!”

Jenny looks young, and sometimes acts young.  And she looks ALL Lab.  I suppose people ask these questions because guide dogs and their training is so fascinating.  Most schools use Labs and Golden retrievers, but there are German Shepherds, Dobermans, poodles, and other breeds that are trained as guide dogs; teams usually finish formal training (either school-based or owner-training) when the dog is 18-24 months, though occasionally a dog will graduate much earlier or later, or a match just doesn’t work out and a team completes training when the dog is 2.5-3 years old.  I don’t mind answering these questions (black Lab, 2.5 years old, in case your curious).

– “My uncle’s girlfriend’s cousin has a dog like that; it detects epilepsy!”

That’s nice… so?

– “How does the dog know when the light’s green?”

This one makes me laugh.  Dogs see the world similar the way a red-green colorblind person might, and rely on their handler’s input to cross the street.  Last year I unknowingly told Jenny to cross a street on a red light because there was no traffic pattern to follow and no audible signal at that crossing.  A coworker told me later that “Jenny had made a big mistake.”  I told him that she did what I asked, because all the information I had said that it was safe to cross the street.  It was MY mistake, not hers.

– “Your dog is so protective!” (along this line) }Does your dog bite?”

Ironically, I get given the comment, but not asked the question.  I have started asking people if Jenny’s baring her teeth or showing other protective behavior, which gets the response of “no, she’s just watching, and she’s so focused on you!”  How is that being protective?  Curious minds, and all that…

– “Does your dog bark?”

Yes.  She’s a dog.  She almost never barks in harness – most guide dogs don’t bark in harness – but yes, she has the lung power and capacity and volume to bark, and convincingly, too!

– “How does your dog know when to get off the bus?”

She doesn’t; that’s my job!  Although, she has a pretty good judge of where we are.  Often times, if we go a stop past where we normally get off, she will turn her head to nudge me.  I haven’t decided if this is a signal that I am an idiot, that she has to go to the bathroom, or that she knows where we usually get off and wants to tell me that there’s a change in routine… I’ll keep you posted.
– “Does your dog ever get to be a ‘normal’ dog?”

um… Yes, most definitely! Guide dogs are, above all, dogs. They need love, praise, stimulation, and yes, playtime.  Jenny is living proof that a dog can have too many toys – our house is littered with squeaker toys, tug ropes, balls, bones, and a whole bunch of other stuff.  She will initiate play, but will drop a toy with a thud when I use the words “Not now.”  She is probably pampered too much by some guide dog handler standards, but she knows she is loved and what is expected of her.  And as for socializing with other dogs…

Jenny has a doggie… er… boyfriend? (picture courtesy of Benjamin Lang)

There will be further posts on guide dogs in the future – choosing to get a dog, why some people shouldn’t get dogs, access issues, traveling with your guide dog… but thanks for indulging my catharsis in writing an FAQ post.

I have a rather ambiguous and complicated thought process when it comes to celebrities with disabilities, specifically blindness.  I love their accomplishments – Kayaking the Colorado River, traveling around the world on a motorcycle, safely exiting the World Trade Center on 9/11, inventing an alphabet so that other blind people could read and write, or being one of the best-known musicians of all time – for the ability to allow all blind and sighted alike to dream big, defy seemingly insurmountable odds, and battle fear, the elements, and forces beyond their control.  But I think their celebrity can sometimes do unintended harm to those of us who simply wish to belong.

 

What about those of us who live the seemingly ordinary life?  Are our careers, marriages, families, hobbies, hopes and dreams any less valuable to society?  I would argue that, in our ordinariness, we are just as valuable as those who make huge contributions in literacy, sport, or the arts.  As much as I hate to admit it, our desire to succeed is an “inspiration” to many (“If the blind girl can get a good job, marry, or have children, then what’s my excuse?”)  Conversely, I am often asked if all blind people sing like Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder, or display remarkable courage, or – on the other end of the spectrum – are socially awkward, or need someone to care-take us.  Today I saw a blog post following up this previous blog entry, and I love the lively debates that posts such as this, and their follow-up engender.

 

All blind people are different, just as all sighted people are different, and few if any of us wish to be viewed as inspirational.  On one hand, we are commended (primarily by a sighted public) for doing what we would consider ordinary tasks and criticized (especially by “super blind people“) for not doing more.

 

So, are we inspirational for doing inspirational things?  By living our ordinary lives?  By simply being content?  Does blindness in and of itself make us – me – inspiring?  I can’t say I have all the answers; perhaps you, my ever-enlightened readers, can help me out.  But for now, I have to go back to my ordinary job, text my ordinary husband a “Have a great afternoon!”, and be thankful every day for my ordinary – inspirational? – life.

Now that I’ve turned the great age milestone of 30 years old, you’d think that I would be more secure in my place in the world.  Funny thing is, I think I belonged more in my teenage years than I do now.

 

Being blind makes me stand out, period.  Most of my friends don’t mention it, bring it up, or even skirt around its edges unless strictly necessary.  But walking around and living my life, I am ever more reminded of it.  Little kids ask why my eyes “don’t look normal”; adults ask questions about my guide dog or offer assistance.  I am sure that my sighted husband, friends and family are kind enough not to tell me about the public staring at me, which would probably make me become unglued.  Any blind person on the planet who doesn’t think they stand out, even just a little, clearly doesn’t understand human nature.

 

Some Ways I Don’t Fit in in a Sighted World:

– I don’t like most movies or TV shows.  To me, they seem shallow, and I can’t get a mental picture of what’s going on around the characters and why they do what they do.  I have also found that I am sensitive to and overwhelmed by sound effects in many movies/TV shows.  Ironically, I’m married to a HUGE movie buff.

– How I use a computer or cell phone differs from those who can see.  Many people ask questions about how I navigate programs, read email, etc.  Sometimes this makes me feel like a bit of a zoo exhibit, but for the most part I don’t mind answering questions.

– I navigate the world through sound, using a guide dog.  Even using a cane, sound was my best navigating aid.  If I’m standing around looking like an idiot, more often than not I’m listening to try and catch my bearings.

 

On the other hand, I am feeling increasingly isolated from the so-called “blind community”, that seemingly all-powerful populus of blind people.  I felt this a little bit in high school, a little bit once I graduated… but in the land of social media, I acutely feel my unbelonging.  I recently emailed with another “loaner” like myself, who for years has been the only blind student in their school, workplace, college, whatever; it’s with these people I feel I belong.

 

Several Ways I don’t Fit in in the Blind Community:

– I am not a technology brand die-hard.  When I was growing up, technology was a tool to get work done; today, it is everywhere.  The blind community populus tends to tout companies like Apple while slamming others simply because of mistakes that were made years ago.  If someone wants to use an Iphone, it works for them, great!, but don’t judge me for using something different.

– I try my utmost to stay out of drama.  The “blind community” is a very very very small world.  Remember that “Six Degrees of Separation” craze years ago?  In the blind community, it’s like 2.  I can meet a blind person at a goalball tournament across the country who knows my best friend’s boyfriend.  Many blind people get into relationships with each other, and the ending of such relationships gets messy because of the truly small nature of who knows whom.  Yes, some of the relationships work out, and work well, and I am so happy for those people, but I’ve seen several of my blind acquaintances date each other and break up and not be able to maintain a clean break.  Honestly, I stay out of it, which adds to some of my isolation.

– I do not online radio-broadcast, and don’t understand the appeal.  On my Twitter feed, I see so many advertisements for 3-hour slots on online radio stations.  If it’s one’s hobby, and one does well, good for them… but I don’t need to see it all day from those I follow on twitter, who for various reasons don’t appear to be interested in school or looking for work.

 

This is not to say that I don’t have sighted friends, or blind friends… but the friends I do have are strong, confident, capable people who enrich my life as a human being.  My sighted friends love me for who I am, and the fact that we just sit and talk for hours; my blind friends have shared their burdens with me, and I’ve called them on bad days where I just don’t want to be blind.  What these people have in common is their own sense of belonging in the world, the confidence to take what life gives them, and to stretch beyond their own comfy bubble, blind or sighted, to befriend a grumpy 30-something billboard for someone who’s different.