On one of the last warm days this fall I strolled a little behind a forty-something man walking his dog. There was something different about the elderly Labrador retriever. The animal walked tentatively, head weaving back and forth. I looked closer and experienced a little shock. She had no eyes!
The man talked quietly to her saying, “Tree just ahead…”
she stopped, sniffed the air and moved to one side. They continued on, to the lake. Then: “Here’s the water, Toby.” The two stopped at the lake’s edge and the man stroked her head. “You can wade; I’ve got you.” He coaxed her into the sandy, shallow water and she bent her head to drink, then turned toward her master’s voice. He murmured encouragement. She woofed once, waded happily into cold, knee-deep water and began to move playfully around, secure in the knowledge that the leash anchored her to her master.
As he was quite near me I introduced myself, and we chatted.
Ten-year-old Millie had developed severe glaucoma, and was in considerable pain for a long time. After trying other treatments without success the vet advised that she have both eyes removed. She was immediately more comfortable, but shy about venturing anywhere. So, knowing how much Millie’d loved her explorations before the glaucoma had robbed her of this pleasure, Tony worked out how she could confidently resume her cherished daily park and beach walks. He’d teach her important new words! At first, Millie pressed nervously against his leg, and lagged, but gained confidence quickly, because, after a few soft collisions, she learned to more fully rely on her nose, and to listen for, and respond to, key words like ‘tree,’ ‘hole,’ ‘up,’ ‘down’ and ‘steps.’
Today, after leaving the water, she sighed with happiness. Her cold nose found Tony’s pantleg, and gently bumped it. She topped that off with a lick. The ‘thank you’ made his eyes glisten. It was the language of love.
*****
Emma-dog, the rottweiler-shepherd mix who’d been savagely abused for the first year-and-a-half of her life before being rescued, has found her forever home with my friend Les, and his family. Some years later she’s learned to communicate clearly and eloquently, especially with her eyes and nose. Les and his family have learned, too.
The other day she was in the dining room on her high, upholstered ottoman, having a snooze, when Les and Sarah came into the living room to watch something together on their computer.
Emma gave them a few minutes, then hopped off her ottoman/bed, walked over to Les, sat, and gently bumped his leg, once. Les looked down at her, thought she might want an ear scratch, and obliged.
Nope. That wasn’t it.
Emma waited a space, then bumped him gently once again. He looked at her. “What is it, Emma? Would you like to go out?” Emma looked up at him intently, then at the chair behind him, then back at him.
”Ah! You want something.” She chuffed softly, looked at him, then at his upholstered chair once again. He went to it, only then remembering that he’d accidently kicked her tennis ball under it that morning, meant to retrieve the wedged toy, but then, had forgotten.
Emma hadn’t. She’d waited until the just right moment, then politely made her request.
Delighted, she accepted her ball, thanked him with a wag and a lick, then strolled to the back door. Her eyes and body language issued a clear invitation: Lets toss a few, eh, Boss?
Who could misinterpret, or resist?
The man talked quietly to her saying, “Tree just ahead…”
she stopped, sniffed the air and moved to one side. They continued on, to the lake. Then: “Here’s the water, Toby.” The two stopped at the lake’s edge and the man stroked her head. “You can wade; I’ve got you.” He coaxed her into the sandy, shallow water and she bent her head to drink, then turned toward her master’s voice. He murmured encouragement. She woofed once, waded happily into cold, knee-deep water and began to move playfully around, secure in the knowledge that the leash anchored her to her master.
As he was quite near me I introduced myself, and we chatted.
Ten-year-old Millie had developed severe glaucoma, and was in considerable pain for a long time. After trying other treatments without success the vet advised that she have both eyes removed. She was immediately more comfortable, but shy about venturing anywhere. So, knowing how much Millie’d loved her explorations before the glaucoma had robbed her of this pleasure, Tony worked out how she could confidently resume her cherished daily park and beach walks. He’d teach her important new words! At first, Millie pressed nervously against his leg, and lagged, but gained confidence quickly, because, after a few soft collisions, she learned to more fully rely on her nose, and to listen for, and respond to, key words like ‘tree,’ ‘hole,’ ‘up,’ ‘down’ and ‘steps.’
Today, after leaving the water, she sighed with happiness. Her cold nose found Tony’s pantleg, and gently bumped it. She topped that off with a lick. The ‘thank you’ made his eyes glisten. It was the language of love.
*****
Emma-dog, the rottweiler-shepherd mix who’d been savagely abused for the first year-and-a-half of her life before being rescued, has found her forever home with my friend Les, and his family. Some years later she’s learned to communicate clearly and eloquently, especially with her eyes and nose. Les and his family have learned, too.
The other day she was in the dining room on her high, upholstered ottoman, having a snooze, when Les and Sarah came into the living room to watch something together on their computer.
Emma gave them a few minutes, then hopped off her ottoman/bed, walked over to Les, sat, and gently bumped his leg, once. Les looked down at her, thought she might want an ear scratch, and obliged.
Nope. That wasn’t it.
Emma waited a space, then bumped him gently once again. He looked at her. “What is it, Emma? Would you like to go out?” Emma looked up at him intently, then at the chair behind him, then back at him.
”Ah! You want something.” She chuffed softly, looked at him, then at his upholstered chair once again. He went to it, only then remembering that he’d accidently kicked her tennis ball under it that morning, meant to retrieve the wedged toy, but then, had forgotten.
Emma hadn’t. She’d waited until the just right moment, then politely made her request.
Delighted, she accepted her ball, thanked him with a wag and a lick, then strolled to the back door. Her eyes and body language issued a clear invitation: Lets toss a few, eh, Boss?
Who could misinterpret, or resist?