Blind not blinded by
Woof! Woof! “Betty, darling, take care. There’s oil spilled on the pavement, it’s slippery.” “Thanks, Romeo. Your timely warning barks are exactly what this blind, bonny lass needs to reach eighty! Good dog, Romeo!” It’s appreciation and pats like these that keep me going. The pain is excruciating, but Betty and I have been through a lot, and this feels like just another needle in the haystack. We’ve broken our limbs together, seen the insides of operating theatres, been confined to our room in neatly wrapped bandaged bundles, and suffered many other atrocities together. But being blind Betty’s helper dog is what brings me to my paws every single day. Dark times don’t necessarily end with light. They just turn a little less dark. Oh, forgive my fur! Like me, it sheds philosophy these days. Old age, you see. “You see”, such an overused phrase! The ones who can actually see can’t see the harm it inflicts on those deprived of sight. Now, you see, I’m a philosophical, old-school follower d...