Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog & the Woman She Rescued Page 6

  “That’s what I think! I couldn’t live my life restricted by a three-foot line either. I’ve come to the conclusion that trying to shelter her by keeping her on a leash the rest of her life is doing her no favors; that’s living in an unrealistic bubble world. I need to train her to live in the real world—the world she can’t see with her eyes. This world has challenges and dangers. Her life is full of sharp edges, drop-offs, and a wood-burning stove. She needs to learn to listen to my voice of guidance and then steer around those potential dangers on her own. I feel like the best course of action is to train her to be obedient while she is on the leash and even more so when she is off.”

  I need to train her to live in the real world—the world she can’t see with her eyes.

  With the deterioration of Mia’s remaining eye, Laurie’s presence and purpose in her life took on a fresh focus. She determined to help Mia develop the ability to survive in a new and different way.

  Mia had already proved that she could overcome with ease the obstacles within her home and backyard without a leash. Since Mia would be off line in unknown environments while in her master’s presence, Laurie needed to teach Mia to know and do three things: trust, believe, and listen. Mia must trust Laurie’s eyes to become hers. She must believe in Laurie’s decisions. And she must listen to Laurie’s voice. The only way Mia would able to accomplish these things is if she was allowed to practice them.

  After many rehearsals, Laurie took Mia to the impressive Oregon Coast, with its miles of empty seashore. It was the perfect place to teach Mia how to trust, believe, and listen. Laurie could think of no setting more inspiring for coaching her friend.

  Once the two of them arrived at the beach, Laurie released her wriggling dog from her leash. Mia was thrilled! She bounced around Laurie in big goofy leaps, always blindly looking up in the direction of where she believed her master’s face might be. Mia’s ecstatic body language seemed to shout, “Thank you!” Then, true to her species, she set off to investigate her new surroundings.

  Fully living up to its reputation, the magnificent Oregon Coast delivers, no matter what the weather. The gray skies that day only added to the deepening sense of drama created by the heavy surf. Towering spires of black basalt rose like timeless cathedrals within the exploding waves. The cold wind whipped Laurie’s hair and tore at her clothing. She braced herself against the torrent and mused, Days like these make me know I’m alive!

  Laurie hurried to join Mia. While strolling along the beach, she watched her dog approach potentially dangerous chunks of driftwood.

  “Careful!”

  Mia hesitated and turned slightly toward the sound of her master’s voice.

  Laurie continued to warn. “Careful, careful!”

  In a surprisingly short time, Mia learned that careful meant “move forward slowly.”

  Laurie was pleased with Mia’s responses to her cues.

  “Good girl, Mia!” Laurie called out praises for each good choice her clever dog made. Excited and proud of Mia’s progress, Laurie added other commands such as “wait” and “stay.” When Mia needed to step over something to avoid a hazard, Laurie added “step” to her list of commands.

  Satisfaction filled Laurie to see her blind dog having so much fun. With minimal coaching from her master, Mia was a happy dog again, and she raced from one point of interest to another. Anyone watching her run along the beach would not have known Mia was blind. Laurie smiled as she watched her dog discover one captivating scent after another. This day might not be long enough for Mia to explore it all.

  Laurie walked on the furrowed sand and took notice of every rock and shell displayed on the grainy expanse. The sun’s gentle warmth had broken through the gray and combined with the wind-driven salt on her cheeks. With hands nestled in her jacket pockets, Laurie reveled in deep, wordless joy at being in this timeless place with her dog.

  During their walk, dog and woman approached a cove harboring logs that had washed up among the large basalt rocks. The ebbing surf had carried the sand out from under the stones and wood, leaving beautiful curves and valleys around each of the obstructions. Although an intriguing place for Laurie, it was a dangerous place for Mia. Laurie drew in a deep breath, strengthening her resolve to guide her dog. With one cautionary command after another, she steered her blind dog through the rocky maze.

  Laurie continued to call out directional advice but noticed a subtle change in her dog. Mia was not responding as quickly as she had been earlier. She was turning her head back less and less to listen to her master’s voice. In fact, Mia’s body would stiffen a little with every word of caution. Her actions told Laurie that she was resisting the barrage of instructions. Eventually, she stopped and looked in Laurie’s direction. It was as if she were shouting back, “Oh, for goodness’ sake! What danger? It’s the beach!”

  Laurie raised her voice. “Mia, wait!”

  Mia turned and began to walk down the beach, a clear canine response that yelled “C’mon! Will ya quit holding me back and just let me have some fun?” She trotted the other way, utterly disregarding her master’s voice.

  Laurie sighed.

  Only moments later, Mia took one too many steps in the wrong direction and tumbled right over the sandy ledge Laurie had been trying to help her avoid.

  “Mia!” Laurie scrambled over to the four-foot embankment where her treasured friend had just tumbled. Laurie saw that Mia had bitten her tongue.

  Before Laurie reached her, Mia regained her footing and was moving away again.

  “Mia, it doesn’t have to be this hard! Please stop! Girl, you can avoid all of this pain. Mia, please listen to me! You can’t see—I can! Baby, trust my eyes and my voice.” Laurie jogged after her dog, determined in her commitment to offer guidance. Mia moved away like a stubborn child and began to run from her master.

  “Mia! Listen to me! Careful, careful!”

  Laurie winced as Mia ran headfirst into a large washed-up stump.

  Watching her dog crash made Laurie’s stomach hurt.

  Laurie was undeterred and continued to call after her dog. Mia recovered fast from her impact with the stump, only to turn and run into a huge rock. Even from a distance, Laurie saw that her dog’s nose was bleeding.

  Laurie pleaded, “Oh, Mia, please listen … please!” If voice commands were going to work, her canine friend must choose to trust her.

  Without warning, scenes from Laurie’s past failures moved through her head. She conceded that it was not words that changed her actions—it was consequences.

  Sometimes it’s the bloody noses in life that teach us the most.

  After several more painful encounters with immovable beach debris, Mia seemed to have had enough of her own way. Quite suddenly, Laurie’s voice resumed its authority. Mia’s actions proved she’d had a change of heart. Once again, she began to listen to her master’s warnings of impending danger. Mia decided that she had more fun, more security, and fewer bloody noses when she didn’t just hear her master’s voice but actually listened, responded, and obeyed.

  Sometimes it’s the bloody noses in life that teach us the most.

  Laurie marveled at the changes in her dog.

  In just a few short minutes, Mia had learned something remarkable—something that had taken Laurie a lifetime to try to understand. Mia had chosen to allow her master to be her eyes, to believe in her master’s decisions, and to listen to her master’s voice. Outside of a few minor bumps and bruises, Mia made it look easy to trust in a voice emanating from someone she could not see.

  I leaned back in my office chair and clapped. “Yeah, Mia! Well done, little dog! Well done!”

  With a small laugh, Laurie agreed and placed her notes on the old Hoosier cabinet beside her. Quite suddenly, a slight frown pinched her face; I sensed she was sifting through all that she had observed of Mia’s behavior. “When it comes to trust, believe, and listen, how can that kind of faith be so easy for my dog … but so hard for me?”

  She opened
her hands and lifted them toward the ceiling. “My dog isn’t teaching me to sit and stay, but to move forward in action—to trust, believe, and listen. Before my eyes, Mia has demonstrated that it doesn’t matter if I can see what lies ahead of me. It only matters that I trust, believe, and listen to the God who does.”

  The ring of my cell phone tugged my heart away from the Oregon Coast, with Laurie and Mia, and back to my office, where her story had first started. The number on the tiny screen read “Troy,” my sweet boyfriend, my champion, the man I had married almost thirty years ago. Always eager to speak with him, I excused myself and took the call. Laurie signaled that she was going into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I smiled at her and raised my fingers in a “make that two glasses, please” gesture.

  My conversation with Troy had concluded by the time Laurie returned with two Mason jars filled to the brim. Without a word she handed me a jar, and we both took long drinks. I sensed that she had more to share about all that had happened at the coast.

  I spoke first. “To trust, listen, and believe takes time and practice. For most of us, it doesn’t just happen. I think it’s simply amazing that a dog can learn that in such a short amount of time. Kinda makes you want to start following your dog instead of her following you, doesn’t it?”

  Laurie smiled but did not look up. Her expression was one that I have come to recognize as her organizing-my-thoughts look. After a moment, she said, “Just like Mia ignored me that day on the beach, I have ignored God.

  “That evening, I met up with some friends at their campsite. After dinner we decided to go for a walk on the beach. Mia was tired, so I tucked her in to the dog bed in my car.” Laurie paused. “The Oregon Coast is such a powerful place for so many reasons. One of the things I love most about it is how incredibly dark it is at night. It’s one of my favorite places to go star-spinning.”

  To trust, listen, and believe takes time and practice.

  “Star-spinning? What’s that?”

  “You know, looking up into the deep night sky, putting your arms straight out, and spinning around and around until you can’t stand up anymore. I used to do it when I was a little girl in California. My favorite part was falling backward into the sand and watching the stars circle in crazy patterns across the sky.”

  I laughed in acknowledgment. “I used to do that during my skiing days as a kid, except I did it while looking up at falling snow.”

  Laurie flashed me a knowing grin. “Only a few times in my life have I seen a sky as full of stars as this particular night. It was unbelievable. There were so many stars that they reached all the way down to the horizon. I felt surrounded by them. We spun around and around with our faces turned up toward the sky. Then we lay down in the sand and watched the most awesome show of dancing stars. After they stopped spinning, I got up and ran and danced and celebrated the beautiful night and the wonderful feeling of being with friends who loved God and loved me.”

  Laurie paused and looked away, apparently reliving the moment and the beauty of it all. “When it was finally time to leave the beach, we had to walk about a quarter of a mile under a deep canopy of trees. It was incredibly dark. I couldn’t see a thing! Thankfully, Karen had thought to bring a flashlight. She walked in front and led us up the trail. My friend Risa followed her closely, and I stumbled along in the very back.”

  “Yikes, girl, I’ve been on the beach at night and it is dark!”

  “I could see where Karen was walking. She had the light, so I kept looking ahead over her shoulder to see every root, rock, and hole. But by the time I reached the same hazards, the ground under my feet was completely black. Karen’s light helped me stay on the path, but I was constantly tripping and stumbling, always fighting for my balance. I had no light of my own to help me. The farther we walked up the path, the more dangerous it became. Every time I lost my footing, I just got more and more frustrated.”

  “And when it’s that black, even your equilibrium gets a little sideways.”

  “It was so hard! And right when I wanted to scream out loud, a thought flashed through my mind. My life is just like this. I had been stumbling in the darkness, and I desperately needed my own light, my own relationship with God.

  “Right there, on the dark trail, I prayed a simple prayer. I acknowledged to God that all this time I had been living my life in the darkness. I told God that I didn’t want to live like this anymore. So I asked if he would show himself to me, if he would give me his light. And then … he did.

  I desperately needed my own light, my own relationship with God.

  “At times, there have been people around me who knew God and shone with his light. By using the light of another instead of my own, I had no idea what lay ahead. Even though others offered gentle leadership and gave me ideas of what I was supposed to do, I would still get discouraged and often just go my own way. Apart from God, there is only darkness. Looking back, I can now see that those were the darkest and loneliest times of my life.”

  I nodded. “It always amazes me that we know we can’t successfully travel this life on our own but that knowledge alone isn’t enough to stop us from trying anyway. We still keep choosing to thrash around in the dark.”

  Laurie’s gaze shifted toward the window, and I saw a shadow of a smile. “That night was a turning point in my life. It was the moment I became fully aware of how much I desire God to lead me, to show me his light. I want to know who God is. He heard my simple prayer, and for the first time, I could see his light and not my darkness.”

  I leaned back in my chair and opened my hands. “Wow, Lou! What a powerful picture! You could’ve continued to respond with the same old frustration, the same old evasion, the same old excuses—but you didn’t. Way to go. I’m so deeply proud of you.”

  Laurie glanced back outside at some finches at the bird feeder. “It’s time, you know? Time to stop pretending. How ridiculous—and yet how wonderful—that everything I’ve ever learned in the past about God was clarified in that moment of walking in the dark. Just like Mia chose to trust me, it was time for me to choose to trust God. I needed to demonstrate confidence, not only in my heart but also with my actions, that God would lead me with his light. It was time for me to believe that no matter how far I had fallen away from God, there was no darkness so deep that I could fall beyond his willingness to be my light.”

  With my hands folded under my chin, I gazed across my office at Laurie. I wondered if she knew just how much she had moved me. What a joy it was for me to share in her tears and laughter. At that moment, I knew that no parent on earth could be more proud than I was of my friend’s growth and triumphs.

  Just like Mia chose to trust me, it was time for me to choose to trust God.

  Laurie’s glance drew back from the window and focused on me again. “If I’m going to trust, believe, and listen to God, and if I’m going to walk in his light, I must first do one thing: I must choose to. Like my precious Mia discovered, it hasn’t helped me at all to simply know what I should be doing. I need to do it. I kinda feel like a less-than-bright kid who’s been presented a gift my entire life, but I kept choosing not to receive it. Such a gift, even from God, is completely worthless as long as it sits unopened on the doorstep of my life. He’s always offered his light. It’s only now that I’ve decided to receive it, to bring it inside my heart.”

  Of all my favorite outdoor adventures, cross-country skiing ranks in the top three. I love the total body workout, the fact that you are not confined to a trail, and the overwhelming beauty of a winter-cloaked wilderness. Most of all, I love the solitude. I treasure the profound, soul-drenching quiet that Nordic skiing offers. Because of this deep passion, I’ve made it one of my delightful missions in life to teach my staff this beautiful sport.

  Early in the season, Laurie and I went up to one of the best jumping-off points into the Cascade Wilderness. After parking my truck at the base of Tumalo Mountain, I helped Laurie gear up, and together we headed out across Dutchman Flat. I pl
anned for us to traverse downward through an old-growth forest and make our way north to Todd Lake. We would then skirt its heavily frozen edge and return back up the mountain flank by another route. Since it had snowed the night before, all leftover tracks were now only vague depressions in the drifts of untouched white.

  Laurie and I chugged along side by side and took advantage of the opportunity to catch up on each other’s lives since our last conversation a week prior. We covered ranch operations, my public speaking trips, and our recent holiday travels.

  “I’ll break trail if you talk.” I flashed my friend a Cheshire smile.

  “Deal!” Laurie’s speedy response verified that I was on the heavy lifting end of this trade. Laurie laughed like a girl who had just stolen my last piece of gum. She jumped into the even tracks behind me.

  I glanced back at her. She was smiling, beautiful, natural. I slowed down to a stop and reached my gloved hand back for her. “I just love doing this with you.”

  She stretched her hand forward and held mine. Her voice was warm. “I love this time together too.”

  I set the pace, and stride for stride, Laurie breathed in rhythm behind me. We left the ease of flat land and entered the ancient forest. Then we wove through the trees in a serpentine fashion, making our way down the mountainside. “So, how’s your Mia baby these days?”

  “Well, it’s official. My dog is teaching me far more than I could ever teach her. What a crazy journey this has been. I still shake my head at the fact that it has taken a sightless dog to show me that I was the one who was blind all along.”

  I jumped in. “Now you know it’s true! I keep telling you God has a sense of humor!”