It seems as if the whole world is against me, even seeing eye dogs. It was a cold, windy late afternoon, the kind of day that quells my mind, that relaxes any knots and tensions inside the muscles of my neck or lower back. Crisp weather does that to me--it turns my fight or flight buttons down to just about zero. So to me cold is a welcome bliss.
In my state of mind I was as calm as a deep breathing swami on ativan when this blind guy with his agitated mutt marches straight towards me. Adroitly I moved to the outer edge of the sidewalk, passing lightly in front of the dog and his sightless master.
The dog must have thought I was on the attack. Or maybe he was just a canine asshole looking for a sorry excuse to put his incisors into human flesh. He lunged with his biting teeth at my arm. Luckily the wool in my duffel coat sleeve was thick so his attempt at a bite was little more than a grazing of my skin.
His owner jerked the leash, shouted the dog's name, and moved on without saying a word of apology. Even blind people can be rude.
Not only did this episode jar me out of my bliss, but it planted a question in my head I'm unable to answer: So what is it with seeing eye dogs? What did I ever do to them?
Poetry Pantry #392
11 hours ago