Our dog Suzie is blind.
It apparently came on relatively quickly and now she cannot see a thing.
I say apparently, because while I certainly noticed things were not normal, I hadn’t a clue Suzie couldn’t see me until she started knocking her snout into the wall and bumping into the furniture.
When I took her to the kind vet for the third time in as many months, he tossed cotton balls at her face and she didn’t blink. He sent us to a brusque canine opthamologist who did the same thing, followed up by a series of other procedures involving more complicated instruments.
Nothing. Suzie’s eyes don’t work.
But how could I not notice? That’s what troubled me after the horror of her diagnosis. What sort of owner am I that my dog, literally under my nose, could have such a catastrophic event and I didn’t, well, see?
When I call her, Suzie looks in my direction and cocks her head. When I open the door, Suzie pushes outside. I attributed her stumbling on the steps to her weight gain, not blindness. How can she suddenly not see?
The brusque opthamologist diagnosed her as having Sudden Acquired Retinal Degeneration Syndrome (SARDS)–an incurable sudden blindness that comes on within days. The Internet (now that I’ve been allowed back into legal cyberspace to check), tells me a blind dog can live a full and rich life. Sight is the #3 sense for a dog; smell and hearing are more important. She certainly smells very well.
Watching her navigate, I’m reminded of 1 Corinthians 12 that talks about being part of the body. When Suzie’s sight failed, her nose and ears went into overdrive–so much so, we barely noticed a problem.
Corinthians also talks about the stronger making allowances for the weaker, and that’s what I’m trying to remember to do. I stamp my foot on the top of the stairs so she knows we’re at the edge. I call “down” or “up” or ‘wait,” when we walk outside. I drag her continually next to me as we stroll through the park. Suzie may see only blackness, but she’s not afraid to tug me headlong along the paths she knows so well.
Yesterday I called out, “stop,” just before she plowed into a pillar on a friend’s porch. I’d so admired her running with abandon, I failed to notice danger until it was too late. I can’t imagine what she was thinking, hurtling into darkness.
All around me people walk in spiritual blindness, oblivious to the danger teetering within inches of their souls. How often have I called out to friends, “wait,” or “be careful,” only to watch them ignore me and get hurt? How many times have I wondered when their other spiritual senses will step in to save them from trouble? How can I be a seeing eye person to not only the dog, but also the people in my life?
The kennel owner told us not to worry about Suzie. “As long as she has food, water, a warm place to sleep, and people to love her, she’s perfectly content.”
I wish I could be as well. In the meantime, I’ll be a seeing eye person–looking out for Suzie, and all the others God sends my way.
Give Suzie a pat for me! What a great illustration she made for this devotional. Too bad we can’t be as trusting of our Heavenly Father as she is of you!
I know what you’re going through. Our dear (now deceased) Himalayan cat, Cookie, went blind last year. It broke my heart watching her bump into walls. But like you said, she trusted my voice and the sounds of our home.
Your point about helping others who are spiritually blind is so true. Thank you for this message!
Your dog has such a wonderful home! I am sure that Suzie is perfectly content. I often wonder at the whole universe hidden from me when Pepper crosses the park nose down without looking up once. I have a pretty good nose but I am clueless as to what can be so compelling. It’s a hidden world. . .