Since going blind as a teenager, I’ve had five guide dogs; each one has been unique with distinct personalities. My first, Wizard, loved catching pop flies as I launched tennis balls sky-high; Seigo was a friendly lovable giant who once stole a bagel out of a little kid’s hand and inhaled it in one fell swoop; Willa was quirky and a little mischievous, dragging dirty socks and underwear from the hamper and piling them into a little pyramid in the living-room. And Uri was a sweet sensitive gentleman, and perhaps the best of my guides; he also had a thing for hotdogs. Each of them carved out a special place in my heart.
Guide dogs are life-changing for blind people like me; their jobs are hard and stressful, equivalent to being the President of the United States, as they focus on navigating me down narrow sidewalks, around light poles, tables, and throngs of people. I have my life in their hands, or in this case, their paws.
Uri was my fourth dog and he was handsome, majestic, and intelligent. I watched him grow from a hyper, prankster of a puppy into an incredible hard-working guide. As a puppy in the kennel, Uri was a ball hog. He’d run around with the ball in his mouth, taunting the other pups and not sharing, until inevitably they would gang up on him to take the ball away. Instead of fighting to get it back, he’d grab another ball and prance around with it as if saying, “haha, I have an even better ball now; I didn’t want that other old soggy ball anyways.”
Uri traveled with me all over the country for speaking engagements and adventures. He navigated confidently through airports, hotels, conference centers, and busy cityscapes. However, at first, he struggled with the task of leading me on to a stage to the podium. For starters, guide dogs are trained to be scared of heights which is normally a good thing, but it meant he did not want to go on these high platforms. He was also trained to avoid objects, so would avoid the podium. The more I tried to force him on stage, the more tentative he became. It was a lot of subconscious pressure.
So, I decided to change tack. I realized I needed to make the experience fun and exciting for him and remove the fear factor. So, during my rehearsal, I’d ask the hotel kitchen staff for hotdogs. Then, standing near the podium, I’d jump up and down like a total clown, smiling and laughing and acting like I was having the time of my life – all while feeding him piles of hotdogs. Eventually, the stage became his happiest place on Earth, like a Disney World for dogs. In fact, I might have done too good of a job because soon after conducting the hotdog dance for the first time, he charged towards the stage during the live presentation, avoiding the stairs entirely, and leaped up onto the platform. We were like a horse and buggy out-of-control. I slammed my shins into the edge of the stage and didn’t tell the audience about the blood dripping down my shins.
For me, this was a great lesson. Don’t overcomplicate things. When trying to bring about change in other creatures, animals, or people, eliminate the negative feedback and make the desired outcome so joyful, it becomes irresistible. And it never hurts to dance like a goofball while devouring hotdogs.
My time with Uri as a working guide dog came to an end a few years ago when his back legs started giving out and the travel was too much for him. He developed a muscle-wasting disease, and his body was starting to become sunken, his joints achy. It was agony to watch this strong healthy German Shepherd get old and wither, but he enjoyed his golden years relaxing around the house and spending time on the lawn soaking up the sun. He also had two canine strays that my daughter brought home and the three were BFFs.
A month ago, when the pain started to increase and Uri couldn’t get up, we knew we had to say goodbye. A vet came over to the house to put him down, and our whole family surrounded him, giving kisses and squeezing his paws. We cried as we held him, whispering how much we loved him. This spring, we’ll bury Uri’s ashes up in the mountains of Colorado, right next to Seigo and Willa.
Goodbye Uri. You were an extraordinary guide dog and a loyal friend. You will always be remembered, and I only hope you have an endless supply of tennis balls and hotdogs in heaven. Love you boy!
Thank you also to the organization, Fidelco, which has provided me all my German Shepherds. from age 16 until now. Your work is so important to optimizing a blind person’s life, mine certainly, and I’m grateful.
