dontravis.com
blog post #347
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I received a surprisingly good reception for my tentative step into the world of poetry.
At least nobody snickered… on the Internet, at least.
This
week I get back to home ground with a piece of flash fiction. Hope you like the story that follows. It was
prompted by seeing a handsome young man with his guide dog strolling down East
Central with what seemed—to me at least—an unusual amount of vigor and
confidence. The black and tan shephard accompanying him was a beautiful animal.
*****
GUARDIAN
By
Don Travis
I regained my independence the day Bony came
into my life. Bony—or more properly Bonaparte—was a black and tan German Shepherd
with a long, wet, inquisitive nose and sharply pointed, upright ears. Bony, you
see, was my guide dog, my eyes, my guardian.
Let me explain. My name is Russell Gordon,
and for twenty-two years I was your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, garden variety
hunk, a golden-haired, violet-eyed, buffed, woman-chasing, over-achieving WASP.
I had life by the balls and was squeezing hard when life got tired of it and
squeezed back. Pushed back. Hell, it shoved me off the board. I came down with a
rare exotic fever and damned near died. I recovered… except for my eyesight. Blind
as a bat… well, not quite. I see shades of gray and glimpse mysterious,
amorphous shapes now and then. But blind, all right, although no one would suspect
unless I blundered into a chair or something.
My eyes, they tell me, look normal. I
should probably wear dark glasses and carry a white cane, so I won’t shock
strangers when they tumble to my affliction. I can always tell the moment it
happens because everything changes… speech, attitude, everything. And I hate
it. I’m the same guy I always was, so dammit, don’t treat me differently.
For two years, I hid out in my house—a small
adobe in the university neighborhood of Albuquerque—eating, sleeping, sulking,
and constantly working out on my exercise machine, awaiting the day the middle
tissues behind the sclera straightened up and gave me my sight back. When that
happened, I wasn’t returning to society a flabby weakling. I’d re-enter the
sighted world the way I left it, a physically fit human being.
The doctors warned me against such high
expectations, but I stubbornly refused to accept reality. After twenty-four
months, I ventured outside with a cane… and experienced a paralyzing mortification.
The cane was a symbol of helplessness, at least in my eyes…no pun intended. I
put the damned thing aside for good when one solid citizen glared into my
perfect, sightless eyes and indignantly admonished me for mimicking a blind
man.
Finally acknowledging my handicap, I
contacted the Association for the Blind, who helped bring me out of denial into
acceptance and sent me to New Jersey where Bony entered my life. When he was a
year and a half old, Bony underwent sixteen weeks of rigorous training. After
we were carefully paired by the Seeing Eye staff, we spent another twenty days training
as a team. Those folks did a whale of a job on both of us; we were a perfect match.
In the six months we’d been together, I’d
learned to trust his judgment and accept his friendship—no, his love and
devotion. For some odd reason, venturing out into the real world with a guide
dog is less intimidating than relying on a white cane, at least for me. Not
only do I have someone to guide me, I have a constant, agreeable companion, as
well.
About three weeks ago, Bony surprised me
with his first act of ‘intelligent disobedience.’ Returning from the library with
some new audio books, we got off the city bus four blocks from my house. I
customarily take a shortcut down an alleyway, but this time, Bony balked. When
I urged him on, he blocked me with his seventy-pound bulk. Unaccustomed to
being thwarted by my new friend, I groused a little and stepped around him. He
stubbornly held his ground, growling low in his throat. Impatient to be on my
way, I tugged on his harness and ordered him forward. My friend accompanied me
down that alley, albeit unwillingly. Within twenty-five steps, I caught the
odor of marijuana and understood his reluctance.
“Hey, bro!” said a voice from somewhere in
front of me. “Neat dog. How come he’s got that harness thing on? You steal him
from some blind slob?”
Giggles. A growl from Bony.
“Ought not rob our blind brothers,” a
throaty rasp came from the left.
Bony snarled and shifted. I perceived a faint
shadow step back hastily.
“No, he’s all mine. I have this problem. I
can’t see.”
“You don’t look like no blind dude. Eyes
look okay to me. Kinda pretty, ya know. Ain’t he got pretty eyes?”
“Real purty,” someone agreed. “Say, purty
boy, how about you loan us a few bills. We getting low on Mary Jane.”
“Sorry, don’t carry money on me.” That
much was true; it was safely zippered in one of Bony’s saddlebags.
“You don’t mind if we check it out for
ourselves. You know, you being blind and all, might be some on you that you can’t
see.”
His buddy’s laughter at the joke, raised
my hackles. Shivers worked down my spine. When a hand fell on my hip, I
flinched. Bony snapped; the hand went away.
“Better get that mutt under control, else
I’m gonna have to cut him,” the front voice threatened.
I had no idea how Bony would react in a
physical confrontation. Nonetheless, I put some steel in my voice. “Better get
yourself under control, or you’ll be the one needing stitches.”
Before I understood what was happening, all
hell broke loose. Bony lunged, jerking his halter from my grip. Someone cried
out in pain. A hand grasped my waist and fumbled on my buttock for a wallet. Blindly,
I loosed a roundhouse at a shadow… and connected. Almost three years of frustration
and months of over-compensating physical exercise sent the thug sprawling on
his butt. In moments, there was the sound of headlong, panicked flight with Bony
hard on their heels. I shouted a command, and he returned to my side, panting
slightly.
My heart skittering like a covey of
frightened quail, I knelt and pulled him to me, singing his praises. I held him
against my chest until my nerves settled. Bony took advantage of the moment to wash
my face with wet kisses.
We made it home safely, and I grabbed a
beer for me and a popsicle for Bony from the fridge before collapsing into my
recliner to analyze what had happened. I was afraid I’d have fresh doubts about
venturing into the sighted world ever again, Instead, I found my confidence
firmly in place. Bony and I made a formidable pair. The dog was awesome and had
proved he would fight for me.
Bonaparte Shepherd… guardian.
*****
Lots
easier than writing a poem, I can tell you. Hope you liked it.
Now
my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on
writing. You have something to say, so say it!
My
personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting
remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE
THAT ONE.)
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
Buy
links to Abaddon’s Locusts:
See
you next week.
Don
New Posts are
published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
