I'll Be The One with The Dog

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From: Shelley Magnussen
Email: magnussen@integrityol.com
Date: 05 Oct 1999
Time: 12:58:11
Remote Name: bar-ns-1-33.jvlnet.com
Remote User:

My story

It was a glorious day for January – crisp, cold, but not a cloud anywhere. The morning sun bounced off the steel-glassy Seattle skyline like daytime stars. It was 8:00 A.M. and time for my "Thursday Pilgrimage" to "the Forbidden Store." This was a little establishment of the convenience- store variety, run by a man who had no clue about access laws for dog guides and even less desire to be educated.

I had long since decided his store was not suitable for me, my dog or anyone else I knew who frequented our part of town. There was, after all, another little store in the opposite direction, even closer to my apartment where my dog was warmly welcomed. There was, however, just one problem: This second store didn't carry "The Little Nickel." So, dog and I made the weekly trip into the Forbidden store to pick up a freshly-printed copy of the free local ad paper.

Every Thursday, it was our routine. Returning home, I'd get down to my shopping through the Little Nickel. I was looking for a man – not just any man. I had him well in mind. He'd be rather soft-spoken, very talented, intelligent, non-selfish and, most important of all, open-minded.

"Well," I calmly replied. "I tried it the normal way and so, by the way, have all of you and look what a record we have. Now, I have absolute control over who I meet."

I did indeed, have one problem – the dog. Well, she wasn't really the problem; she just "marked" me, as it were, to the ignorant masses. I'd resisted acquiring a Seeing Eye dog for a very long time until a very bad fall, resulting from my very bad depth-perception. A cane was out of the question.

I didn't trust my safety to something that clearly indemnified me, in my mind, to every predator lurking in this urban environment I so enjoyed. I knew too many blind women traveling alone with canes who had been assaulted. I figured the occasional vision-related mishap was safer than a cane. Since my blindness is caused by optic nerve damage, my impairment is usually undetectable to the untrained observer.

I had been with my Dog, Kate, about ten months now and had noticed quite a few changes. I knew that getting a dog meant parting with my privacy, but I hadn't an inkling how drastic the change would be. I used to get the "wolf-whistle" from some member of the male gender almost daily before I had my dog. Once I returned home with her, it never happened again. Even people I had known for years withdrew from me. It was a hard pill to swallow.

For a time, I had a bout with serious depression and once or twice, thought about sending Kate back, but I had so greatly benefited from her in the area of daily enjoyment of activities that were once difficult or impossible. The good still greatly outweighed the bad when all was said and done.

Now that the divorce and most of the adjustment to the "Hey, world, I'm blind!" was behind me, I wanted to meet a nice eligible man. I needed an answer to the age-old question we all ask:

Surely, there were one or two out there somewhere good enough to value me, as-is. I didn't feel I had to have someone else to feel whole. In fact, I had originally intended to remain single. More honestly, I did long for friendship. I longed for full acceptance. I believed I had a lot of good qualities to bring to the table. I wondered if someone else could believe that as well.

So, every Thursday, now for some months, I'd been perusing the "Dateline" section of the little local paper for someone to fit my profile. It wasn't easy. I'd occasionally find a worthy candidate. I didn't go for the poetic, ultra-romance types. I took them to be wolves in sheep's clothing. I liked the plainer ones – "brown hair, blue eyes, average, good job, like such & such activities."

I remember answering two – especially the last of these two. I left my number on his voicemail, and he called me back. It was the same way every time.

"Well, you sound like a really interesting person with a lot of talents. You're a musician? Tell me more about that – and you paint? – Cool! What do you paint? How about if we meet at the food court at the Mall! I'm about 5-8. I have sandy-colored hair and..."

"There's something I need to tell you. I probably won't be able to pick you out of a crowd. You know my dog I told you about. She's actually my Seeing Eye dog."

"Your, Oh. Well, can you find the Mall OK? Are you sure it's not too hard for you? How will you be able to get there?"

"No, that's fine. I assure you. I know where the restaurant is, and I have no difficulty getting around. I just don't recognize people by sight."

Then I'd start feeling defensive, like I was on trial and had about 20 seconds to get a parting shot at a skeptical jury.

"There's lots of ways to find things, and I do have some sight – just not enough to keep from running my hose. Actually, people tell me my eyes are my best feature. I don't even look blind. People didn't even know before I got my dog. I could leave her home and you wouldn't know if I didn't tell you."

Why were these terms of meeting all right until the subject of my blindness came up? It was just fine 10 seconds ago. Now, I could feel the waters freezing over.

"I just – I'm looking for somebody who's a little more serious – or less serious – or likes folk music – or lives in Bellevue – and besides, I don't have a big enough truck for your dog."

Which is loosely translated: "I'm assuming all blind people are like my grandmother who lost her sight at 65 and can't find her way to her own bathroom without help."

Or: "I couldn't possibly be comfortable with your situation, and I want a relationship, not a burden."

It is an assault on the most formidable of character. I had just about my fill of it and was going to make this my last pilgrimage to the Forbidden Store for a while. There was a new ad that week. It wasn't quite the plain brown wrapper I'd been looking for, but intriguingly unique from the Wine- &-Dine variety as well.

I had already answered this week's other ad of interest – the latest polite rejection. I wasn't going to answer the remaining one, but my curiosity finally got the best of my judgment. It read:

"Born again? Like Dancing? Me, too! Honest, romantic, playful, artistic Baptist."

That much alone was enough to get the attention of any intelligent Christian female like myself I certainly had never met a dancing Baptist before.

"Hi, I'm Paul. I'm divorced and love my job at Boeing..." The first part of the message went on in these generalities.

"...I dew'nt clyme to be pederfect, but dou try to alweeze be a gentleman, and a scallard..."

I felt all fluttery inside like a teenage girl. This person was either made especially for me or far too good to be true. Whatever the case, I had to find out.

Well, he returned my call the same day, and we talked for an hour. He seemed genuine, non-self-absorbed – rather reserved but warm and kind. It was all going well – too well. Maybe I shouldn't spill the beans. Maybe I should leave Kate home and wing it like I used to. After all, "best-foot forward" as they always say.

Oh boy! What do I do now. Maybe – No. If he can't handle it, he's not worth meeting.

"Uh, there's something I need to tell you." I began nervously, bracing myself for the usual blow to my femininity. "My dog, she's not a pet. She's a Seeing Eye dog. I'm visually impaired."

I had a mental picture of a beautiful scene deflating like a punctured tire with a sad his-s-s-s-s-s-s-s.

I froze, waiting for the familiar finality – the next nice guy I'd never get to meet because I was too honest.

Huh, no over-the phone diagnosis of the severity of my condition or off- the cuff assumptions about my appeal to the opposite sex? Was he trustworthy?

"Well, I don't expect you to ride around in the car of a total stranger, but, if you feel comfortable accepting a ride home...?"

"Oh, sure." I tried to sound confident. "My mother has an Accord, and Kate rides in there all the time."

"Well, we won't be hard to spot. I'll be wearing black and white with a black velvet hat and – I'll be the only one with a dog."

Now, a Seeing Eye dog like mine, is, in my opinion, a very valuable tool for blind dates – that is – if you get as far as an actual meeting. She knows instantly who and who not to trust. On rare occasions, she'll see someone who really lights her up (meaning, someone she finds especially interesting or likable). Occasionally, the opposite occurs as well. However, as we sat alone in the food court that fateful evening past our pre-determined meeting time, I was sure I'd found yet another obstacle Kate could do nothing about – fear and ignorance.

I was looking at the time again and again with growing apprehension. After awhile, I hung my head, sure we'd been stood up – disgraced – judged, without trial. Well, at least the last one had enough nerve to call to cancel. Then, an incredible thing happened. Kate's tail began to wag.

She lifted her head and perked up her ears. Her forehead wrinkled the way it does when she sees something she really likes or desires. It was her reaction that made me look up. There, coming toward us, alone, hat in hand, was my future husband.

Throughout the evening, he seemed almost deadpan – not that he lacked enthusiasm, but he just asked questions while I did all the talking. I tried to ask him a few questions, but he kept steering the conversation back to issues about which I'm passionately enthusiastic. It was as if a lifetime of pent-up conversation had been unleased on that one evening. I hadn't ever encountered someone so interested in me, and I found myself doubting his sincerity.

I excused myself to take Kate to "the Little Doggy’s Room." After slipping outside with her, I turned about with a plastic bag containing Kate's "business" to find him standing there in the rain, patiently waiting to escort us inside. Although I really enjoyed his company and thought we hit it off in many respects, I thought the date was a flop because I talked all evening and Kate had to take a dump right in the middle of my two-hour monologue.

I didn't hear anything for two days after a very matter-of-fact goodbye. As I crawled into bed that night, I told Kate that was going to be it for now – just her and me and that I'd had enough rejections for now and who needed a man anyway?

Then I returned home that Saturday from my weekly duties of playing piano down at the Homeless Mission Chapel service to find a message on my answering machine.

"Hello Shelley, this is Paul Magnussen. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the pleasure of your company the other night." I'm certain everyone on my side of the building heard me as I leapt into the air, on and off the bed – shouting "YES! YES!"

I found out Seeing Eye dogs are great for one additional purpose. They definitely separate the "men" from the "boys." Eleven months later, we were married. Paul was truly, exactly what I was looking for and the one I hardly dared to believe existed.

I've also learned that Kate, in proper analysis, makes me more attractive because, besides being quite the knock-out herself, a confident woman is an attractive one. People who shy away from us because of our identifiable characteristic are probably doing us a great favor in the end.

ivan

From: KxCJOyvohgwvc
Email: delta@gagmail.com
Date: 06 Apr 2008
Time: 11:31:37
Remote Name: 195.225.178.21
Remote User:

My story

vasya

From: PcFByszCIGiXE
Email: delta@gagmail.com
Date: 10 Apr 2008
Time: 06:52:31
Remote Name: 195.225.178.21
Remote User:

My story

egor

From: YvqMZlZTcNd
Email: beta@gagmail.com
Date: 02 Apr 2008
Time: 22:43:34
Remote Name: 195.225.178.21
Remote User: