He walked with a slack leash and only lunged (like someone was yelling "FREE CATFOOD!!!) a couple (dozen) times. He didn't jump at passing joggers. He didn't act like every person that he met was the first, last, and only human contact that he had ever had. He was a good dog.
I was mystified. He couldn't possibly be tired. He'd had his usual 13 hours of sleep the night before.
We walked all the way around the lake then took the long way home because he was behaving and it was a beautiful morning, foggy and somewhat cool, with the trees raining golden and florescent red-orange leaves on us.
We were within a few blocks of home when two older women walked out of a house, chatting. Ray stopped dead and "looked."
"What are you looking at?" one of the women said.
At that Ray threw himself to the end of his leash, jumping and straining like his tail was on fire.
"He's not looking at anything because he's blind, but he hears you talking," I replied.
The women stopped and 'awwed' and laughed and said what a beautiful dog while I worked on getting Ray to sit.
"Can I give him a biscuit?" asked one of the women.
"Do you have a biscuit?" I asked looking at her and wondering if she kept a stash of biscuits in her large, black handbag.
"I have some in my car," she replied, opening up the back of her SUV, "I don't have a dog but I have biscuits because my kids have dogs."
(Ya gotta love a person like that.) She came over with an enormous dog biscuit.
"Tell him to sit and then to flop," I said.
The woman looked at Ray. Ray could barely contain himself.
"Sit," said the woman, "Flop."
The new, improved Ray sat and flopped. The woman gave him a biscuit and watched him eat the whole thing.
Her friend asked "Does his blindness cause any problems?"
"Yes," I said, "He can smell a ball of yarn a mile away. He gets into my knitting all the time."
They both laughed, then the biscuit lady got in her car and left. Her friend returned to her house. Ray stood looking after the car for a few minutes until I persuaded him to leave.
We were within a few blocks of home when two older women walked out of a house, chatting. Ray stopped dead and "looked."
"What are you looking at?" one of the women said.
At that Ray threw himself to the end of his leash, jumping and straining like his tail was on fire.
"He's not looking at anything because he's blind, but he hears you talking," I replied.
The women stopped and 'awwed' and laughed and said what a beautiful dog while I worked on getting Ray to sit.
"Can I give him a biscuit?" asked one of the women.
"Do you have a biscuit?" I asked looking at her and wondering if she kept a stash of biscuits in her large, black handbag.
"I have some in my car," she replied, opening up the back of her SUV, "I don't have a dog but I have biscuits because my kids have dogs."
(Ya gotta love a person like that.) She came over with an enormous dog biscuit.
"Tell him to sit and then to flop," I said.
The woman looked at Ray. Ray could barely contain himself.
"Sit," said the woman, "Flop."
The new, improved Ray sat and flopped. The woman gave him a biscuit and watched him eat the whole thing.
Her friend asked "Does his blindness cause any problems?"
"Yes," I said, "He can smell a ball of yarn a mile away. He gets into my knitting all the time."
They both laughed, then the biscuit lady got in her car and left. Her friend returned to her house. Ray stood looking after the car for a few minutes until I persuaded him to leave.
We got to the "problem" corner, not far from the house. Ray stopped and refused to move. My dog was back.
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