They say blind dogs shouldn’t run.
Namely because you can’t run when you’re a blind dog. You might run into stuff. Too many dangers. It’s scary.
Even if your owner takes you to a big park, where there are no obstacles, only a big green field, you still can’t run wide-open.
Too many variables. What if you collide with a park goer? What if you get disoriented and run the wrong direction, and head straight into traffic? What if you outrun your owner and then you’re on your own?
Your owner, your dad. He’s your security blanket. You can’t be without him.
So you mostly live a life without running. You walk everywhere very carefully. You have the house mapped out in your head. You know how to move up and down the stairs. You know how to use your nose the same way a blind person uses a cane.
But under no circumstances will there ever be any running. It’s simply too frightening.
Still, here’s the thing. You’re a dog. You’ve got this huge part of your genealogy that is saying, constantly, “WE NEED TO RUN!”
Your biology is alway screaming at you. That’s part of being canine. Your physiology is perpetually barking important messages to your conscious mind:
“WE NEED TO EAT OUR SECOND BREAKFAST!”
“WE MUST DRINK OUT OF THE TOILET EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE A PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE WATER BOWL WHICH IS KEPT REPLENISHED BY OUR MOM WITH DISTILLED WATER THAT IS FREE OF FLUORIDE AND PURCHASED FROM THE SUPERMARKET!”
“WE MUST REFER TO OURSELVES IN THE COLLECTIVE TENSE AND SPEAK IN ALL CAPS!”
Because you’re a dog. This is just how dogs are.
So it sucks being blind. Because when your canine brothers and sisters go outside, they are seized by the lizard-brain urge to run. And they can do it.
They bolt out of the back door, into the backyard. You can hear them having so much fun. Getting the energy out of their system. But you can’t join in. You just stand back and listen to them enjoy themselves.
You wish very much that you had your vision. Wishing is a lot like praying. People don’t think dogs can pray. But those people do NOT know dogs. Dogs have desires. And dogs silently wish for stuff, earnestly, hoping these things come true. That’s basically prayer.
Right now, your main prayer is to get outside, into that big old world, and run. Your body wants to run until your legs give out and you have no choice but to find something wonderful to pee on.
But once again, you’re blind.
Then an idea occurs to you one day. This happens when your dad is taking you for your daily walk. Normally you are a cautious walker. You tiptoe. You are guarded. But today is different. You decide, “You know what? Screw it. Forget caution.”
And you start running.
Yes, you’re attached to a leash. But that makes it better because you know your dad will be right there with you.
You start slow. Then you pick up the pace.
Oh! The pleasure of intense movement overwhelms your little body with joy! Your muscles feel so good! Your lungs are working overtime! Wow! This feels amazing! You had no idea running could feel this great!
Your dad is behind you, struggling to keep up. He’s not a dog, of course. At least not entirely. So he cannot run as fast as you.
But there you are, you’re both running together. Sort of like they do in packs!
“You’re running!” you’re dad is saying behind you. You can tell he’s surprised at your newfound bravery. So you run faster. Just to show him you can.
And when you reach the top of the hill, when Dad is out of breath from following behind you on his leash, you feel something inside. It’s a feeling people say dogs can’t feel. But they can. It’s pride. It’s a fullness of the heart. A joy that animates the depths of your spirit.
They say blind dogs shouldn’t run. But they turned out to be wrong.