From the triumph of success to the heartache of loss,
these personal stories share it all.
Stories List
Doggy Down Under
Meeting Rick
I Miss the Man
It All Falls Into Place
A Farewell Tribute
On the Road to Nowhere with Fear and Procrastination
Watch Out for That Tree
Doggy Down Under
By Bonnie Mosen
When I think of freedom, one thing that comes to mind is my partnership with my Seeing Eye dogs—flying down a busy sidewalk—weaving seamlessly through clueless pedestrians, crossing busy streets where some sighted people will not cross, the sounds and smells of the city my, life symphony.
I have been a guide dog handler for more years than I will admit, and my girls have trotted by my side and lain at my feet through many life changes—university, jobs, moves, travels, and marriage. They have ridden the natural highs and lows of life and been there to celebrate and comfort.
In 2013, I took a huge step, and some might say risk with my then dog Lizzie—a female black Lab. I left my career and home in Boston for the love of my life and a new home in New Zealand.
New Zealand is a small island nation in a remote part of the South Pacific, a wild ruggedly beautiful country with more sheep than people, famous for Lord of the Rings films, Sir Edmond Hilary, and its response to the Covid pandemic.
Not only would I be adjusting to a new way of life, but how would Lizzie fare? I had travelled and lived in many places with and without my dog, but New Zealand was unique.
New Zealand’s primary economy is agriculture. Aside from the sheep, it exports cattle and some of the best fruit on the planet.
It is a rabies free country which takes biosecurity very seriously for obvious reasons. Even though Lizzie was a Seeing Eye dog, she was subject to the same entry requirements as any dog coming into the country. The only exceptions . . . she could ride in the cabin of the plane and could quarantine in my home and not in a kennel.
So began a more than six-month odyssey of preparing Lizzie to enter the Land of the Long white Cloud. Dealing with two government bureaucracies, NZ’s Ministry of Primary Industries and the United States Department of Agriculture, is not for the faint-of-heart.
Tests had to be done at certain times, shots and treatments administered at certain times, and papers signed by certain officials on certain days, and prayers to all the gods the information I had checked and checked again with government departments was correct, and the terrible realization that every time I left and re-entered NZ most of this paperwork had to be done all over again.
There was also the question of follow-up support. Many US guide dog handlers live abroad, and Seeing Eye was certainly able to support me via phone, email, and video, but as much as a trainer would love to do follow-up in a beautiful tropical paradise, that would not be happening.
I have been a handler long enough, and have been fortunate not to have had many training issues that could not be worked out over the phone or email, but this was an entirely new experience for both of us.
And what about retirement? I just did not see myself ever going to another school other than The Seeing Eye.
New Zealand, like most developed nations, has a guide dog program which is a member of the International Guide Dog Federation. Any guide dog coming into the country had to be certified to work by the NZ school, and they would be able to provide the support where Seeing Eye could not.
Interestingly, any service dog that does not come from an NZ program has to be certified by that program before it can have the legal access afforded to service animals.
There was never any question of not taking her, and I knew things would work out as they always do. So, with an entire rainforest of paperwork in my backpack, we boarded a plane on Halloween for our new adventure.
And aside from the ever-present paperwork should I choose to travel, there has been little difference working a dog here than anywhere else. Traffic is traffic, and though cars drive on the opposite side of the road here, Lizzie handled it the same way she handled all traffic. The biggest exception is we do not get the dramatic traffic checks common in the US. Whether I am just lucky, or Kiwi drivers are more polite, is up for debate.
We do have access laws and aside from Uber, which seems to be a universal access issue, have had little problems, but then I am a lucky person who has had few access issues with my guides.
The bane of any guide dog handler is loose or out of control dogs, and again I have been lucky. Fake service animals just are not an issue here yet, because of the certification requirement.
A trainer from the NZ school does a follow-up visit with us once a year, and the school here has always been supportive of me as a handler from a different program. Many trainers for the NZ school come from US programs—including one I knew from Seeing Eye.
The biggest challenge is NZ is a very dog friendly country, and people want to pet the dog or bring Friendly Fido up to say hello.
In 2019, Lizzie earned her retirement after ten years of service, and settled into a life of leisure.
Several months before her retirement I began the long process of applying for a successor dog. As always, Seeing Eye was wonderful. I had had a Juno walk a couple of years before while visiting Morristown, so they had the information on what sort of dog I would require.
A few likely canine candidates are selected and go through the preparation process to ensure there will be a right match when the time comes, and on February 6, 2019, I was matched with Eclipse—a female black Lab/Golden cross.
Eclipse, like her sister guide, has made the transition seamlessly, taking everything in stride from a global pandemic that saw us locked down for two months, to a new job, and another new job in a skyscraper in the central city.
People often ask about living or travelling abroad with a guide, and my advice is do it. Do your research, contact the school in your country and any country you may be going through.
Are their places that might not be the best for guides—absolutely, but do not let the fear of travel hold you back.
That is what freedom is.
Bonnie Mosen is an expat American who has called New Zealand home since 2013. She’s worked in the disability sector for the greater part of her professional life, most recently as a disability advocate for the city of Wellington. Bonnie is currently working with Eclipse, a black Lab golden retriever cross from The Seeing Eye.
Meeting Rick
By Michael W. Moran
On November 22, 1968, I began training with Rick, my first Seeing Eye dog. He was a floppy eared Male German Shepherd. When I was introduced to Rick it was love at first sight. He jumped on me and started licking my face. It was as if he was giving me a message, “I love you and we belong together.” He was about 15 months old and full of his silly puppy behavior. I could almost read his thoughts. First of all, he had the attitude that says, “I’m a German Shepherd and you are not.” He was so confident in his ability to guide me safely. My instructor, Garry Mattoon, who was also Rick’s trainer, was responsible for getting my wonderful partner in shape during the four months prior to our being matched as a team.
There were times during class when I had to curb Rick’s enthusiasm because on some level he was not sure at first who was the alpha in our team. The twenty-eight-day training class was both difficult and rewarding.
If we were going to be a safe unit, I had to learn to trust Rick. This was difficult at first because I was so accustomed to relying on my own resources and my skills as a cane traveler. Rick also needed to know I believed in him and would follow him through the challenges of working in a heavily charged metropolitan environment. I cannot say enough about how I admired my instructor. When relating to Rick, copying many of the ways Garry interacted with the dogs proved to be a great benefit for me. I listened to every word he gave in the class lectures. Despite some of my fears I put everything I had into the training process. I tried to the best of my ability to follow his instructions when we were out on the training routes in and around Morristown, New Jersey.
Our initial route took us down Maple Avenue. When I picked up the harness handle for the first time on that chilly Sunday morning in November and said, “Rick Forward,” it was magical. Rick stepped out and so did I. In 1968 for some reason, there was a big tree growing up through the middle of the sidewalk. As we worked down Maple Avenue, Rick suddenly veered left and around the tree. We went down to the intersection where we stopped. I tapped the curb with my foot and told him he was a good boy. Seeing Eye dogs love being rewarded with praise. They live for the expression of love and approval for their work.
The Maple route was just the beginning of the confidence building process necessary for us to become a safe unit. Rick was a strong dog who loved his work. When we were halfway through training my instructor saw that I loved working with Rick, but he believed I needed a little adjustment in the trust department. It was a rainy morning in Morristown and we were working through the busy streets near the town square. I was wearing a hood to protect me from the rain. This impaired my hearing but I was still able to hear enough. We stood at an intersection waiting for the traffic light to change. There were four lanes of traffic flying by. Depending on where things were in the cycle of the signal, cars might have been turning or going straight. The rain was falling, the swish of the traffic was loud. While working dogs in class our instructor is never far away. They are ready to assist and intervene when necessary. We waited at the down curb and I waited to hear Garry give me the “go ahead.” When he did, I gave Rick the forward command and we stepped into the street as the traffic was halted for the red light. Suddenly the light changed to green. There I was in the road, the traffic was rolling and splashing the rain. I heard Garry say, “follow your dog” and then he was gone. I didn’t know where he disappeared too but I didn’t have time to care. I really had no choice but to follow my boy, so I held on to the harness as he guided me through the chaos. When we arrived safely at the curb on the other side of the square I got down on my knees, hugged Rick and gave him lots of praise. My eyes filled with tears and I knew from that point on I would always follow my dog. I have been following my Seeing Eye dogs for over fifty-six years. They have taught me so many life lessons about love and loyalty.
They have all put everything into whatever task we had to carry out. Their enthusiasm never waned. They were so resolute and ever ready to work. The more we worked together, the stronger our bonds grew. We were a team. I am so grateful to The Seeing Eye and of course to Rick, Pax, Duke Van Dyke, Kurt, Aldo, and my boy Carson who is with me today, for helping to change my life in more ways than I can express. Through our partnership, my independence, self-confidence, and dignity has grown astronomically.
Our travels have taken us through many adventures. We have utilized various forms of transportation, trains, boats, planes, and automobiles. In addition to traveling to and from work and school regularly, we walked all over New York City as well as Jersey City and Bayonne. All my dogs have been an integral part of my family life, including my wedding, and the birth of my children Kelly and Michael. Whenever I picked up the harness they dove into it. They knew it was time to work and they were always ready in the morning noon and night.
Each of my guides left a wonderful tradition for their successors to follow. When it came time for one of my dogs to stop working, due to age or sickness, I never delayed my decision to obtain a successor guide.
Retiring or parting with my Seeing Eye dogs has always been painful. It hurts my heart every time. It doesn’t get easier, no matter how often it becomes necessary to do the right thing for my loyal working partner. Following their retirement, I have been blessed to be able to keep my dogs with me until it was time for them to cross over the rainbow bridge. Thankfully, all of them have adjusted and lovingly bonded with my successor dogs.
I have always believed it would be disrespectful to a previous dog if I didn’t continue the legacy they gave me, opening doors of freedom, independence, and dignity, as the result of their dedication and love.
Michael Moran is founder and president of Clear Vision Network, a company specializing in podcasting, voice-overs, audio editing, and inspirational public speaking. Michael is currently working with his seventh guide dog, Carson, a German Shepherd from The Seeing Eye.
I Miss the Man
Submitted by Steve Lambert
I miss the things I used to see.
I miss the man I used to be.
I stand outside, the day so bright.
If only I still had my sight.
I am still here, still walking ‘round.
My feet still holding to the ground.
And though I’m not prepared to die,
Sometimes am left to wonder why.
No more the stars in deepest night.
No more to see a bird in flight.
No more the breezes that shift and sigh.
No more the faces that laugh or cry.
So much I miss, I cannot say.
It breaks my heart to be this way.
As I awake like days gone by,
Find joy elusive, though I try.
I did not ask to be this way,
To lose my sight, to lose my way.
But here I am, seeking to find
A path that feels so left behind.
I have so much for God to thank,
And yet so often do not care.
Faced with my blindness every day,
Of my great loss, too keen aware.
To practice feeling what I feel
Is what my life has come to be.
Thus to embrace, and not conceal
The deepest, darkest part of me.
I know not where I journey to.
I know not if I will arrive.
And so I simply follow through
With hope again to feel alive.
My surest path appears to be
To find uncharted parts of me.
So while I miss the life that’s gone,
I will endure, will carry on.
Now if you see this man who’s blind
And wonder if he’ll find his way,
Consider all he’s left behind,
While searching for a brighter day.
He must endure. He must persist.
He must believe it can be done.
He must unclench his angry fist,
Surrender till his peace is won.
Steve Lambert worked for over 31 years at Geiger Bros.’ Lewiston manufacturing facility, where he spent time as a proofreader, graphic artist, and in various management roles. He is a former guide dog handler and currently serves as webmaster for Pine Tree Guide Dog Users .
It All Falls Into Place
Submitted by Sue W. Martin
Beverly was my third dog from The Seeing Eye. After over eight years with Quoddy, it was a major change. Quoddy had a very gentle pull in the harness. She was not a decisive dog. While we always made it to our destination, I had to pay careful attention and make decisions when she hesitated. Then came Beverly.
Seeing Eye calls the time we’re in training with our dogs, “adjustment.” Never was that term more apt than when I was training with Beverly. I went from a dignified quiet dog to a firecracker in harness. My husband, Jim, came to visit me in training. He watched Beverly for two minutes and stated, “You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”
We made it through training and I headed home at the end of September.
Just a month later, I traveled to Minnesota for a conference. This was when I really began to explore and appreciate Beverly’s potential. Neither of us had ever been to this city or hotel so everything was new. At the end of a day of lectures and learning we both felt the strong need to walk and unwind.
I stopped at the desk on my way out of the hotel and asked about good places to walk in the area. After quite a discussion I realized that if I simply exited the hotel and turned left I would be in an office park which went on for quite a distance. As the time was early evening there were few people around so I had the sidewalks pretty much to myself. The office park was not laid out in a nice grid pattern as I expected but seemed to be composed of curving sidewalks and funky intersections. Beverly and I strode out with appreciation of the cool fall air and the end of a long day. I diligently tried to keep track of my turns and street crossings and did pretty well at first. After a while though, I realized that I wasn’t sure of my exact route of return to the hotel. I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and tried to remember how I had gotten to where I was. Falling back on my orientation and mobility training I reversed directions and began to retrace my route. Concentrating intently on the task of returning to my hotel I was surprised to feel a strong pull in the harness. Beverly turned to look at me once and the thought that she had seen a squirrel and was distracted crossed my mind. There were no other signs of distraction though so I went with her. At the first intersection Beverly stopped but pranced in place a little and turned her head to look at me. We continued on at a brisk pace with Beverly exerting a strong steady pull. She seemed so sure of herself that I continued to follow her, although I followed with more faith than certainty. In what seemed a very short time I feel the steady pull on the harness cease. We’ve arrived at the hotel. Astonished, I kneel and praise my dog.
The miracle of The Seeing Eye has occurred again.
Sue Martin is an author and public speaker. She is employed by the United States Department of Veterans Affairs as a Management Analyst. Sue is currently working with her 5th guide dog Quan, a German shepherd from The Seeing Eye.
A Farewell Tribute
Anders’ solo tour- August 2021
Submitted by Andrea Giudice
I find myself here again, facing the retirement of my guide dog. For starters, you are learning of this in a letter because, quite simply, time and my emotional fortitude make it impossible to share this news with each of you individually. I thank you for your understanding.
On February, 18, 2013 I first met Anders. He was a big furry stranger, cute and friendly but an unknown quantity as a partner. He did not bolster my confidence when, moments after meeting him, he exuberantly spun in circles chasing his tail. To make matters more ominous for my belief in him as a guide, he caught his vigorously wagging tail… and promptly fell over! My precise thought, “I am going to die, and die spectacularly!” However, I trust Guide Dogs for the Blind, and his trainer, so I figured I would try to withhold final judgement until I worked him. I am so glad I did, even at 17 months old Anders worked like a veteran guide! I have never had a guide who’s “on/off” switch is so immediately triggered by the presence or removal of the harness. Anders embodies the very essence of leaving work at work- in harness he is a Consummate professional, out of harness he is a goofy lummox!
All these years later, with our time as partners hurdling to its end, I am struggling on so many fronts- with his retirement from work, his imminent absents from my daily life, with the realization that his successor will have the legacy of Anders as my freshest point of reference. Emotions rampage, memories swirl, and there is a low-grade melancholy slithering below it all.
Anders has given Eight and a half years of service to me. He has, without complaint, guided me in the cold, hot, wet, and snow- along both familiar and completely unknown routes. Sure, I give him praise, treats, pats, and ear scritches, however, these truly fall ridiculously short of the mark when measured against all he gives me. Providing him the opportunity to retire, to no longer have life and death decisions to make with each step he takes as my guide, to no longer have all those pesky rules to follow, to have the option to “say no” when given a command- this is the greatest gift I know how to give him; the best way I know to honor his years of work! It was put to me this way recently- he gave me my freedom and independence, now I am giving him his freedom and independence.
I have confessed, in other writings, that capturing the what and how of my relationship with my guides is difficult… well, that has nothing on this. How to convey the depth and breadth of the impact of Anders on my life? How to impress upon you, the reader of this feeble attempt, the inexplicably, staggering, immensity of what I feel? How to capture with mere words the complexity of the bond Anders and I share? How to accurately communicate the dizzying array of emotions tied to our partnership, and his retirement? So many questions, not sure if I have the answers, but I am going to give it my best shot!
Who is this magical, masterful Anders Gus Giudice? He is known by many names- Derbers, Dersey Boy, Ders, Bers, BerGitieBog, AndersDahgon, Augon Daugon, Ahgon Bahgon (or just Ahgon or Bahgon), Auggie Dawggie,
Monster Pantz, Poggy Bear, Mr. Van Anderpantz (Pantz for short), Bawpie, Dear Boy, Pancake, Puddles, Poppycat, Derbawggens (this isn’t even all of them)- no matter the name by which you call him he is most undoubtedly one-of-a-kind!
I have been reflecting on the events, experiences, notable moments, joys and sorrows that all share one distinct feature, I got through them with Anders by my side. For me, all my moments- big and small, happy and sad, joyous and devastating, mad and glad, exciting and run-of-the-mill, adventurous and ordinary, vacation and work-a-day, scary and brave, home and away, frantic scampering and chilled out sauntering, familiar and unknown-are better with a guide by my side. I find myself marking life’s events by which dog I was partnered with when they occurred. So, there has been a flood of event remembrances, momentous and mondain that coincide with the tenure of Anders.
Of course, there are the not so usual, cruises, train, bus, and plane trips, planning and attending conferences- alone or with friends, and so many road trips. The more usual daily life stuff- countless board, committee, and support group meetings, running errands in the neighborhood, walks with friends, visits to family near and far, simply doing life’s stuff. More challenging things like starting, loosing, starting, leaving, and starting jobs, dealing with health crises, having and recovering from surgeries, the apartment flood of 2019, the death of both my amazing Grandmothers, and struggling with all that the pandemic has brought to bear. Certainly, this is only the tip of the iceberg, however, it speaks to the moments that make up the minutes, days, weeks, months and years of the A Team.
Yet, all of this doesn’t touch on the quiet moments, the small things, the enormity of feelings that comprise the hugeness of life with Anders.
The sound of his gentle snores; his madly wagging tail making joyous music; the reassuring feel of his paw laying over my foot; the weight of his gaze as he stares in to my face; sneak attack chair hugs; the sweet sound of him nursing in his sleep; the way he jumps with joy- his front feet clear off the ground- when he finds me what I have asked him to find- the trash, stairs, bench, elevator, pretty much anything; when I am sitting on the floor and he gets in my lap, puts his paws on my shoulders and- oh so gently- nibbles my earlobes; the infuriating, yet somehow endearing, fact that no matter how long the leash- it is always one inch too short for him to reach the perfect busy spot; him acting as my personal weighted blanket when I lay on the floor; my trip down the collar rabbit hole, sure a collar for each month sounded so simple, 20 or so collars later it seems less wise; how he sleeps in the smallest possible circle, yet when he lies on his back and stretches out his legs he fills my entire living room;
how he is all rough and tumble, reminding me of a polar bear, when he plays with his dog pals but is all gentle and careful when playing with puppies; snuggling with him in his crate- him in a little ball and me resting my head on his hip; the wonder that he is now so reliable in his house behavior that if I forget to take out the trash he never touches the bag sitting, all enticing like, in the kitchen- this given the rocky start we had with regard to sharing living quarters; the unwavering trust I have in this steadfast, fuzzy, warrior of my independence.
The only stop on the Anders Solo Tour, kicking off in September, is with his retirement family. They, and he, are so perfectly suited to each other! Along with his retirement Mom, he will finally have the human Dad he has been seeking all these years, plus one human sibling and two fuzzy ones. My appreciation and gratitude for the generous gift, to me, they are giving by providing a wonderful, safe, joyous retirement home for my cherished Anders is more vast than the sky, deeper than the ocean, huger than the world!
After many rewrites, word changes, rereads, and tears- this missive needs to wrap up. It is a heartfelt tribute, from a much flawed me to a truly remarkable partner, outstanding guide, and all-around fabulous dog! I have no more words. This is everything I can figure out how to say and nothing close to what I want to convey.
Andrea
Andrea Giudice is the Community Engagements and Partnerships Manager at Universal Accessibility Research Labs. She serves as secretary for the Pine Tree Guide Dog Users board and is currently working with her seventh guide dog Dynamite, a yellow Lab from Guide Dogs for the Blind.
On the Road to Nowhere
with Fear and Procrastination
Submitted By Brad Strause
After spending about 3 years desperately trying not to lose my vision to a retinal disorder, through wishing, will power, denial, and begging, I finally realized it was like trying to resist gravity. So I could either fall down or stay in a heap or I could try to rise up and learn how to carry on again. Either way, it wasn’t going away and it didn’t look like anyone was going to ride in and rescue me.
But I didn’t really think I could do anything at all so I started searching around frantically for reasons to not try, I needed to find some good ways to safely fail before I had to truly tackle such overwhelming and frightening unknowns.
One thing I secretly knew I probably would have to do was get trained in some new occupation, which likely meant going back to college – something I half-heartedly tried to do four or five times in magnificently unsuccessful ways 20 years or so before. The thought was enormously daunting – couldn’t do it then, how could I possibly do it now, much older, blind, lazier, more self-conscious, far less confident, far more terrified…
Well, I needed someone substantial to give me permission to not do anything so I called my good friend and mentor Paul to whine to and try on some good excuses – if they worked for him I’d be home free. So I dreamed up what I hoped was a very solid position, no sweat.
“So, Paul, You know, I should probably try to go back to school, re-tool you know? But, man, I’m 40 years old now, going blind, it’ll take me 5 grueling years to get a degree. I’d be 45 years old by the time I get done!”!
There, elegant, unassailable.
He paused a moment, but for just a split second and then he completely destroyed my flimsy, little excuse and turned on a life-light for me – not a little flashbulb, oh no, a whole set of high intensity, stripped stark naked, pinned to the wall, nowhere to hide, burning hot truth-beam floodlights… all with a flick of a one-sentence come-to-Jesus reality switch:
“Yeah, well bub, how old will you be 5 years from now if you don’t go back to school?”
Ouch! Darn, Busted, Got it. And have tried hard to keep squared up to that basic fact of life ever since then. Fear, laziness, pain and discomfort, don’t matter, time will pass whether you try to change something difficult and painful or not, whether you do something worthwhile or not. Whatever, but if you don’t do something, and you gotta be the one to do the hard things, the years will just keep rolling past you while you stay stuck with your same old stuff. And there you’ll be with or without whatever you did or didn’t do. So what do you want to have, or not have, who do you want to be or not be five years from now?
That was a long time ago now and I’ve actually stumbled quite a ways since then because of those words. Oh, I can still sometimes be pretty good at hiding and procrastinating during the inevitable hard spots. But it isn’t very long before Paul’s searing truth beam finds me once more, and then I got to crawl back out and get going again… and again … and again…
Blast it all, but bless his beautiful heart.
Brad Strause is a retired project manager from Alpha One, a nonprofit disability consulting agency. He now devotes his time to composing and performing his music. He’s currently working his fourth guide dog Stout, a black Lab from Leader Dogs for the Blind.
Watch Out for That Tree!
Submitted by Sue W. Martin
Have you ever wondered about guide dogs and clearance of overhead obstacles? We usually go for a walk in the woods every day. A couple of days ago, my husband Jim said, “Did you know about that tree over the trail?”
“What tree?” I replied.
The tree over the trail was well above my head but there were several branches hanging down. Quan, my Seeing Eye dog, had been zipping me through the only clear space for days without my even knowing it.
How do they do that? Seeing Eye ® dogs are trained, when working, to consider their body space as theirs plus their handlers. Taking me around obstacles that are also obstacles for the dog is pretty simple. But what about something that’s an obstacle for me but not for the dog? They can do that too!
Good boy, Quan …
Sue Martin is an author and public speaker. She is employed by the United States Department of Veterans Affairs as a Management Analyst. Sue is currently working with her 5th guide dog Quan, a German shepherd from The Seeing Eye.