You are the furry one. The one that trotted through our house long before our kids entered this world. Whose ears are soft like a puppy’s and whose oversized paws seem like you’re still growing into them.
The one that loves the water, just like a good lab should.
The one who just lays there when Little Roo snuggles with you.
It breaks my heart that in one short month you went blind.
You were diagnosed with diabetes not even six months ago. We faithfully give you two injections a day and get your glucose tested to make sure the doses are accurate.
But it didn’t seem to matter.
I took you to the doctor when we first noticed. You could still see, but were having trouble.
Two weeks later, you were completely blind.
Now, here we are. You’re pretty adept at maneuvering around our house. But we have to be extra diligent about picking up the toys because you trip over them. After walks, we have to guide you through the garage so you don’t bump the cars. Good thing you have no trouble finding your food bowl.
When we travel is when it’s really obvious that you can’t see a thing. At your “grandparent’s” house, you have lots of trouble because you aren’t familiar with the layout of the house and the yard. At the beach, we took you on a walk on the pier but quickly realized it was a terrible idea.
But the worst is the way you look up but don’t make eye contact. You hear my voice but your eyes are cloudy. You look towards me, but you look past me. You can’t see me anymore. When I reach out to pet you, you jump ever-so-slightly. You don’t see me coming.
These things break my heart.
So, we hope to get you surgery at some point (if you’re a good candidate) but it’s pricey. Yet you’re only eight. While larger dogs like you have shorter life spans, eight is plenty young. I’d love for you to see Big and Little Roo grow up.
We’ll make this happen… but until then, we’ll be your guide dog.
We’ll help you through unfamiliar places.
We’ll give you extra loving.
And we’ll be sure to pick up those toys.