My Blind Dog, Francis

I adopted a blind little white dog. Frankie: he was my little hobo, saved from the street, living in the dark, covered in filth for who knows how long. A lucky dog. So clever and cute and I overlooked the cloudy eyeball. So winning and independent, I didn’t think twice about the cataract in the other eye. He had a skip in his step and it seemed I could already hear his voice in my head. 

But then we got home, and there were issues. House-breaking issues. Pees and poos everywhere. Issues around the pool. Nightmares of the unheard Kerplunk. Suddenly, the house had become a fancy kennel, a maze of pet fencing, a labyrinth of worry. Don and I argued; we were frustrated. Had I made a terrible mistake? I looked for relief or at least the lesson. Out of the fog of some late night internet meander came John Milton, contemplating his own lack of sight.

On His Blindness

by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

“They also serve who only stand and wait” is the line, the gorgeous line everyone knows from this poem. And there on his fleecy bed waits Frankie in the dark, waits for me to end my work, for his walks, his treats, his dinner, his belly-rub. Even in his waiting -- his 14 daily hours of sleep, even in his pool of urine spreading out across the wood floor -- he serves. Serves to help me be more patient. To help me remember it’s nothing personal, “It’s just pee.”

“God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts: who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best” is, alas, where the real lesson lies – for Milton, for Frankie, for me.