"Special Needs" - A Term That Often Applies to Me More Than My Blind Dog

by Sarah Whitman
Founder, Cori's Vision

Last night, the power went out. That day's weather was wild, with winds over 50 mph and over two inches of rain. But as the rain barreled down and dozens of branches fell victim to the winds during the day, the electricity remained.

Then, the evening came. After the winds had mellowed, the rain had subsided, and things were seemingly getting back to normal, the power tanked.

As I stumbled around looking for a flashlight, my dog, Cori, seemed relatively unfazed, save her anxiety about the noises that occur when the power goes out. She has a thing about "those noises." See, a few years ago, in her younger and more vulnerable days, our house was struck by lightning. At the moment of impact, the power went out, and the house alarm sounded--blaring for over 20 minutes while we tried to corral the situation. Cori was frantic, traumatized by the chaos and the deafening noise, despite efforts to calm her.

So "those noises" still strike a chord in her mind. But she has a grasp on things now, her reaction significantly reduced from her past behavior--slinking into a corner to tremble and pant.

I must take credit for her metamorphosis. A dog behaves in proportion to how you treat him or her. Often, dogs appear as living mirrors - you are anxious, so are they. You are excited, so are they... and so on. I treat Cori with with love and calmness, which, in turn, makes her loving and calm.

Anyway, back to the moment the power went out. As I grabbed the flashlight, I said to Cori, "Well, girl, some of us actually need light to see." That is when it hit me: I can be more "special needs" than she is.

Cori is considered a "special needs" dog because she is blind. She lost her vision from glaucoma in 2005, and it was devastating for both of us in the beginning. Long story short, with a ton of guidance and love, her confidence is higher than ever, and she is living a productive and happy life.

As I turned on the flashlight, I felt a wave of comfort. I used the flashlight to find more light, in the form of candles. The more candles I found, the more I lit, and the more comfortable I became. As I lit my fourth or fifth one, I began to feel more like I was in a romantic restaurant, and settled in for a glass of wine, and a call to the power company.

Cori, meanwhile, went about as usual. What did she need flashlights and candles for? She mazed through the house as usual, sniffing and feeling her way around without a scratch, bump, or even a near brush with any object. Her only concern was that darn noise she heard a few minutes ago. But, her concern had subsided, and we hung around the candlelit kitchen over that glass of wine (me) and pretzels (we).

It wasn't so bad. Those two hours in the semi-dark were actually kind of peaceful. I did some reading, relaxed with Cori, and enjoyed the quiet, without the noise and distractions of TV and the internet.

But, I cheated. I wasn't really in the dark. I had my flashlight and my candles. If I had absolutely no light, I surely would have run into something, stubbed my toe, or worse. Cori, however, was completely unfettered.

When the power clicked back on, I felt more 'normal' almost immediately. It's kind of sad. You don't realize how much you rely on modern amenities like light, until you are without them.

But the thing is, some of us, Cori included, are stronger than I am in this regard. She really doesn't need any light to see. Her power never goes out. And the fact that I do makes me as "special needs" as she is, or more so.

Sarah Whitman is founder of Whitman Syndication, a series of dog-related websites and blogs designed to promote dog friendly companies, rescue organizations and other pro-dog initiatives. Cori's Vision is one of these projects. Sarah can be reached at sarah@dogfriendlycompanies.com or through her websites.