This Writer’s Life:

It’s Ari’s Birthday!

Twelve years ago I made the big decision to get a Guide Dog. You see, we had moved to

A different neighborhood here in Salem, and not only were my daughter and husband walking or riding their bikes to work every day, a lovely park was situated not too far away. I remember feeling like everyone was soaking in all this sweet Oregon fresh air and strengthening their bodies… everyone, that is, except me.

After a spell of self-pity, I told my family how I felt.

“Okay, we’ll just start taking walks together once in a while,” my husband offered.

So that is what we did. But it quickly became apparent that his pace was not my pace.

“Slow down,” I panted, feeling my resolve to exercise diminish heave by heave.

“Aw, you can do it. Keep pushing yourself,” he urged, “you’ll be fine.”

But the day finally came when I realized I wasn’t going to be fine. In fact, if my pace didn’t fit me better, I was going to quit.

I remember we were rounding the bark path at the park, and I was panting my way up the long. Long hill.

“This is where you should speed up,” my coach advised.

I couldn’t speed up, and I didn’t want to start another argument…so I just let go. I let go of his arm which I had been hanging onto for dear life lo these many weeks…well it felt like many weeks to me.

Then one day I got the idea to check out Guide Dogs for the Blind on the internet. Their website was so encouraging, so inviting, so exactly what I needed…that I couldn’t resist. I applied. Yes, I applied to get a Guide Dog, to be part of a mobility team

*to be continued*