Don't eat yellow snow

For Harper, everything's looking like a tunnel right now.

The plane slipped on the runway. Mike says no, but I swear I felt the plane skid when we landed in Chicago yesterday. Other than that, our flight home from New Orleans was fairly uneventful. O’Hare was crowded, of course, but everyone seemed pretty cheerful. I guess folks were happy to finally be getting home. That, or they were happy to be getting outta here!

Our first duty once we landed was getting Harper outside to, well, to do his duty. The sidewalks were all cleared, I could hear traffic rolling by at normal speeds — hard to imagine the place had been so slammed by snow just two days earlier. As Harper circled and circled over a bank of snow, trying to find just the right spot, Mike commented on a parade of dump trucks rushing by. “They’re full of snow!” he marveled. Wonder where they were heading. Lake Michigan?

Harper did his business outside the airport — “Good dog, Harper!” — and now, Harper’s business is the biggest problem he and I face until this snow melts. Seeing Eye dogs don’t’ just lift their leg on any tree or poop whenever they feel like it. Think about it. Seeing Eye dogs lead us to our workplace, to jobs, to appointments. If they thought they could stop and sniff at every tree or fire hydrant they passed, we’d never get anywhere. Seeing Eye dogs are on a feeding schedule, and they’re on an “emptying” schedule, too. Guide dog users establish a spot near home where our dogs can go, ahem, regularly. When we get to that spot, we unstrap the harness, hold on just to their leash, say it’s “park time” and let fly.

And now at risk of invading Harper’s privacy, I’m about to tell you: Harper is a great guide, but ever since we got home in December he’s had a hard time establishing a schedule. On our first few days in Chicago, he peed on route four or five times. He pooped on route twice. Not the end of the world, really. Except that when we’re on route and Harper needs to empty, he doesn’t focus on his work. And when traversing Chicago traffic, losing focus like that could quite literally mean the end of the world for Harper and me.

“Leave extra early, bring him to his tree, give him lots and lots of time,” the trainers at the Seeing Eye told me when I phoned for advice. “If he doesn’t go, then walk him around the block, go back to the tree, give him another chance.” I’d been doing this routine for over a month with Harper before we left for New Orleans, and I could sense the light bulb starting to go on over his head. He was starting to catch on. You pee at the tree, and you poop at the tree. Other than that, you only pee and poop when Beth takes your harness off and says it’s okay. Never, ever while you’re working.” Good dog, Harper!”

Now we’re home, and poor Harper is flummoxed. He has no idea he can climb over the snow piled up between our apartment and “Harper’s tree.” In Harper’s eyes, each pile of snow is a wall. Or an obstruction. It’s his job to protect me from running into walls. Or falling over obstructions. So he stops. And sometimes, he sits down.

Like so many others in Chicago, Mike will be working from home for a while. Since our return from New Orleans yesterday he has been weathering the storm with Harper and me, accompanying us on walks, scouting out another spot for Harper to do his business until the snow clears. Not just any spot will do. It needs to have lower snow cover for Harper to climb up on, and it needs to be near a garbage can.

Note: We blind people do clean up after our dogs. We can feel the dog’s body movement through the leash, and we can tell when they stop to have a, well, a movement. We put a foot near our dog’s tail, and when the dog moves away from what they’ve done, we put a plastic bag over our hand and feel around by our foot. It’s pretty easy to find the warm clump through the plastic when it’s this cold out. When you hit pay dirt, you pick it up, flip the bag over your hand, tie a knot, find a garbage can and throw the prized bag away.

The new spot we’ve found for Harper doesn’t have a garbage can nearby. At assigned times, Mike comes along with us to handle the poop disposal. What. A. Guy. Mike can’t follow us around forever, though, and I’m afraid once Harper establishes this new place as his spot he will have forgotten about “Harper’s tree.” I’ll have to start the routine all over again.

And so it – and Harper – goes. Let’s leave on a positive note, shall we? Business has been booming at our favorite local tavern. Hackney’s stayed open the day of the storm, and Harper lovers might be interested in this India Pale Ale (IPA) they have on draft now from Rogue Ales, a brewery in Newport, Oregon. It’s called Yellow Snow Ale.