Hanni's enjoying her retirement. And she's earned it. Here's she's running around Allerton Park in Monticello, Ill.

Second dog syndrome. That’s what they call it at the Seeing Eye. Graduates return after retiring their first dog, and the second dog is never as good. The new dog goes after other dogs. The first one never did that. The first dog always went right to the door you were looking for, never peed on route, didn’t get distracted by sirens, always sat still while you did laps at the pool. No matter how hard the second dog tries, he just can’t live up.

I didn’t suffer from this syndrome when I retired Dora, my first dog. Can’t I ever, ever do anything normal?! Now, with my third dog, I’ve got Second Dog Syndrome. And I’ve got it bad.

Loyal blog readers know how difficult the decision to retire Hanni was. In her tenth year she was still guiding well and showing good judgment at intersections. The only problem? She was slowing down. From my blog post Saying goodbye to an old friend:

My Seeing Eye dog will be 11 years old in February. Walks to the Loop used to invigorate Hanni. Now they wear her out. She takes long naps after our excursions, and she doesn’t wake up from those naps as easily as she used to. 

It’s time for Hanni to retire.

While training in New Jersey with Harper it was a joy to sail down city streets. I hadn’t clipped along that quickly in ages. Harper was fast. Efficient. Fun. Hanni really was slow. I’d been right to retire her.

But then we got home, and temperatures in Chicago plummeted. Wet sidewalks turned to ice. “Steady, Harper.” Steady. Slow down, Harper. Careful, Harper.” With this sort of weather, I can’t go anywhere fast. I could have kept working with Hanni longer.

Last week 20 inches of snow fell on Chicago. City trucks plowed all that snow off the streets and onto the sidewalks, making many corners impassable for pedestrians. My walks with Harper are now limited to short trips to his new emptying spot – a mound of snow near a dumpster. After each trip, Harper and I make time to dance in the living room to old lost & found CDs. Harper chews on Nylabones, fetches a squeak toy. And then, with nothing else to do, he sleeps. He has a bell on his collar. I can hear when he wakes up, and I can tell when he looks up at me, wondering why we aren’t going outside for a long walk. Poor Harper. All this snow and ice is preventing him from doing what he’s so good at: getting around city traffic quickly and efficiently.

The Seeing Eye has a full-time counselor on staff. Michele Drolet is blind and uses a Seeing Eye dog herself. I was feeling particularly blue this morning, so I gave her a call.

Everything I am feeling is perfectly normal, she said. I did the right thing retiring Hanni when I did. Harper won’t forget his lefts and his rights. She’s been getting calls from lots of graduates suffering in the snow. It will be spring soon. When it comes to me and counselors, though, the practical advice helps the most. “Get a pair of those ice cleat things.” She said she’d borrowed a pair of Yaktracks from a friend the day before. “They really work.” From the Yaktracks web site:

Named after the sure-footed Tibetan Yak, Yaktrax ice cleats stretch over everything from winter boots to your jogging shoes. Once in place, Yaktrax use a grid of skidlock steel coils that give you the traction of the famed mountain sheep on hard-pack snow and glare ice. 

The copy says these Yaktracks were designed for people who walk across icy parking lots, sidewalks or simply want to walk their dog in the snow and ice. I’m going to give them a try.

The idea that these things might work has brightened my mood. Not sure why this all got to me today, maybe because it’s hanni’s birthday? She’s 11 years old today, and I’m tickled to hear what a grand old time she’s having in her retirement with Steven and Nancy. They spoil her, take her for walks, let her run and play in the snow. I do miss Hanni, but if anyone deserves a grand retirement, it’s her. Happy birthday, my dear old friend!

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.

That's the Latter Library on St. Charles Avenue, New Orleans

…just for this one moment. Eliot Kamenitz, a photographer for the New Orleans Times-Picayune, came to my appearance at the Latter Library. His photos are terrific by all accounts, and you can see one of his best — and the whole gallery — at Nola.com.
To my blind readers: this is a photo taken by Eliot Kamenitz at the Times-Picayune. It shows the happy face of one of the kids at our appearance at the Ladder Branch of the New Orleans Public Library. The little boy is lying on the ground, face to face with Harper, and is entranced.

That's Seth and Bess, our gracious hosts and dear friends. Oh, the crawfish pasta was the best thing we've eaten on this trip to New Orleans so far, high praise indeed.

Talk about being at the right place at the right time! We landed in New Orleans late Saturday night, and we were scheduled to fly home after my presentation at the New Orleans Public Library (Milton H Latter Branch) tomorrow. But poor me, we may have to stay a few more days. From a National Weather Service Report:

The first phase of the upcoming winter storm will begin Monday afternoon and continue into Tuesday morning for portions of Northern Illinois and Northwest Indiana. The focus then turns towards the larger event beginning Tuesday afternoon and continuing through Wednesday.

Over 18 inches of snow is predicted for Chicago, and officials are warning those traveling through O’Hare to change their flight plans if possible. Yesterday morning we had no idea this storm was brewing, so like always, we packed everything we could into the short period of time we’d be here. In one day, I

• inhaled some shrimp and grits (with a biscuit on the side, of course!) for breakfast at Lüke
• felt chills listening to a God-fearing man belt out his own heartfelt rendition of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” outside of Café du Monde
• smelled the beautiful aroma coming from flowers and trees while passing by not just one, not two but three lush city parks on our walk to Stein’s Market and Deli on Magazine Street
• raced through the rain (not snow–rain!) to get to our friends Bess and Seth’s long, narrow, and sweet shotgun of a house in the Carrollton neighborhood
• took in the smell of green peppers and onions cooking in butter as Bess cooked up a crawfish fettuccini (she got the crawfish at her local grocery store)
• danced to the blues at DBA after dinner.

As I wrote in a blog post long ago, New Orleans truly is a blind woman’s paradise.

Before leaving Chicago on this trip I happened to flip on the radio and caught the first part of a series by BBC reporter Peter White. He’s traveling around the world on his own and documenting his experiences. But here’s the rub: Peter White is blind. Peter’s first stop was San Francisco, and he said that he appreciated people taking special steps to make sightseeing more interesting for him. But sometimes, the saying about good intentions is true. From Peter White:

Specially recorded tapes for blind people, rails to follow so that you can go round unaided, a huge revolution in what you’re allowed to touch. In the desperate attempts of people to make me interested in ‘sightseeing’, I’ve clambered over Henry Moore sculptures, climbed the rigging in ships which felt as if they’d split asunder if I took another step, and listened to endless recordings of groaning doors and booming cannons in the attempt to make history come to life for me. 

The plain fact is, though, that however good the intentions, touch is not sight – and once you’ve run your hands over one piece of ancient stone, one stuccoed wall, one marble floor, well, you’ve touched them all.

The problem with touch really is that the hand is too small. You can only touch one little bit at a time. There’s too much missing; a sense of size, colour, perspective, visual contrast. With the best will in the world, you are playing at being able to see, and for me, that kind of self-deception has never cut any ice.
This, nevertheless, does not mean that travelling, visiting and poking about in other people’s cultures cannot be enormous fun for a blind person. It’s just that I think you have to be honest about what is fun, and what isn’t.

I agree! I love Peter White’s attitude, and I enjoyed his travelogue, I just wish he’d picked the right city to visit when coming through the United States. While Peter White may have Left his Heart in San Francisco, I Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans.

Don’t worry, Chicago. I’ll be back. Just not absolutely sure when.

Me, Harper and our gracious Steppenwolf hosts Hilary and Malcolm, on stage during the touch tour. Malcolm is holding one of the breakable prop bottles and a bouquet of the plastic snapdragons which figure prominently into the play.

I have a pass to swim laps at the Chicago Hilton pool on Michigan Avenue, and I wanted to swim Sunday morning. The lobby would be packed with fans partying before the afternoon game at Soldier Field, so Mike agreed to work out, too. That way he could walk Harper and me there. Along the way Mike described what he saw. Packer Bear fans tailgating outside in the 18 degree weather, a woman wearing a huge bright orange wig, a man dressed like a real live bear. “He’s even got a bear head!” Mike laughed.

It seemed so festive and fun. I wondered one last time whether I was doing the right thing, opting to go to the theatre that afternoon instead of watching the game. Steppenwolf Theatre Company was doing “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf,” and they happened to be offering a special touch tour before the matinee last Sunday, the very day the Bears were playing the Packers in the NFC championship.

I’d heard of these touch tours for people who are blind before but never thought I’d get much out of taking one. I tend to go to theater with friends who can see. Once we find our seats, they’re happy to let me know what’s up there on the stage. Who needs to touch the furniture? When I got the promotional stuff for this particular touch tour, however, two things caught my eye. Okay, my ear.

• We’d get to meet the actors and actresses before the play. I love meeting actors and actresses.
• Tickets for touch tour participants were half price.

Flo Finke didn’t raise no fool. I emailed Evan Hatfield, Front of House Manager at Steppenwolf, and signed up. Evan was there to greet me as we entered the lobby. “Here’s the playbill,” he said, pressing a CD in to my palm. Playbills are available in Braille, large print, or as an audio recording on CD to listen to at home. Staff member Hillary Odom-Kline led us to seats at the front of the theatre – she’d be my assistant throughout the entire play. There were about 20 or so of us there for the touch tour, and we were asked to introduce ourselves out loud.

Smart move. Gave us an idea of who to schmooze with during intermissions!

Once we were settled in our seats, Stage Manager Malcolm Ewen took the stage and described the set, with help from fellow staff members Robert Hines III and Rebecca Stevens. All of the action takes place in Martha and George’s living room, in a small college town somewhere in New England. The staff was familiar with the play, of course. They knew exactly which props were most vital to help us understand the action on stage. Doorbell chimes hanging by the entrance. A small photo of Martha’s father on the mantel. A toy gun with an umbrella that shoots out of the barrel. These explanations really helped. Example: Before the play, they pointed out an abstract 60s painting on the wall, towards the right, in George’s study. “It’s modern art,” they said. “Muddy blue swirls and brown tones. Not very interesting.” Later on in the play, when the actors are on the right side of the stage and someone asks about a painting, George says, “What it is, actually, is it’s a pictorial representation of the order of Martha’s mind.” Thanks to the presentation ahead of time, I understood how biting – and witty – George’s comment was. Which, in turn, helped me better understand the play.

The actors introduced themselves to us ahead of time, too.

Tracy Letts and Amy Morton as George and Martha in a scene from the play.

“My name is Tracy Letts, I’m 45 years old. That’s the same age as George, who I’ll be playing today.” Each actor described their physical characteristics — “I’m…well, a big guy. I’m six foot three inches tall, about 210 pounds. Stocky, I guess” – and what they’d be wearing on stage. When Amy Morton, who plays George’s wife Martha, told us she was five foot ten, I could picture her pairing up well with Tracy Letts’ George.

The actors were happy to answer any questions we had. We discovered this is the seventh time Tracy Letts and Amy Morton have played husband and wife on stage. They’ve known each other thirty years. Both won Tony awards for August: Osage County, and Tracy Letts won a Pulitzer Prize for writing that play. It was a thrill to have this private audience with them.

The Steppenwolf folks were happy to share fun facts from behind the scenes, too:

• They weren’t drinking liquor on stage. It was water. Or colored water. The ice was real, though!
• They had to learn to pace the way they sipped. That way their glass would be empty at the precise moment George asks if they want a refill.
• The glasses and bottles flung across the stage during arguments look real, but they’re special-ordered acrylic resin bottles designed to shatter realistically and safely – wouldn’t be cool to act on broken glass, or have shattered glass spray into the audience.
• Martha’s boobs weren’t entirely real, either. “Lots of cleavage,” Amy Morton said after being asked to describe her costuming. “Helped by padding.”
• The couch and comfy chair on stage were bought new, then sent to an upholsterer to cover them so they’d match, both in color and in the way they looked worn out.

These theatre–types had described the set so well that I really didn’t need to go up there and feel how books and journals had been strewn about on tables and bookshelves or fondle the glasses and bottles on the bar stand. But who could refuse a chance to stand on stage at the Steppenwolf? Harper and I stepped right up.

This was Harper’s first time attending a play, and Evan the front house manager thought my new dog would be most comfortable in the front row – plenty of room for him to stretch out. How. Cool. Steppenwolf offered headphones to wear — a narrator describes visual effects — but I don’t like those. I get a kick out of figuring it out for myself, and sitting so close made that easy to do. I felt like Harper and I were right there with George and Martha in their living room.

Hillary tapped me on the shoulder during the first intermission to ask if I needed anything. When I told her Harper needed to go outside, she didn’t flinch. She got her coat and guided us to a nearby tree. There we stood in the bitter cold, Harper circling to find just the right spot. “Not your typical day at the theatre, huh?” I laughed.

“No, not exactly,” Hillary admitted. “But I love it!”

Back inside, another staff member asked how my dog reacted to violence. I was happy to respond that I had no idea. The second act had a bit of physical violence, she said. “Maybe you’d like to sit further back?” We did, and while it was fun to experience the play from a different perspective, I missed being in George and Martha’s living room. We moved back to the front row for Act Three.

The play was fantastic, and it is getting glorious reviews. Even people who can see like it! Here’s one example, a snippet from the Chicago Sun Times :

Morton, with her sexy figure, proudly exhausted face and utterly fearless emotional abandon and vulnerability is a knockout. She has no match. And Letts, who nails every bristling, ironic line, every mournful bit of Latin, every stabbing pain of quiet desperation, is a stunning partner in despair. Both actors make you hear the play anew…

When I got home and heard how the Bears had fared against the Packers, I knew. No question. I’d seen the best performance in Chicago last Sunday.