Wall-Eyed

He's sitting right at the front of the bus as I board, and he looks frightened. Perhaps "freaked out" is a better term; his eyes are wide and he's staring straight ahead as if he was in a state of shock.

As I pass him, I observe that he is very wall-eyed. I never know which eye to look into when I talk to wall-eyed people; it always takes me 10-15 seconds to figure it out.

He is middle-aged, somewhat chunky but not obese, and dressed sharply in a grey suit and bronze-toned tie with a tasteful gold chain tie clip. He's mostly bald, and sports a neatly trimmed goatee.

It's not until after I turn around and sit down that I see he has a big, beautiful white dog, possibly a Newfoundland breed. The dog is wearing a harness... oh, I get it. It's a seeing eye dog. So he's not staring in a state of shock - he just has nothing to see. And he's not simply wall-eyed - he's blind enough to need a dog.

I'm impressed how well this dog behaves. He is lying down behind the man's outstretched legs; a constant presence, providing comfort and assurance. He doesn't budge, but remains perfectly still in obedience and loyalty.

This is why I'm a dog person.