Rolling the Dog

 I was struck today by how things that, at one time, seemed new, different or unusual, have become commonplace. I was also able to see things through the eyes of others, to whom what I have now come to accept is still strange.

Some background. Sparky the angry, blind dog is, indeed blind. He has been less angry recently but, alas, still cannot see. People come over to me and ask if my dog is really blind, so I hold two fingers up in front of his face and ask "Sparky, how many fingers?" When he doesn't respond, I say, "He can't see my fingers at all so he can't tell me how many I am holding up. He's blind!"

This usually buys me enough time to walk away.

Occasionally, people persist and want to talk about it. After I get them softened up by waxing poetic about perseverance and the can-dog spirit, I sigh and say "It's sad that we wasted all that time teaching him ASL."

Sparky, along with being blind and sometimes angry, is also lazy when it comes to me. Others can get him to walk, but he knows that I'm an old softie (and I'm emotionally weak, which goes along with my age and texture) so he can manipulate me into carrying him or pushing him in a stroller when we take in the airs. So there we go, dog sitting in a place where one would usually see a baby (or a midget smoking a cigar, pretending to be a baby in a cartoon), and the two of us sauntering down the street.

Originally, this seemed to me to be weird and, as the young people say it, awkward. I mean, he is in a stroller and he is a full grown adult! Cray, cray. But as the months and strollers have rolled on, I have become so accustomed to this that it seems strange to see other people NOT pushing their dogs in strollers.

Today, on one of our outings, we were passed by a car (we don't walk quickly). As the car passed, it slowed down and the driver gawked. Full on, complete gawk mode. A twisted smile, eyes bugging out and even a little point of the ol' finger. Now Sparky is blind, but he knows. He knows.

What struck me, though, was that I thought of the driver as the one acting strange. All I'm doing is wandering down the street with a dog in a-

oh

I flipped the scenario on its head and realized that, while from my perspective this is all fine, dandy and skippy I have to remember that to the majority of the rest of the known world, a dog in a stroller is probably unexpected and, yes, a tad eccentric looking.

When did I stop seeing it as the exception, but as the rule? How long does it take for any new behavior to be the only way to be? When does "new" stop being "new?"

Don't ask Sparky -- he's blind, so he cannot answer.