Sometimes people ask me if I have a seeing eye dog; I don’t. I’ve been holding out for a seeing eye Sasquatch. I don’t have one yet, and it looks like it’s going to be a while. The training period for a seeing eye Sasquatch is notoriously long, mostly due to their tendency to tear the arms off their trainers. I think they’re worth the wait, though. A seeing eye Sasquatch can do so much more than a guide dog can do. For instance:
When you’re visually impaired, guide dogs can make it easier for you to move around in unfamiliar places by directing you along the right path and making sure you don’t bump into things like flower pots and buildings. A seeing eye Sasquatch makes it easier for you to move around in unfamiliar places by walking through things like flower pots and buildings. It makes its own path, and all you have to do is follow along. Just be forewarned: the liability insurance can get a little steep.
Guide dogs can make it more comfortable for others to interact with the visually impaired; nothing breaks the ice like an adorable, fuzzy service animal with its tongue hanging out. The thing is, not all people with visual impairments actually want to socialize more. Enter the seeing eye Sasquatch: not only do people never try to pet it (and, by the way, don’t do that with guide dogs either, unless you have the owner’s permission), most try to get as far away as they can, quite often leaving valuables behind in their haste.
This indirectly solves another problem affecting little blind girls like me that guide dogs can only do so much about: the tendency of guys to cop a feel while pretending to guide you to your seat/the door/what you hope is the right subway train. This still happens when you’ve got a guide dog, though not as often, but when you’ve got a seeing eye Sasquatch, all the pervy strangers melt away. Unfortunately, so do any potential meet-cutes with guys who are genuinely trying to help, but you can’t have everything in life.
Guide dogs and their owners often form very strong bonds. They depend on each other and spend lots of time together, and guide dogs accept payment for their services in the form of belly rubs (I suspect that pervy strangers do, as well, but guide dogs usually smell better). The Sasquatch, on the other hand, has a reputation for being antisocial and— oh, what’s the word?— murderous. It seems like guide dogs almost have to win this category, if only because it’s so much easier to clean up after their “accidents.”
When I get my seeing eye Sasquatch, though, we’ll prove that they can be as lovable as any dog. We’ll find a field near the woods and I’ll toss a stick for him to fetch, and when he lopes back toward me proudly carrying a tree, I’ll laugh and give one of those sitcom shrugs like “What can you do?” Then I’ll throw a frisbee really high so he can jump up and catch it in his mouth, but he’ll accidentally swallow it and burp and then give me a guilty look, and I’ll just smile and shake my head, and say, “That’s my Sasquatch!”
And when he’s asleep and dreaming about chasing leprechauns (because why chase squirrels when they don’t have any gold?), I’ll stand on my tiptoes and give him a good scratch behind his ears, because dogs aren’t the only ones who like that. That’s how it’ll be when I get my seeing eye Sasquatch.
Guide dogs are great. They make life easier and more rewarding for the visually impaired, and they’re also dogs, and dogs are awesome. But this Little Blind Girl wants a seeing eye Sasquatch and will accept no substitutes. When you’ve got your heart set on having a gigantic wild creature that may or may not exist as your therapy monster, nothing else will do.
[Image is BIGFOOT Concept Art by TimWade94 on deviantart.com, license CC BY-NC-ND 3.0]