Why Traveling is so Tiring

Don't get me wrong. I am very glad I have Suki. I really don't know how I got along without her. A woman writing to the Israel Guide Dog Users' Forum aroused an interesting discussion when she voiced her deliberations of whether or not to take a guide dog: she wanted the mobility and independence that a dog can offer, but doesn't particularly like dogs, doesn't feel confident she can deal with the care of a dog, and is afraid of other dogs on the street barking at her, and feels that her family will not want to deal with the dirt that a dog makes in the house, etc. I encouraged her to weigh the pros and cons. Thinking over it, I realize what my difficulty is with Suki and why I come home from long trips with her so exhausted: the reason is that people, whether they are supportive or out to hassle, never leave us alone.

Traveling alone, I would get on a bus or train, sit down, and pass the journey, perhaps occasionally talking to someone, but more or less free to read, listen to music, etc. In a restaurant I would be free to sit alone and quietly have a cup of coffee. On a bus no one would notice me. Now, wherever I go, people – for good or for bad – are always interacting with me or with my dog. Even walking down the street, someone is always making a comment either to us directly or talking about us as we pass by. (Evidently they feel people with guide dogs also don't hear or are oblivious of being talked about in third person.

So this is why it is exhausting. I've dwelt on the hassling, the shouting drivers, the arguments. But as nice as it can be, even the people who interact positively can be tiring. Someone always wants to talk about my dog. As the late Arieh Shmidt put it, "No one wants to talk to me. They just want to pet my dog." They croon over her, say she's beautiful, ask how old she is, say they have a dog just like her at home (riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight), or launch into a long description of a dog they have or once had. Then there are the debates and suggestions: No, she's not a Labrador, she's a Golden. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, she is pure golden. No, I'm not training her, I'm using her as my guide dog, no you can't feed her, please don't pet her now, we're crossing the road and that will disturb her. And the advice: Give her some chicken or cottage cheese for a change. She needs a little variety. You should give her a haircut. She's too thin. She needs to eat right now…It's endless. And no, she is not for sale.

It is very sweet that the man in the coffee shop wants to croon over my dog and get down on the floor and pet her and give her a thorough belly rub and massage, but perhaps I want to sit alone and not have someone under my table while I drink my coffee? Perhaps I want to listen to music on the train and not want to launch into a half hour interview of where I got my dog and hear about the woman's adorable little Pincher. (I hate pinchers!) And perhaps I'd like to have some peace and quiet. It's hard to fend off well-meaning admirers. Sitting on the bus, it's sometimes like standing in a reception line at a wedding, where everyone passing by has to pat Suki on the head as they walk through the bus.

And Suki herself? I think she badly needs some quiet time during the day to catch a few winks between tasks. Coming home at night on the train, she is exhausted, and goes to sleep for the entire trip. Fortunately she knows how to crawl under the seats and find a secure, quiet place to be left in peace and quiet. Maybe I should join her there.

So now that I'm finished complaining, I'll add one more thing: I would never think of going anywhere without Suki.