#111 – Seeing is Believing

I can’t see three feet in front of me without contact lenses or glasses. Even so, I occasionally manage to leave the house without wearing either. Yet after this morning’s events, I realize these lapses must end.

I wear lenses 24/7 but switch them out once a week. After removing them overnight, I pop in a new set the following day. On the mornings I wake up without them, I usually remember to don my glasses before taking Prometheus out – usually, but not always.

I slept badly last night and felt dead tired when the alarm went off this morning. In my ensuing daze, I forgot my eyes were sans lenses. I unwittingly freed Prometheus from his crate without first retrieving my glasses and carried him outside.

I didn’t realize my sight was impaired because I never switch on lights when I awaken. I take pride in my ability to blindly navigate the interior of the house; and I use the bathroom, get dressed, make my way to Prometheus’ crate, and cart him to the front door all by feel alone. Since I’m proceeding blindly, I can’t tell that my vision stinks until I turn on the porch light. Alas, by then I’ve already released the dog, and it’s too late to go back for ocular aid.

On past occasions, Prometheus always did his business and immediately returned to the porch. I had no trouble scooping him up and taking him back to bed without incident, until today.

I guess the pooch must’ve heard a compelling noise in our adjoining woods, because no sooner did I set him down than he dashed off while barking madly. With my vision blurred, I quickly lost sight of him. I could tell he’d reached the tall weeds bordering the woods only by sound.

I ran after him, but his barking suddenly cut off just as I reached his general location. When I called out and he didn’t respond, I feared something terrible had happened. I dropped to my knees and blindly groped around where I’d last heard him. At last my hands contacted fur: limp fur! I couldn’t see anything, but it seemed obvious something was drastically wrong. Gently cradling his little body, I sprinted back to the house and sped upstairs to alert Sophia.

In the darkness, still bereft of glasses, I shouted: “Wake up honey! Hurry and take a look at Prometheus. He’s not moving!”

Just as my terrified wife shot out of bed, both of us heard the unmistakable sound of canine barks echoing from the general direction of our porch. The noises sounded suspiciously like our puppy’s telltale yaps.

After Sophia switched on the bedroom light, we made two startling discoveries. It seemed the barking we’d heard did in fact emanate from Prometheus. As we also learned, the furball I’d tenderly carried from the woods and cradled for my wife’s inspection turned out to be a fox … and a dead one to boot!

By now you’d think I could tell Prometheus from any other live or dead ball of fur, by feel alone – but apparently not.

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