Waiting For Doggo

(Picture of a white cane folded up on a black counter,it has a small ball at the end of it)

I’ve not had a guide dog since the autumn of last year. I went back on the waiting list then, and it’s still not clear when a replacement for Major will come along.

As most of you know, Major died prematurely, just a week before he was meant to retire and just before his 10th birthday. That still stings. He never got the chance to slow down, put his paws up, or enjoy a bit of well-earned rest. Sad as that is, it wouldn’t have changed where I am now. You don’t go on the new guide dog list or get assessed until your current dog retires. So there’s always a gap, and that gap is the awkward bit where your mobility takes a hit.

I first trained with a white cane 46 years ago. I’m still rubbish with it, largely down to relying on a guide dog for so long. You’re always told at the start of your dog ownership not to let your cane skills slide. I absolutely did!!

Moving around with a guide dog just isn’t the same as moving with a cane. It’s about speed. With a dog, everything is smoother. You move with confidence. You pass through what’s going on around you, rather than colliding with it step by step. Obstacle by obstacle. Without a dog, you’re much more aware of every surface, every hazard, every decision.

After Major died, my personal evacuation plan, in the event of emergencies at work had to be rewritten. It’s the sort of thing most able bodied people never think about. What happens if there’s a fire? What happens if protesters invade the building? How do I get off the fourth floor? I work in a large open-plan building with all sorts of obstacles. If I’m in a part of the building I don’t usually work in, like a radio studio, it becomes more complicated as they tend to be down corridors and around corners. With Major I felt safe, confident that he would guide me out, between us, in an emergency I knew we would work it out to leave the building.

In my “PEP” is a short list of people on the same floor as me who I notify if I’m in on my own. That way, if anything kicks off, they know where to find me. It can feel restricting, but I understand why it has to happen. In an emergency, it’s easy, and not deliberate, for someone like me to slip through the net and be left behind. That’s the bit that I am very conscious of.

The same thinking creeps into everyday life. Even something as simple as nipping out for a coffee, or popping down to the pub for a pint, turns into a large planning exercise. How do I get there? What’s the route like? What happens if it’s busy or cluttered when I arrive? Just thinking it through can be exhausting. More often than not, I decide it’s not worth it. With a dog, I wouldn’t think twice. Haircut. Coffee. Beer. I’d just go. Now it feels like a logistical headache.

And then there’s fitness. I’m now in my sixties, and if I’m going to have another guide dog, I need to be fit enough to work it properly. A dog has to go out. I have to be mobile. It would be very easy to sit around, do less, and slowly shrink my world. If I’m honest, a bit of that has already crept in.

So I’ve had to be deliberate about it. At work, I’ve set up a WhatsApp walking group so there’s someone who can get me out most days and keep me moving. I’ll put out a message in the morning asking for a walker and wait for the avalanche. Well, usually someone responds!. I’m also trying to get to the gym at least twice a week. It’s not about chasing numbers or doing anything heroic. It’s about keeping muscle tone, keeping my lungs and heart working, and holding on to a basic level of fitness. This waiting period isn’t passive. It’s about being ready when a new dog does come along.

(A while ago we filmed a humerous film about 30 secs long, about a guide dog, hope you enjoy it)

Click here for the film on my You Tube Channel Wish I had gone to specsavers

When I first trained with a white cane, I had some residual vision. That makes a massive difference getting about. You can see a building line, you know roughly where you are and which way you’re facing. However, I’m now totally blind, so I’m not quite so confident with tapping my way up the high street. Hitting walls, tapping edges of payments, walking into potholes…its exhausting and all I’ve done is leave my gate!

Not having a dog has had a real impact. There’s no point pretending otherwise. That said, I know I’m still fortunate. I’ve got Christine at home, who helps me get out and about. I’ve got friends and colleagues who rally round when needed. That support matters, and I don’t take it for granted. But I do feel more vulnerable. I don’t feel as independent as I did, and that’s the bit that quietly chips away at you.

People keep asking when I’m getting a new guide dog. I wish I had an answer. It would be easier if someone could say, “It’ll be October,” or, “You’ll have one this year.” Even a rough date would help. The hardest part is not knowing. Will it happen in 2026 at all? Will it be next year? The honest answer is I don’t know.

The Guide Dogs Association are unable to say when they might have a dog for me. And are quite right as they have to fit the right dog to the right person. There’s a list. There’s a queue. Plenty of people are waiting.

Some say I should be higher up the list because I’m working and out and about. Maybe. But people who aren’t working, who don’t have the money or support to get around easily, aren’t any less in need. For many of them, the wait is even harder. At least I’ve got an infrastructure that helps plug the gaps, even when the frustration kicks in.

So for now, it’s a waiting game. A dog will come along at some point. I don’t know when, but I do know it will happen.

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