I haven’t been around Blind Travels much over the past month, and I wanted to take some time to explain why. My guide dog Fauna passed away this week. She was only 10 years old, and this wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen. For those of you who have followed Blind Travels over the years, you know Fauna. She was my first guide dog, my traveling partner, and my constant companion for the past eight years. She was with me on nearly every adventure, from airports and cruise terminals to national parks and retro gaming conventions. She was also there for the ordinary things, like running to the store or sitting under my desk while I worked.

About six months ago, veterinarians discovered a mass on her liver. Over the past month, much of my time and attention has been focused on taking care of her, which is why I haven’t been writing or posting as regularly. This past weekend, we learned that the mass had ruptured, and suddenly the time we thought we had left together was gone. I’ve had dogs my entire life, and I’ve experienced the heartbreak of losing them. But losing a guide dog is something very different. When a dog is responsible for helping you navigate the world, and spends nearly every waking moment beside you, the relationship becomes something that is difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it.

Fauna wasn’t just my dog. She was a part of how I lived my life, and right now I’m trying to figure out how to do that without her.

The Dog Who Almost Didn’t Become a Guide Dog

Fauna came into our lives in 2018 after I completed training with Guide Dogs for the Blind. She was my first guide dog, and I was fortunate that we clicked almost immediately. There had apparently been some question about whether she would make it through the guide dog program because she was a little too enthusiastic about meeting people. She loved everyone, and when she met someone new, she had a tendency to get a little bouncy. That’s not necessarily the personality you expect from a dog who needs to remain focused while guiding someone through a crowded airport.

She eventually learned to contain most of that excitement, but she never lost her wag or her love of people. More importantly, she absolutely loved working. Over the years, Fauna and I developed our own language. Guide dogs learn a standard set of commands during training, but as you work together, you discover little things that make your particular partnership more efficient. One of ours was a command I called “ready.” When Fauna was lying next to me while we were working, I could say “ready,” and she would stand up and take two steps forward. That placed her harness handle exactly where I needed it, so I could simply reach down and grab it without searching around for her. It was a small thing, but it made working together easier. We developed quite a few little commands like that over the years, and eventually much of what we did together became automatic. She knew what I needed, and I knew what to expect from her.

I think that’s one of the things people don’t always understand about guide dog teams. The relationship doesn’t stop developing when you graduate from training. It continues to grow through years of working together, learning each other’s habits, and figuring out how to handle the situations you encounter.

The Freedom of an Iced Coffee

Before Fauna came into my life, I was already traveling. After losing most of my vision in a car accident, I learned to navigate with a white cane and continued doing the things I enjoyed. I wasn’t going to stop traveling simply because I couldn’t see the world the way I once had. But Fauna made everything easier. I still vividly remember the first time we went out together on a solo route during our guide dog training. We had walked to Starbucks several times, and Fauna had learned the word. When I gave her the command, she knew exactly where we were going.

We headed out, and for the first time since losing my vision, I felt like I was just along for the ride. I wasn’t concentrating on every step or trying to figure out where the entrance to the building might be. Fauna knew where we were going, and she was taking me there. Before I knew it, we were walking through the door to get an iced coffee. It felt like freedom. That was when I realized I could teach this wonderful girl to take me just about anywhere, and over the next eight years, that’s exactly what we did. 

Fauna traveled across the country with me, helping me navigate unfamiliar airports, convention centers, hotels, and countless other places. She was just as comfortable lying quietly onstage while I gave a presentation as she was working through a crowded convention hall or helping me find my gate at the airport. We hiked together to Dream Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park, and we spent 33 hours traveling across the country on Amtrak. She handled those adventures with the same enthusiasm she brought to a quick trip to the grocery store. As long as she was working and we were together, she was happy. She also accompanied me on visits to hotels and other properties where I was helping staff better understand accessibility for blind and low vision travelers. Through those visits, Fauna helped people learn how guide dogs work, what assistance their handlers might need, and how to make their properties more welcoming.

I could explain guide dog etiquette to someone all day long, but having Fauna there, calmly doing her job, often taught them more than anything I could say.

An Ambassador for Guide Dogs

Fauna was easily the most loving dog I’ve ever had. She loved everyone she met, and she seemed particularly happy when she had an opportunity to change someone’s mind about dogs. One of my favorite memories happened aboard Amtrak. A porter working in our sleeping car was terrified of dogs. His previous experiences had been with small, biting dogs being presented as service animals, and he was understandably nervous when he first encountered Fauna. Over the next couple of days, he watched her work and saw how calmly she behaved. Eventually, he worked up the courage to pet her. By the end of the trip, he had completely fallen in love with her. As we were leaving the sleeping car, he asked if he could give her a hug goodbye. That was Fauna.

Throughout our travels, people were constantly asking questions about her. Sometimes they wanted to know how guide dogs were trained. Other times they were curious about how she knew where to go or how she helped me navigate unfamiliar places. Those conversations became an important part of our travels. I always enjoyed helping people better understand the role guide dogs play in our lives, and Fauna was a wonderful example of what a well-trained working dog could do.

I also want to thank Guide Dogs for the Blind, her puppy raisers, and everyone who helped prepare Fauna for her life with me. I know how much work goes into raising and training a guide dog, and I am incredibly grateful to the people who made our partnership possible.

When Your Guide Dog Is Suddenly Gone

One of the things I’m struggling with most is how completely Fauna was woven into my everyday life.  As I write this, she’s not sitting on my feet. When I had dinner this evening, she wasn’t lying under the table. Her bed is still here, but she’s not in it. Those little absences are everywhere right now. For those of us who work with guide dogs, there’s also a practical side to this loss that can be difficult to explain. Suddenly, the dog who helped you navigate the world isn’t there anymore, and you have to make adjustments at a time when you’re already dealing with losing someone you love. 

I’ve always made a point of maintaining my white cane skills while working with Fauna. I occasionally traveled without her, partly to give her some time off and partly because I knew I needed to remain comfortable navigating independently with my cane. I’m very glad I did that, because I’m going to be relying on those skills quite a bit now. 

Carrie and I have also discovered that we’re a little out of practice with sighted guide techniques. The day after Fauna passed, Carrie accidentally guided me into a pole. It wasn’t her fault. We’ve just gotten so used to Fauna handling the navigation that we need to get back into practice. I’m pretty sure Fauna would have been unimpressed with our performance.

I know how to travel with my cane, and I know I can continue doing the things I enjoy. But right now, my independence feels like it has taken a significant hit. I had eight years of working with a dog who understood exactly how I moved through the world, and suddenly that partnership is gone. I’ve lost dogs before, and every one of those losses was difficult. But losing Fauna feels like losing a part of myself.

The Retirement She Never Got

Fauna was scheduled to retire later this year. At 10 years old, she had earned the opportunity to spend the rest of her days relaxing at home while another guide dog took over the responsibility of helping me travel. I suspect retirement would have been a little difficult for her. She absolutely loved working, and I can imagine her being rather unhappy about watching another dog put on a harness and head out the door with me. But she would have adjusted. Eventually, the toughest decision she would have needed to make each day was which bed she wanted to nap in.

That was the plan. Instead, Fauna continued working almost until the very end. She was guiding me the day before we had to say goodbye.

She never got the retirement we had planned for her. I wanted her to have those quiet years at home, enjoying being a dog without having to worry about guiding me through airports or crowded convention halls. I wanted her to be there when I returned from trips with my next guide dog.

We didn’t get that chance, and I’m having a particularly hard time accepting it.

Heading to Portland Without Her

Tomorrow, I’m leaving for Portland to speak at the Portland Retro Gaming Expo. It’s a trip I’ve been looking forward to for some time, but it now carries a great deal of emotion that I wasn’t expecting. For those who don’t know, I spent many years working in the video game industry, and retro gaming conventions have become an important part of reconnecting with that chapter of my life. After losing my vision, returning to those conventions was a significant experience. Walking into a convention hall and hearing the familiar sounds of the games I worked on, the arcade machines, and the people sharing their memories brought back a part of my life that I thought I had lost. Fauna helped me return to those events with confidence. She navigated crowded convention floors, waited patiently while I spoke on panels, and helped me get around unfamiliar hotels and airports. Now I’m heading back to Portland without her.

I know I can do it. I’ve traveled with a cane before, and I’ve made sure to maintain those skills. But knowing I can do something and feeling comfortable doing it are two different things. I’m going to miss reaching down for her harness when it’s time to head somewhere. I’m going to miss having her settle beside me while I’m speaking. I’m going to miss the companionship of having her along for the trip. And I’m not particularly looking forward to walking into that convention hall without her.

What Comes Next for Blind Travels

I plan to get back to regular posting here at Blind Travels. Traveling is still an important part of my life, and the work we do helping the travel industry better understand accessibility remains just as important as ever. I’m also scheduled to receive a new guide dog sometime in the near future, and I plan to share that experience with you. For those of you who have never worked with a guide dog, each dog has its own personality and way of working. Building a successful partnership takes time, and I know the next dog will be different from Fauna. I’m looking forward to working with another guide dog, but I’m also going to be honest about the process. There will be new things to learn, new routines to develop, and probably some difficult moments as I adjust to working with a dog who doesn’t know me the way Fauna did. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to feel about that, and I don’t want to pretend I have everything figured out.

I’ll be sharing the training experience, the challenges, and what it’s like to build a relationship with a new working partner while still missing the one who came before. I think that’s an important conversation for our community, especially for people considering their first guide dog or preparing to retire a longtime working partner. For now, I’m going to continue traveling, keep writing, and work through the adjustments as they come.

Thank You, Fauna

I know many of you have followed Fauna’s adventures through Blind Travels, and I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to ask about her, share a kind word, or tell me about their own guide dogs. If you’re a guide dog handler who has experienced losing a working partner, I’d welcome hearing about your experience. I know there are many of us who have gone through this, and sharing those stories can help others understand what it’s like to lose a dog who has been such an important part of our independence. For those who are currently working with a guide dog, give them a little extra love today. I hope you have many wonderful years together. Fauna was an extraordinary dog. She helped me rediscover my confidence, traveled thousands of miles with me, and introduced countless people to the important role guide dogs play in our lives.

But beyond all of the places we visited and the things we accomplished, she was simply the most loving dog I’ve ever known. Fauna had this wonderful habit of offering her paw to people who needed comfort. Whether someone was afraid of flying, having a difficult day, or missing a dog they had lost, she would happily sit beside them and hold their hand for as long as they needed. Yesterday, as we said goodbye, I held her paw.

I wish we’d had more time together. I wish she had gotten to enjoy the retirement she deserved. But I am incredibly grateful for the eight years we shared and for everything she taught me. Of all the lives Fauna touched, the one she changed the most was mine.

Good girl, Fauna.

See you at the gate.

-Ted