Humbled by the Simplicity of Bentley
This is 11-year-old Bentley, the precious Havanese of my Austin family. He looks so contented and bright-eyed. He’s contented, but not so bright-eyed. He lost his sight, so he makes his way around the house to his familiar places of comfort, finds his food and the people he loves. He knows me. Along with his people-brothers, he knows I’m a sucker for giving him a piece of meat from my plate. He’s contented with just being. He saunters around the house, occasionally bumping into a wall, but finds himself around just fine. He has developed a mental layout of his domain and he navigates it well. He’s not in pain. I do pray for his sight to be restored, but he’s not complaining at all.
Bentley hears well. He knows it when someone enters a room. He smells well. He knows when I sit down at the table to eat my eggs and toast, makes his way to me, tilts his head back and those black eyes, though without sight, stare up at me and licks his chops. I can’t resist him. I leave half my egg on my plate for him. I know he loves eggs, because he’s the one that found the eggs I had just gathered from the hens, sat them down while I watered the garden and found nothing left in the container. Bentley and I both have good memories. I’m so thankful.
Though most of us could barely imagine what losing one of our senses would feel like, I understand that if one is missing, it can heighten the ability of the other four. For example, the amazing tenor, Andrea Bocelli, has sold over 90 million albums. Bocelli said his parents made him determined to never give up: “This is what my parents showed during my mother’s pregnancy when the doctors advised her to have an abortion because the baby would be born with severe illnesses. She ignored their advice and carried on with my father’s support. Without their courage and faith I would not be here today to tell the story.” He was born with congenital glaucoma and he eventually went completely blind at age 12. Bocelli says he’ll always be grateful for his parents’ intervention.
For most of us, we can barely even imagine what something like blindness would feel like. We have grown accustomed to our world’s sights, sounds, tastes, smells and touches. But, if one of those senses are missing, particularly that of sight and sound, if lost, the brain “reroutes” the normal sensory pathways and the unaffected senses take up the responsibilities of the affected sense, so to speak.
I’ve seen it in Bentley. For example, touch is more important to him – he cuddles into us; his ears hear better, his food is tastier than ever. I’m thinking that I should close my eyes so that I appreciate what I’m eating more. Maybe my sense of taste and smell may light up in ways I’ve never experienced. I can’t imagine all that blind people must have to conquer – getting dressed, cooking, finding their way through obstacles in their homes. Bentley has given me a new appreciation for the gift of sight. It’s made me realize how much we can take for granted in a single day. My early morning walks without seeing the beauty of a sunrise or the trees, distant hills and checking out the colors of people’s eyes. Bentley has humbled me by the simplicity of watching this little 4-legged creature find his way around.
Do we, all ‘seeing’ people, fully grasp how blessed we are? Maybe we should close our eyes more and experience what those who have no sight experience. Bentley shed new light for me on his competency and abilities, but even more for me to realize the competency and abilities of blind people. I’ve heard it said ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’ And just maybe the beholder without eyes sees way more than those of us who do. It is amazing what the seeing and the unseeing can learn from one another.