It’s funny what kinds of things stick out and sneak up on you. In this case it was an email sent separately to my wife and I from a mutual friend.

His email merely had a link to the video below and a one-liner “Well, sort of. He’s not very good at it.”

I’m more of a dog person so didn’t rush to see the video, but my wife was working home and laughing so loud that I had to inquire about the source of her laughter.

“This email from Ethan about this psychic cat is so funny - haven’t you seen it?”

“No I haven’t but will add it to my to do list to check out.”

A couple days later, and now even four months after that original email, Katie and I find ourselves periodically saying to each other things like, “Mouse. Treat. Silence.”

Accordingly, this two minute video has become a family classic and the spirit of humor portrayed now permeates our family history - enjoy!

Every 26 days or so, a new group of students start class at Guiding Eyes for the Blind (GEB) and with each new class, my wife Katie, gives them a welcome presentation about volunteers who are available to assist these new students on sundry levels (e.g., go shopping, drive them to church, cut their hair, massage, etc.).

Thus it is always interesting for me to be at dinner table on the nights she comes home from those monthly presentations.

“Who is in this class ..??.. what kind of backgrounds ..??.. any interesting reactions to Kasha (our released dog and GEB ambassador dog) ..??.. any funny jokes or comments ..??..”

And even though I’ve raised six pups, attended and filmed numerous graduations, sometimes Katie tells stories that blow me away, like this one of Mr. Max Edelman who’s tale was featured in this GEB newsletter (pdf file) and I’ve included the text here:

Max Edelman’s story was featured in the July 29, 2009 issue of USA Today.

“I was blinded in a Nazi concentration camp at the age of 21, and arrived in America with my late wife in 1951. We worked and raised two sons, and now, at 86, I have five grandchildren. For most of those years, I depended on a white cane. My problem, although I was reluctant to admit it, was that I had a fear of getting too close to dogs.

But the day I retired, I decided to apply for a guide dog at Guiding Eyes for the Blind. I so much wanted the freedom a dog could give me; I had to make the attempt.

Charlie, our class supervisor, had a few cheerful welcoming words for the twelve of us that arrived in Yorktown Heights in May 1990. But afterwards, I took Charlie aside and said, ‘I would like to have a guide dog. But because of my negative experiences with dogs, I am not sure I could ever bond with one.’ Charlie asked to hear my story.

‘I am a Holocaust survivor,’ I said. ‘In one of the Nazi concentration camps I was in, the commandant had a big, vicious German Shepherd. Sometimes, when he entertained guests and wanted to show how cruel he could be, or how vicious his dog was (or both), he told a guard to bring a group of inmates into his courtyard. Once, before I was blinded, I was in that group. I watched as he chose one of us to stand apart. Then he gave the dog the command, ‘Fass!’ meaning ‘Fetch!’ With one leap, the dog grabbed the victim by the throat. The man died in just a few minutes, and the dog returned to his master for his reward. More than four decades later, nightmares about this still torment me,’ I confided to Charlie.

After a moment of reflection, Charlie said, ‘No human being is born evil; some become evil. No dog is born vicious; some are trained to be vicious. Give us a chance to prove to you that our dogs will guide you safely, love you, and protect you.’

His words strengthened my resolve. I was determined, I told Charlie, to give myself a chance. Should I fail - it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. Charlie decided Calvin, an 80-pound chocolate Lab, would be the right match for me. When I returned home with him after our four-week training period, I found myself struggling to fully relax and forge a bond.

Often, I recalled Charlie’s words, ‘No human being is born evil, and no dog is born vicious …’

Slowly, Calvin and I began to break down the invisible barrier between us. Finally, after about six months I began to trust Calvin. Any lingering doubts I had about Calvin were dispelled one day as we stood at a busy intersection, waiting to cross the street. When we stepped off the curb, a motorist unexpectedly made a sharp right turn, directly in front of us. Calvin stopped on a dime. Realizing that he had saved us both from serious injury, I stepped back onto the sidewalk, gave Calvin a hug around the neck, and praised him for a job well done.

It was the turning point in our life together. After that, the love between us flowed freely and Calvin Blossomed.

Calvin retired in 1999, after more than nine years of giving the best he had and then some. He was succeeded by Silas, a 78-pound yellow Lab, that was his mirror image.

And today, nineteen years after I began my Guiding Eyes journey, I have been blessed with Tobin, my third guide dog.

Yes, Charlie. You were right. ‘Give us a chance,’ you said, ‘Your dog will guide you, love you, and protect you.’ ”

Be sure to checkout this GEB Sept Newsletter for more stories and the picture on page four of Max and Tobin - Woof On!

Yesterday while walking Kasha through the local nature trail, I saw something I’ve never seen before and it gave me reason to pause and reflect on the cycles of life and death.

We had just reached the end of the trail and turned right onto the roadway as we continued our walk into the neighborhoods circa Poplar Road in Ridgefield.

Kasha was walking briskly as if she was a full guide dog - walking confidently in the lead position on my left and if I had closed my eyes one could have easily imagined her with a harness on her. It was a pleasure to have her gently pull us both along that quiet street with such confidence and briskness.

Normally I have to keep my head down and watch every step when we walk as Kasha can be a bit unpredictable but not this time. Thus with her brimming confidence in the lead, I was a bit freer to look around and tilt my head back a hair looking up into the canopy of forest trees lining both sides of the street.

As I was looking up at the 40-60 foot high pines, I saw what appeared at first as a leaf to be drifting down from forest tree tops and thought it odd that trees would be shedding leaves during this late Spring, May 27th afternoon. As I watched this leaf float down from the canopy towards the street pavement, it spiraled a bit as it circled on its descent so then I thought, “Hmm. Maybe it is not a leaf but one of those helicopter seeds?” And so I enjoyed watching the gentle dance as it ever so softly spiraled and fell closer and closer to us.

But then as it was about six feet from the ground, I could see it clearer and realized it was not a leaf or a seedling but was the wing of a Monarch butterfly. Not even a full wing at that but a wing that appeared to be three-quarters of its original beautiful self - light yellow with soft dollops of brown and black circles arranged in the beauty of God’s fingerprints that characteristically mark the Monarch butterflies with their distinctive marks.

As I watched it take its final swirls before landing, I looked back up into the trees and tried to study the scene for evidence of that which preyed upon the butterfly. I saw none. No hawks, no owls, no birds of any kind were visible but off to the left was a vigorous choir of happy bird chirps. Thus it occurred to me that the death of this butterfly, while sad to the butterfly families, was also a food source for some bird now satisfied with its meal and tweeting away in all the glory God infused in the sounds of their bird songs.

Kasha and I kept walking, then turned around and headed back home. We passed the lone butterfly wing on the return but she did not notice nor give it a sniff. I on the other hand was a bit saddened and reminded that life is a delicate gift. I said a little prayer of thanks for all the beauty in life and the opportunity to be a part of it. Then I pondered my own mortality as we walked back home.

“Toss that dog a bone” took on new meaning for my Ridgefield pack this afternoon, literally.

At 4PM on December 15th, my wife Katie and I were walking Kasha, our two year old Labrador Retriever and part-time ambassador for Guiding Eyes for the Blind. The weather was a balmy 56 degrees with light wind, reminiscent of a Spring March afternoon.

We had walked past the fountain and returned back on Main Street, took a left on King Lane, then a right onto High Ridge Avenue towards Saint Mary’s.

All of a sudden we heard a thump near us. Katie said, “What was that?” And my silent-self pondered, “Hmm. Probably kids.”

From out of the blue, well technically out of a vehicle passing on High Ridge, a large yellow-freckled milk bone had been vigorously but joyfully tossed out the front-passenger window, landing some 5 feet next to us.

While Katie questioned, I turned and saw this holiday spirited milk bone lying close to us along the sidewalk and witnessed a pickup truck ever-so slowly driving past us with the passenger-side window down and the driver looking in his rearview mirror to check our reaction. As he drove off, he gave a hearty wave. And, I could have sworn his smile filled the frame of his car’s rear view mirror.

I waved back. I picked up the milk bone, gave it to Katie while Kasha started to drool in anticipation, and stated, “That man just tossed us a bone, literally!”

“Imagine that,” my wife said, “a random act of kindness.”

“Yeah” I replied, “Only in Ridgefield.”

ps - This essay was published in the Ridgefield Press Jan 8th 2009 in the premier edition of Ridgefield Voices - Click here for the Ridgefield Press’s edited and published version (208k pdf file)

Below is the seven minute video produced by Guiding Eyes for the Blind that features a licensed version of Katie Scott’s Song for VanDyke which can be heard around 5 minutes into the clip - congratulations Katie!

The Following Essay Was Written by Roz:

When we think of the imprisoned “people who have committed crimes” we conjure up visions of hard-looking individuals, vile in nature, locked in cells surrounded by prison guards. Yet, there are other prisons that we all create for ourselves. Like the prison guard who oversees the captive, our consciousness is the gatekeeper of our soul. Thoughts of inadequacy, fear, hate, low self-esteem, self-pity, racism, addiction, loneliness, grief, and anger keep us in prison as much as the inmate in a jail cell.

I know about both kinds of prison. I have been physically imprisoned for the past twenty-four years in a maximum-security facility for women. For the first ten years I was also in an emotional prison that kept me in a constant state of denial, depression, guilt, hatred, self-loathing, shame, anger, bitterness. These ever-present thoughts defined me, and were just as confining, tormenting and frightening as the steel and barbed wire that enclosed my physical body.

Those first ten years in prison, I was very angry. I felt that an injustice had been done to me because although I was found guilty of two counts of murder in the second degree for the stabbing of an elderly couple, I actually did not stab anyone. I did not feel fully responsible for their deaths, even though I was part of the crime that led to their murder. My anger was expressed in many self-destructive ways I used drugs (readily available inside these walls), had a sexual relationship with a guard (which led to the birth of my daughter, now nine), and let my feelings of self-loathing define me. A state of gloom not only penetrated my essence, but also filtered out into the lives of those I encountered.

I knew that deep within me there was an exit from this prison that I myself sealed off and nailed shut. I knew this door was the key to my freedom and serenity…that it would open the floodgates of understanding and compassion that would bring me peace…but fear kept me from ever attempting to break all the way through. Abhorrence at the crime I had committed, self-pity and shame shackled my judgment and dealings and weighed me down as much as any ball and chain. I detested myself and couldn’t believe that I could ever find anything resembling inner harmony. My pessimistic beliefs, habitual patterns of interaction and the circumstances of my environment told me I would never break away from what I was, who I had become.

Nevertheless a tiny voice deep within me was at all times calling me to look through that barred door saying seek me, come closer, break through, take a risk. My longing for transformation started progressively, that weak inner-voice slowly gained strength. Hope peeked out at me through a fracture in the barricade. Gradually, I chiseled away at it, bit by bit, and as each fragment fell I learned more of what I desired in my life and my soul cried out for more. I began to see that I had a choice to continue being the way I was emotionally or to seek something better.

First I had to face the enormity of my crime. I looked inside myself and hated what I saw. I went into therapy and with the help of others I began to take responsibility for what I had done. My actions had caused the death of two people and the pain of many more. I vowed in my heart to never perpetrate violence again in any form or fashion on another being. This is something I live by, something I teach my daughter. Mostly I saw that I had to change from who I was to who I was intended to be the person God had wanted from the start, a person who loved and respected life.

I began to appreciate that I had to do the correct things with my thoughts and actions and reactions. I didn’t want to be a ’statistic’, I wanted to change and grow. I began to read everything I could get my hands on. I enrolled in college and got a B.A. I took, and then taught, parenting classes, helping myself and others understand the impact parents have on their children and the positive influence they can have even while incarcerated. I became a tutor and mentor to other inmates with long sentences, telling them the story of my struggles, helping them to take responsibility for their lives and to find a way to use their time in prison in positive ways. It became important to me to greet people with a smile and kind gesture, to do what was right, make constructive choices, and love others because love was within me.

I stepped all the way through the entrance of my self-made prison. I knocked down the door through honesty, education, self-knowledge and service to others. I crossed over and basked in the warmth and love I found on the other side to comfort, conduct and instruct me.

I have been wronged in my life and I have done tremendous wrong, not only in actions but also in thought, in the world and on a spiritual level. God has enabled me to actually look at myself and work on my faults, to turn my shortcomings into tools I can use to enhance others’ lives. God showed me how to love and how to forgive…others and myself. I don’t see my life as a botched mission any longer, I don’t let strife linger in my heart anymore. I have found peace in the most unholy place, prison, and I know this peace is a blessing from God.

I have been transformed by the renewing of my mind and that gift is free to all. Once I believed I was no good and that I would not amount to anything, but now my mind is renewed and I know otherwise. What you think and believe is what you will become. Loving others brings love into your life, allowing goodness to flourish, transforming pain and anger into luminosity, overflowing joy, happiness and love. If God can redeem me he can do the same for you. I am liberated and at peace and giving my life over to good, in thoughts and actions. Praise God for his mercy and love that lies within you. Unlock the door and watch the prison walls disintegrate into pieces. God bless you all. Let freedom ring.

Roslyn Smith
Bedford Hills Correctional Facility
Bedford Hills, New York.

Note About Dog Pictured
The pictures above are of VanDyke - at the time of these pictures he was a guide dog in training and these pictures were taken at the kennels at Guiding Eyes for the Blind.

VanDyke has since gone on and graduated and is working with his new partner in the Greater Boston area. Chuck and Katie Scott were his puppy raisers and Katie has a wonderful song in his memory that has been played at several guide dog graduations.