There are two blind students here at HLS. One uses sunglasses and a cane, the other uses nothing but a German Shepherd. I see them both from time to time, especially when I'm outside, enjoying what's left of the good weather in Cambridge.

The guy with the cane often looks lost, and I often feel terrible for not helping him. He's walking on the grass just off the sidewalk, obviously trying to make his way back to the pavement, and I just sit there. He finds himself in the corner of two benches placed together at right angles, and I watch him just tap his way out and around. I have seen other people ask to help him and when he tells them where he's trying to go, they turn him all the way around--he's that lost. I should help him the next time I see him. That's the kind of person I am--not the kind who sits idly by.

The girl with the dog seems different. The cane isn't intelligent, but her German Shepherd is. Often (and not just with this particular individual), though, I've asked myself, "Sure, the dog helps her from bumping into things and can direct her down sidewalks and up staircases, but how does the dog know where she wants to go?" Can she just say "Pound Hall" and the dog goes, "OK, that's this way"? Obviously she has to have some degree of sense of direction and geography (which has to be very hard when she's in a new or crowded place). But at what point does her authority over the dog ("The building I want to go into is to the right. Go right.") need to succumb to the dog's authority over her ("If we go right, you smack your head into a tree.")?

Today I was eating lunch at a picnic table on the lawn in front of the library. The blind girl with the dog walked past, right on the little sidewalk, and I thought to myself again, "But how does he know where she's going?" I turned back to my apple as she went by. A few minutes later, she was back on the same sidewalk, walking in the same direction, as though she'd gone in a circle. Before I had time to tell myself, "Looks like the dog doesn't know where she's going," another luncher had jumped up, taken her arm, and asked, "Can I help you?" She told him she wanted to go to the library, so he turned her up the sidewalk that led that way and let the dog do the rest. Again, I felt like an unchristian idiot. I probably am one.

But as I watched her and the dog progress up the path toward the library, they passed close to a tree, which the dog stopped to sniff! She thought for a moment there was an obstacle, then realized what he was doing, and yanked his leash. He took a few steps like a good guide dog, and then went back to sniffing the tree. She yanked again. They went a little farther, got to the steps of the library, and he stopped again. She realized they were at the steps, but first paused to pet her pooch to let him know she still loved him. Then he took her up to the door and they disappeared.

It must be really difficult to have that disability. A cane backs you into a corner, and a dog can't resist a good squirrel chase. Either way you get lost. I will do better to help these people out when I see them again.