In Which Differently-Abled Dogs Fart and Play, As Should We All

A three-legged dog named Victor once farted in my face as I woke up.  It was kind of like an early morning "fuck you" for sleeping in a bed that he had apparently been inhabiting until I showed up as a guest.  That incident aside, Victor was one of the friendliest, most lovable dogs I have ever met, and three-legged dogs in general are among my favorite creatures on this earth.

Another experience I've had with a disabled dog was a little Yorkie named Scooter that used to come to my local dog park all the time.  Scooter had been paralyzed in his rear half after a car hit him when he was just a little puppy.  As a result, his limp hind legs were put onto a little stretcher with wheels, and he wore a diaper, because I guess he couldn't control his bowels anymore.  There was no way to look at Scooter and not feel sorry for him… until you looked at his face.  I have rarely seen a happier dog in my life.   He would run around the dog run, chasing all the other dogs, yipping wildly, and just generally having a ball.  The other dogs would play with him, but seemed to understand they couldn't be quite as rough with him as they would with another dog.

Either Scooter wasn't aware of his disability or, more likely, he just didn't care.  Just as when I talked about Rosie's recent dog attack, dogs live in the moment, but Scooter's moment-to-moment existence is one of impaired ability compared to most dogs.  Scooter doesn't view the world like that, though—that comparative, competitive way of looking at the world is mostly reserved for us humans.  He has no feeling in the back of his body, but he continues to do everything he wants to do as best as he can do it.

Maybe this is why three-legged dogs, paralyzed dogs, blind dogs, and just generally disabled dogs always seem to be the happiest dogs ever: because we're comparing them to this idea we have of what it means to be disabled.  Scooter or Victor or whoever are just as happy as a normal dog that's being treated well, but because I expect them to be miserable and mopey, their normal amount of happiness seems like miraculous exuberance.

I find this to be an instructive insight into how I should probably go about treating disabled people in the future: not as people who should be miserable because they are different, but just people who have a different experience from me, a different perspective that I may be able to learn from.  People are not dogs, and are certainly more aware of their differences and capabilities, but that doesn't mean we all can't be just as happy.

P.S. Here's a bonus video for you to enjoy, courtesy of Well, that's adorable, which is a, well, adorable blog: