Instalment Twenty Three

We were half way between stations before anyone in the carriage noticed the guide dog’s tail was caught in the train doors. It was no one’s fault. The dog’s owner was clearly blind, and what were us passenger supposed to do? Those dogs are so well trained, it just sat there, it didn’t bark or whine. We are always told not to pat guide dogs when they’re working, so we were being well behaved and not patting the noble, golden lab. It just sat there, a look of detachment in its eyes. For all I know that’s what they look like when they’re on duty.

A cry went up, “The dog’s tail! The dog’s tail!”

People crowded.

People yelled.

“The doors wont open.”

“We’ll be at the station soon.”

“Its tail could get caught between the carriage and platform!”

A human cloud of panic, a fog blinding reason.

Trying to help with no clue what to do.

“Call the dog,” the blind woman calmly said.

“What?”

“Call her with food, she’ll wag her tail,” she said.

“What do we call her?”

“You call her Clarity,” answered the blind woman, providing the same service for the passengers the dog provided her.