Three years with my guide dog: the things nobody tells you

I’m writing this sat at home with Dezzie curled up in his bed, sorting the last minute bits for the wedding.

Dezzie is my first guide dog. He’s a yellow Labrador cross retriever. We qualified as a partnership in June 2023. I’ve already written about our journey so far, so consider this the next instalment as we pass three years together.

Read more: Lessons from a guide dog owner

This time I want to talk about the things nobody tells you. The bits that don’t make it into the leaflets.

Nobody tells you how often you’ll answer the same questions

There are always questions. I get asked at least three times every time I leave the house, more when I’m out on my own and fewer when I’m with other people. Sometimes it isn’t even a question, just someone telling me how good he is. How old is he? How long have you had him? When will he retire?

I don’t mind them, genuinely. I’ll do almost anything to raise awareness of guide dogs, and talking about Dezzie is the easiest awareness raising I will ever do. I like telling people about him.

But it can feel like the same day on repeat. The questions are brand new to the person asking and the third time that day for me. Answering them properly takes energy and patience, and I don’t have either in unlimited supply. Some days I’m tired, or in a hurry, and I give a shorter answer than the person deserves.

That’s the part I feel bad about. The fact that I can’t always be the version of me who wants to answer.

And then there’s that last question. Guide dogs usually retire at around ten, so it’s an easy enough one to answer, but it’s the only one that catches me. Retirement has always been a scary prospect, and more so now I know exactly what level of independence is up for grabs. Someone asks it kindly in a shop, expecting a number, and they get one. What they don’t get is that I’d rather not think about it too hard, and would much rather focus on the time we’ve got and hope he has a long working life ahead of him.

Nobody tells you they had a life before you

Dezzie’s weakness is the beach. We were in Brighton on holiday with friends, and he completely forgot he was working and kept trying to guide me onto the sand. Harness on, tail going, professionalism entirely abandoned.

It turns out his puppy raisers took him to the beach regularly, so it’s clearly his happy place. I don’t live near one, so it isn’t somewhere we go often. Perhaps that’s exactly why it’s so exciting when we do.

I love that he carries that with him. I don’t think I appreciated it in the early days. As you can imagine, I was so focused on us becoming a partnership that I forgot he’d already been someone else’s dog first.

What nobody tells you is that it happens again, in reverse. Three years on, he’s built a life out of my people. He knows exactly who we’re off to see. Shopping with my mum and my sister, brunch with a friend, and he is thrilled about all of it. They’re his people now too, and watching him love them is one of my favourite things about having him.

Nobody tells you how quickly independence becomes normal

This is the big one.

Three years ago I wrote a blog post sat in a cafe with Dezzie asleep at my feet, and I was genuinely emotional about it. Something so ordinary felt enormous.

Now? I do it without thinking. A yoga class. The dentist. The hairdressers. Not one of those is a story.

Part of me misses those firsts. There was something lovely about noticing everything. But this is what independence is supposed to feel like: unremarkable. The fact it’s stopped being a milestone isn’t a loss, it’s the whole point.

Nobody tells you he’ll know things you don’t

The yoga class wasn’t always so ordinary.

It was that time of year when the evenings start closing in, and I came out of class into a dark I hadn’t anticipated. I have less vision once it’s dark, so getting home asked for a level of trust I wasn’t sure I had yet. But there was no choice. I had to get home, and that worried me.

I wouldn’t think twice about it now. Not because my sight at night has improved, because it hasn’t. It’s because the trust has, and that isn’t something anyone can train into you. It just happens, slowly, without you noticing. The real learning happens after training with your guide dog and continues all the way through your partnership.

He’s more than earned it. A taxi once dropped us at a different entrance at work, one I’d only used once before. I was completely disoriented. The building is a square and it all looks the same to me! But “find the way” was more than enough for Dezzie, and he took me straight to the meeting room we needed. How? I still have no idea.

He is not the dog he was at 18 months. He’s calmer, and he knows my routes better than I do. I’m not the same handler either. We’re still learning each other, and I suspect we always will be.

So, what would I tell you?

If you’re on the waiting list, or wondering whether a guide dog is right for you: it isn’t magic and it isn’t effortless. It’s a working relationship with a creature who will, occasionally, try to redirect your entire journey towards a beach.

But it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. He hasn’t just given me independence. He’s made it ordinary.

And here’s the bit that gets me. I applied for a guide dog when I was single and living at home. Five or so years on, I have my own house, I’ve met George, and this month I get married. Dezzie will be waiting at the end of the aisle with George and I can’t wait for that moment.

Three years ago, this dog helped me sit in a cafe on my own. Now he’s part of the biggest day of my life. Thank you for everything so far, Dezmondo. Here’s to the next chapter.

~ Chloe x