I’m sat dozing in the back of a taxi, heading home after a late work event. Chester is laid on the floor next to me in the back of the comfortable MPV, exhausted after such a busy day.

As we head on into the night my eyes flicker open and I attempt to gather my bearings. Not so long ago, I would be able to pick out a landmark or the flash of a road sign to get an indication of how far there is to go, but not tonight. Instead I concentrate on the smooth, soft leather of the lead which is held loosely in my hand. Although I can’t see him, I can sense Chester’s presence on the floor beside me. Listening to his gentle breathing and hearing the odd yip as he dreams away, I muse that only a few short months ago this was all a pipe dream. How I longed for that phone call to inform me they had a potential match and that renewed freedom it would bring. I’ve said before how much more than a simple mobility aid these dogs are. They are true companions and I simply cannot imagine life without him. He inspires so much confidence in me, something I have missed for far too long.

As the car rumbles onwards my eyelids begin to drop again and I drift back into my reverie, trying to remember the time before my sight loss began to take hold. The funny thing is that I can only remember snippets of that life such as the fleeting memory of those key events – setting my eyes on Kath for the first time, seeing her glance across with those dark hazel eyes and her wry anxious smile; that feeling as the kids, newly born and cradled in my arms curling their tiny hand around my little finger whilst they look up with their wide awestruck eyes taking in this brand-new world and all its wonders. All of these memories will stick with me forever.

We put so much emphasis on these visual memories as if, somehow, the other senses are less worthy. But if you think about it, the tear a certain piece of music can bring to your eye or the memory a particular scent can invoke is often equally strong so why do we put so much emphasis on these visual memories?

There is a view that our remaining senses improve as others degrade but I disagree, what I do acknowledge is that we become more tuned into the others and truly appreciate them for what they are. I find it so strange how perceptions change as we lose our senses and people automatically assume that we are worth less simply because we do not have full use of them. Every day there are so many members of the sight-loss community living fully enriched lives, going toe-to-toe as it were, with our sighted contemporaries and proving that we are just as qualified to be in the positions we are in and yet in some way our achievements are dismissed or justified as exceptions and we are put on pedestals rather than simply accepted for who we are. It’s as if people are afraid that if they acknowledge our ability to live “normal” lives it diminishes their own achievements.

I snap back into reality as we come off the motorway and are minutes from home. I feel the car slow as it goes up the slip road – edging left before the driver makes a correction into the right-hand lane so we can go around the roundabout. I feel us slow for the traffic lights and then sweep round the roundabout before the sharp left-right-left and then up the hill. We slow for the speed camera about half-way up and continue to follow the road until another sharp left down the hill and then right at the bottom. Over the speed bumps and then another double-left. At this point I feel Chester’s lead go tight – he know’s we are nearly home and his day’s work is finally at an end.

Once in the house, he has one final zoomie and then settles on the floor at my feet – exhausted and satisfied after another hard day’s work.