The Blind Girl Who Taught Me to Love

Written by Angus J. de Jager

Professional photography by Marique Photography 

A short story about a blind, deaf Dachshund and the things she taught me about being content.

Jill had the worst kind of start in life. She and her two sisters came from a backyard breeder who’d bred two dappled Dachshunds together – a combination that’s known to carry serious genetic risk. The result was three puppies with severe disabilities. Jill was born completely blind and deaf. Her eyes had barely developed at all, and sound was something she’d never know.

To the breeder, the puppies were a problem rather than a responsibility, and the plan was to put them down. Cape Dachshund Rescue stepped in and saved all three. They were saved from being killed, and they were given the chance of a life nobody had been willing to offer them. The parent dogs were sterilised so that no more litters like this one would follow.

A journey of 2,000 kilometres

Jill was brought from the Eastern Cape to Cape Town, where she was advertised as a special-needs girl looking for a safe and committed home.

At the same time, we were still raw with grief two weeks after our Molly crossed the rainbow bridge. We believe that when a dog leaves us, their final wish isn’t for us to grow hard with sorrow and fear of loving again. It’s for us to open our hearts to the next animal who needs special care and love.

The moment we saw Jill’s advert we fell in love with her. Something in me said I had to try.

There was, however, one small complication: Jill was in Cape Town, and we were in Pretoria – almost two thousand kilometres away.

The rescue was understandably cautious. A blind and deaf dog needs a safe and stable home, and they had no way of knowing whether mine would be suitable. I told them I’d cover everything and collect her myself. We went through the full adoption process, including a home check. The process was thorough – as it should be. I still had to go through an evaluation and safety checks. Someone came to my house to make sure Jill would be safe. Only after I’d received formal approval did we make the trip. Throughout, the people from Cape Dachshund Rescue and The Dachshund Haven, who handled all the inspections, paperwork and approvals with us, were incredible. It was so refreshing to work with people who are strict but fair, so that the animals always get the best forever home.

Having received the approval, the next stage could begin. I booked tickets for my daughters, for Janine and for me, and we flew down to Cape Town together. I hired a large car at the airport, and we drove to collect her.

We met for the first time – this tiny girl who could neither see nor hear us – and then we turned the car towards home and began the twelve-hour drive back to Pretoria, with our little girl beside us.

Learning that food was safe

In the beginning, caring for Jill was all about keeping her safe. She’d learnt to gulp down her food because she’d grown up competing with dogs who could see, racing to find her bowl before the others got to it. More than once, I had to save her from choking.

So I started feeding her on her own in the study, just off the kitchen, away from the other dogs. I wanted her to learn that food was no longer a contest. She could relax. She could take her time. She was safe.

Then one day, while I was getting the dogs’ food ready, I noticed Jill had disappeared. I went looking for her and found her already waiting in the study. She’d caught the smell of the food, remembered the routine, and taken herself to the exact place where she knew her bowl would arrive.

This little girl, born without sight and sound, had mapped love. She’d mapped safety. She’d mapped home.

How Jill knows her world

If I had to describe Jill in a single word, it would be love.

Her sense of smell is incredibly sharp. When she’s lying on the couch and I walk into the house, she knows immediately that I’m home and comes to greet me. She’s mapped most of the house and gets around on her own, helped by the ramps we’ve installed for her. She still bumps into things when we move the furniture, but she patiently works out the new layout.

Jill shares the couch with our two old ladies, Mia and Sandy, and adores soft toys and teddy bears, carrying them around the house as though they’re her little companions.

Since the day she arrived, Jill has slept in my bed and is thoroughly convinced she’s human. Because she cannot manage stairs, I carry her up to my room on the first floor each night. To give her independence at the edge of the bed, I installed a ramp she can walk up or down on her own if she needs to go outside.

Every night we have our game at bedtime. In the bottom of my cupboard I keep many of her favourite toys. Just before we settle, she waits for me to open the cupboard so she can choose her toy for the night. She takes her time, sniffing through them one by one until she finally chooses her companion. Then we climb into bed and she cuddles up with it.

It’s a small thing, but it’s sacred to me.

What Jill taught me

When Jill first came into my life, I thought I was the one rescuing her. What I actually received was an angel who’s taught me more about unconditional love than any person ever has. Jill cannot see me or hear my voice. She knows the world only through smell, through touch, and through taste when she eats. Yet she never rages against the unfairness of her start, and she never complains about a single thing she faces. She simply wakes up grateful, happy to love and to be loved.

I work easily sixteen hours a day, and I’m still studying, so the pressure rarely lets up. When I’m in a bad place or when my soul needs resetting, it’s Jill who does it for me.

What Jill has done in my life is teach me how to be content with whatever cards you’re dealt and how to love without conditions. She doesn’t spend her days dwelling on everything she can’t do. She wakes up, loves, plays, eats, chooses her teddy and gets on with being Jill.

That’s made me think about how easily we lose sight of what we already have. It strikes me how many of us are no longer grateful for the small things, or even for the small blessings already in our lives. Nothing in life will ever be perfect, but what you choose to focus on is what you draw into your life. Jill grounds me every time I catch myself starting to complain about everything that’s going wrong or has gone wrong.

The gift of inner peace

I’ve reached a stage in my life where I value peace and try to keep my distance from people who leave a trail of unhappiness behind them. My soul needs peace in a chaotic world. Jill was born with every reason to fear the world, and she chose joy instead. She was given limitations, and she built a map. She was denied fairness, and she gives love. She was almost discarded, and she became someone’s peace. My peace.

It’s now almost four years later, and Jill is thriving. She’s mapped our entire home in her mind and gets almost everywhere on her own. She knows when I’m home. She knows where her food will be. She knows where her toys are. She knows where her bed is.

Most importantly, she knows she’s loved.

At first, I believed I was the one doing the saving. The truth, which I’m only a little embarrassed to admit, is that Jill has saved me just as surely as I saved her.

We’ve since adopted our second special needs girl, Baby. Once you’ve seen how hard these overlooked little ones love, you cannot unsee it. They’re not a burden. They’re a gift.

If you have room in your home and your heart, the special ones love just as hard as any other. Sometimes harder. Adopt. Don’t just shop!

You may just find your own peace.