Let me begin by saying I'm a cat person. Since I was a kid, I've always preferred the companionship of felines to canines. I've got nothing against dogs at all, in fact there are few things I love better than having a good roughhouse with a big dog like a St. Bernard or a mastiff. I stand 6 feet 5 inches, so small dogs with a penchant for getting underfoot are simply not an option. Cats, while small, are adept at keeping themselves out of the way of my size-15EEE feet on those rare occasions when I stir from in front of my computer and move about.

Yes, there is the much-discussed cat tendency to attempt to kill humans purposely by tripping them, but one glancing blow from one of my feet soon convinces even the most Loki-inspired of felines to seek other amusement.

So imagine my joy when my better half informed me, when we began discussing the merger of our households, that she was the proud owner of two dogs. I hadn't lived with a dog since my folks had a show dog tri-color collie named Spring Fancy Wilson when I was in grade school. I didn't necessarily dread the prospect, but it also didn't exactly add to my joy.

Then, I met the dogs.

First, we have Daisy, a barrel-shaped mutt with splotches of black on her tongue indicating the possibility of a chow somewhere in her lineage. She's not overly bright, but is possessed of an explosive bark that shames even the beefiest home alarm system siren. Sadly, the items that alert her most frequently is the Evil UPS Truck or its henchman, the Heinous Fedex Truck, but at least I never get surprised by a package delivery.

Her fellow dog, the hound referenced in the title, is Darwin, a lean mutt with a hefty dose of Wheaton terrier who has been blind since birth and was rescued while starving in the street by my partner. His name is perfectly appropriate. While I'm a firm believer in evolution, Darwin's continued existence does make one doubt that whole "survival of the fittest" thing just a bit.

However, Darwin's a dog of hidden talents. I discovered the most intriguing of these the first time I gave him a bath and turned him loose in our fenced back yard without his collar on. He, who normally trotted right along to all his favorite sniffing spots, stopped repeatedly and barked in the general direction of the house and the garage. I watched later that day, and with his collar on there was no such barking. It dawned on me that he was echolocating in much the same way bats do. With his collar jingling and providing constant input, he didn't need any extra sound to know his place. Without it, he had to provide the reference sounds.

Since noticing that, I've become fascinated with watching him in new, unfamiliar environments. On a rare trip to the front yard, it took him two barks to measure the length of my biggest flowerbed so precisely that he turned less than 3 feet past its end. Indoors, when the furniture's been moved, it takes him two or three barks to re-establish the layout of things in his head.

This is a blind dog who never, EVER runs into things unless they've been unexpectedly moved. He goes up and down stairs, obeys all the usual dog commands and even loves playing tug-of-war with one of his rope toys.

What he doesn't like to do is go for walks.

Understand that, to Darwin, his entire world is what he smells and hears. On a walk around the neighborhood, the volume of new and strange sounds and smells can be simply overwhelming to him. Thus it was with no small amount of trepidation that I accepted an invitation from a friend to cart Darwin and Daisy to a local dog park. I knew Daisy would be fine, but how would Darwin react? Daisy, on some level, understands that Darwin's blind. When she plays with him, she always stays close and never tries to get him to chase her. She wrestles with him, and doesn't run off until she's done playing.

I actually almost refused the invite until I remembered the feral cats. When I first moved in, the back yard was not fenced, and thus all outdoor excursions were closely monitored. Daisy was clipped to a long lead rope, but Darwin was free to roam. How far was he going to run, after all?

The neighborhood feral cats held court in the then-wild space behind our property, and frequently a group of them could be seen sunning at the bramble's edge, where our yard started, well out of the reach of the snarling Daisy. Darwin would pad over to them with his odd high-stepping gait, and they would not startle, flee or react in any way. He'd drop to his belly and make playful barks, and they would stretch and yawn. He even, on several occasions, approached the largest "mamacat" and nuzzled her, receiving not a single clawmark on his nose for his offense. Somehow the cats, too, knew he was different.

So to the dog park we went, with me watching Darwin very closely. We let the dogs off their leashes once we entered, and Daisy stuck with her pack brother for a bit, then forgot or was distracted by a small, smelly object and wandered off.

Every dog, without exception, treated Darwin the same way: They accepted his snuffling approach with equanimity, and greeted his excited yelps and playful advances as they would a littermate. It was stunning. From Irish wolfhounds to cocker spaniels, every dog there was Darwin's brother or sister.

There's a lesson for us bipeds in there somewhere, but I'll leave it to the philosophers to figure out.

To find a dog park near you, click here, and be sure to keep your eye out for blind dogs. Just look for the crowd of happy dogs.

Got anything weird going on in your world? Drop me a line, anytime!