What do you think?
Rate this book
My Eyes Have A Cold Nose
Paperback
Published January 1, 1946
1 person is currently reading
15 people want to read
About the author
Hector Chevigny
25 books1 followerHector Chevigny was a radio writer and author of several popular historical novels about Alaska. He received his B.A. from Gonzaga University in 1927 and did postgraduate work at the University of Washington in 1928. He began his writing career as the editor of the Spokane, Washington, County News and then broke into radio with Seattle's station KOMO in 1928, as a scriptwriter for "Pioneers." He also taught a course on Radio Writing for the University of Washington.
In 1935 he moved to Hollywood and became a Director at CBS, where he scripted comedy and drama programs for their radio department.
In 1935 he moved to Hollywood and became a Director at CBS, where he scripted comedy and drama programs for their radio department.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
August 8, 2025
I first encountered My Eyes Have a Cold Nose in physical hardcopy braille when I was in the fifth grade, at a time when my access to books was severely limited. What felt like a restriction then turned out to be a quiet blessing—because it nurtured in me a deep and lasting reverence for the written word, one I might not have developed had I been able to read anything and everything at will. I did not pick up the book for the story of a dog, nor did I care or have much knowledge of guide dogs at that time. I read it because I was interested in the human who wrote it. I was drawn to the voice behind the words--Hector Chevigny—and the story of his life.
Chevigny, a Los Angeles radio scriptwriter, lost his eyesight due to retinal detachment. In this memoir, first published in 1946, he recounts what he calls his “initiation into being blind after a series of failed surgeries, chronicling the raw and often isolating process of adjusting to blindness, training at The Seeing Eye with his dog Wizzard, and returning to a profession (and a society) that was not always prepared to treat him as a competent, whole human being. He writes candidly about the well-meaning but frequently misguided responses of friends, family, strangers, and institutional systems—many of which sought to protect or assist, but in doing so, often limited rather than empowered.
I remembered this book recently during a conversation with one of my service dog clients who spoke about the independence and companionship her dog had brought into her life. New to the world of service and guide dogs, she waas asking for a list of books written by other handlers. That conversation prompted me to revisit My Eyes Have a Cold Nose at the age of 45—now with much more life lived, many more books read, and a deeper appreciation for the quiet power of Chevigny’s narrative.
What I found was that my early admiration for the book has only deepened. Chevigny’s prose is direct, reflective, and unembellished. His description of training with Wizzard and his return to the rhythms of daily life—like something as seemingly simple as getting a haircut—is quietly radical. He never sentimentalizes his experience, nor does he present himself as an object of inspiration. Instead, he offers something far more meaningful: a deeply human story about loss, adjustment, identity, and dignity.
Although this book was published in 1946, much of what Chevigny wrote still holds true today. The tension between assistance and autonomy, the barriers--often unintentional--that society places in front of disabled individuals, and the need to be treated not as a symbol or a burden, but simply as a thinking, feeling, and very capable person—these remain strikingly relevant.
I rarely offer direct book recommendations to a general audience, because I believe reading is an intensely personal and subjective experience. What resonates with one reader may not resonate with another. That said, if a reader is seeking a heart-warming story about a cutesy and lovable doggy who goes on fun adventures with his human, this is likely not the book they’re looking for. If a reader is uncomfortable with nuance, with the complexities of being human and living with disability, they may not find what they’re hoping for here.
But for the reader who is open to an honest and clear-eyed portrayal of one man's life reshaped by blindness (not defeated by it), My Eyes Have a Cold Nose offers something quietly extraordinary. Chevigny’s voice is steady and sincere, and his story, though personal, speaks to broader questions of agency, resilience, and the ways we navigate the world--not just with dogs, but with other humans, and with ourselves.
Chevigny, a Los Angeles radio scriptwriter, lost his eyesight due to retinal detachment. In this memoir, first published in 1946, he recounts what he calls his “initiation into being blind after a series of failed surgeries, chronicling the raw and often isolating process of adjusting to blindness, training at The Seeing Eye with his dog Wizzard, and returning to a profession (and a society) that was not always prepared to treat him as a competent, whole human being. He writes candidly about the well-meaning but frequently misguided responses of friends, family, strangers, and institutional systems—many of which sought to protect or assist, but in doing so, often limited rather than empowered.
I remembered this book recently during a conversation with one of my service dog clients who spoke about the independence and companionship her dog had brought into her life. New to the world of service and guide dogs, she waas asking for a list of books written by other handlers. That conversation prompted me to revisit My Eyes Have a Cold Nose at the age of 45—now with much more life lived, many more books read, and a deeper appreciation for the quiet power of Chevigny’s narrative.
What I found was that my early admiration for the book has only deepened. Chevigny’s prose is direct, reflective, and unembellished. His description of training with Wizzard and his return to the rhythms of daily life—like something as seemingly simple as getting a haircut—is quietly radical. He never sentimentalizes his experience, nor does he present himself as an object of inspiration. Instead, he offers something far more meaningful: a deeply human story about loss, adjustment, identity, and dignity.
Although this book was published in 1946, much of what Chevigny wrote still holds true today. The tension between assistance and autonomy, the barriers--often unintentional--that society places in front of disabled individuals, and the need to be treated not as a symbol or a burden, but simply as a thinking, feeling, and very capable person—these remain strikingly relevant.
I rarely offer direct book recommendations to a general audience, because I believe reading is an intensely personal and subjective experience. What resonates with one reader may not resonate with another. That said, if a reader is seeking a heart-warming story about a cutesy and lovable doggy who goes on fun adventures with his human, this is likely not the book they’re looking for. If a reader is uncomfortable with nuance, with the complexities of being human and living with disability, they may not find what they’re hoping for here.
But for the reader who is open to an honest and clear-eyed portrayal of one man's life reshaped by blindness (not defeated by it), My Eyes Have a Cold Nose offers something quietly extraordinary. Chevigny’s voice is steady and sincere, and his story, though personal, speaks to broader questions of agency, resilience, and the ways we navigate the world--not just with dogs, but with other humans, and with ourselves.
Displaying 1 of 1 review