A Blind Man, His Dog, and 9/11 Story of Unwavering Trust

The morning of September 11, 2001, began like any other for Michael Hingson. As he settled into his office on the 78th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, his faithful companion Roselle, a five-year-old yellow Labrador retriever, lay quietly beside him. Blind since birth, Michael had long relied on Roselle not just as a guide dog, but as his most trusted partner in navigating life's challenges.

At 8:46 AM, the world changed forever.

The first impact was more than just a sound—it was a violent tremor that shook the entire building. Michael felt the sudden jolt, the walls vibrating with an intensity that spoke of something catastrophically wrong. Around him, panic began to spread like wildfire, with colleagues shouting and running. But Roselle remained remarkably calm, her body tense but controlled, her eyes focused and alert.

In that moment, their years of training together would be put to the ultimate test.

Roselle's training with Guiding Eyes for the Blind had prepared her for far more than simple navigation. She was a highly skilled professional, trained to make split-second decisions in the most challenging environments. As smoke began to fill the corridors and the sounds of chaos intensified, she did something extraordinary—she assessed the situation with a level of intelligence that seemed almost human.

Michael would later describe how Roselle's body language changed. She wasn't just guiding; she was strategizing. Her movements became more deliberate, her stops and starts calculated. When a section of the corridor became impassable due to debris and smoke, she didn't panic. Instead, she carefully led Michael to an alternative route, her nose working overtime to detect the safest path.

The stairwell was a scene of unimaginable chaos. Hundreds of people were trying to escape, pushing and shoving, their fear palpable in the thick, smoke-filled air. Yet Roselle moved with precision, her body always positioned to protect Michael. She would pause when the crowd became too dense, wait for a moment of clarity, and then guide him forward with gentle but firm nudges.

At one point, a massive piece of falling debris crashed just feet away from them. In that split second, Roselle's training kicked in. She pushed Michael against the wall, her body a shield, her growl a warning. Other dogs might have been paralyzed by fear, but Roselle remained focused on her primary mission—keeping Michael safe.

Their descent was a testament to trust. Michael couldn't see the destruction around him, but he could feel every movement of Roselle's body. Each step was a communication, each pause a conversation. They weren't just moving; they were surviving together.

Hour after hour, floor after floor, Roselle guided Michael through what seemed like an endless nightmare. The heat was intense, the air thick with smoke and dust. Many would have given up, but not Roselle. Her breathing remained steady, her movements calculated and precise.

When they finally reached the ground floor, the world outside was unrecognizable. Dust covered everything, people were running in all directions, and the sound of sirens filled the air. Just moments after they emerged, the North Tower collapsed—a thunderous roar that seemed to consume everything in its path.

But Roselle's job wasn't done. Even in the midst of complete chaos, she remained focused on her primary task—protecting Michael. She guided him away from the collapsing building, away from the dust and debris, finding a safe space amidst the destruction.

In the days and weeks that followed, their story would become a symbol of hope. Roselle wasn't just a guide dog—she was a hero. She had navigated Michael through one of the most terrifying moments in modern history, her intelligence, training, and unwavering loyalty saving not just a life, but preserving a testament to the extraordinary bond between humans and dogs.

Michael would later write in his book "Thunder Dog" that Roselle wasn't just an animal—she was a partner, a protector, a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. Her actions that day went beyond training. They spoke to something deeper—an intuitive understanding, a connection that transcended words.

Roselle was awarded the Dickin Medal, often called the "Animal Victoria Cross," recognizing her extraordinary heroism. But for Michael, the real reward was simple: they had survived together.

In the years that followed, their story would inspire countless others. It became more than just a tale of survival—it was a powerful reminder of the incredible capabilities of service dogs, of the deep bonds we share with our animal companions, and of the quiet heroism that can emerge in the most unexpected moments.

As Michael would often say, "Roselle didn't just guide me down 78 floors that day. She showed the world what true partnership looks like."

Now, Michael is a public speaker, a best-selling author, and works for accessiBe, a product that makes websites more accessible for blind people. He is their Chief Vision Officer. 

To this day, Michael says that Roselle was one of the most easy going dogs that he had ever known. 

Michael Hingson and his trusted guide dog, Roselle.

She played when she could, and worked when she had to.

And she always took her job seriously.

Looking back, Michael says he is grateful for his four-legged guide dog, the one who kept him and others calm, while guiding her human down 78 grueling flights of stairs.

Roselle lived until age 14. She died in the summer of 2011, ten years ago. 

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