Flaky vet

As she came in to the room, the vet said, I met your dad in the waiting room. This struck me as a little odd, although not that odd if you know Dad.

OK, I said and we got to the business of the appointment: Claren's nasty nose. Gram used to sunburn on her back and you always wanted – and some granddaughters did – to peel it for her. That is how Claren's nose looks. The nurse said she wanted to peel it for Claren. It does not seem to bother her, but it is flaky and gross.

The vet, who is not the one I regularly see, was not sure what was wrong but wanted to use a steroid pill to try to heal it. I kept telling her that steroids resulted in bloody diarrhea and the worst health crisis Claren has had.

Finally, we agreed to just try a different topical lotion and to recheck her in two weeks.

The vet then held the door open while I went out into the waiting room. She followed me and proceeded to sit down next to Dad and tell him everything we were doing.

I still don't know what on earth would posses this woman to assume that she needed to fill someone else in on my dog. I can only assume it was the wheelchair.

This vet, though, knows about disabilities firsthand. When we first met last summer, she asked why I was in a chair and told me she had multiple sclerosis.

She did not mean to be rude, I am sure, so it is not like I could berate her.

It just made me feel so small.

You'll be the coolest ...

That is what my niece's teacher said anyway when I told her I wore my Flash T-shirt just for the kids.

I was doing a little talk on service dogs, but Mrs. L said that because they are first-graders, the questions could be about anything.

The questions, though, were quite on-target. I did get asked how I go up and down stairs, but other than that, pretty good and basic stuff: How old, what does she eat, can she do this or that. It was the first service dog talk I have given where someone didn't ask, does she sleep in your bed? So I've got no beef with the kids.

The big hit was when Claren turned off the lights. Someone asked if she could and while she can we had not tried in several years. Claren was up to it, of course. The hardest part was maneuvering into place so she could see the lights. When she got the switch, they cheered.

My niece must have told them no petting so no one asked, but they did ask if they could shake hands and so that was the last thing.

It was fun. If I could talk about Claren full time, I would.

My sister said her daughter was as proud as a mother hen. I am not sure why some of my nieces assume they are my mother but they do.

Here is the speech:

Hi, my name is Matt, and I am Katherine's uncle.

Because my body does not work like yours, I use of special tools to help me. I use a wheelchair to get around. I have a big pole next to my bed to help me get into and out of bed.

But the best tool I have is my service dog Claren.

I got Claren six years ago when most of you were little babies. She is from a group called CCI, which stands for Canine Companions for Independence.

They are in New York so I went up there for two weeks to learn how to take care of her.

Since then, she has gone everywhere with me. I take her to work, to doctors' office, to the dentist.

I take her with me because I am never sure when I will need her. If I drop my cellphone, I can just ask Claren to get it.

She does the hard work of picking up the phone, but we are a team and it is my job to encourage her to get it. I don't want her to get bored.

You all actually have something in common with Claren. You carry your lunch boxes to school every day, right? Well, she carries my lunch bag to work every day.

Her favorite game is tug of war, so she likes to help me pull my shirt or socks or gloves. I'm not taking my shoes off but I brought one of my gloves.

If I put something she can tug on a door or cabinet or even the refrigerator, she is also good at opening them.

She also does all the things dogs do like sit and down and roll.

One of the hardest things about having a service dog is that they are so cute and helpful that everyone wants to pet them. But when other people pet Claren, it actually makes her job harder. Claren works really hard to pay attention to me so when people pet her it distracts her. That's why you aren't supposed to pet service dogs.

I am lucky, in a lot of ways. I do get to pet her. And i get to tell her our favorite command: lap.

Thanks.

I don't feel so grown-up

I wonder if, when I move to the new house, I will still feel like John Hinckley.

Let me explain, quickly, so the Secret Service doesn't raid Mom and Dad's.

I would not hurt anyone.

But I was reading a Washington Post profile of Reagan's would-be assassin. It described him as “a kid on perpetual spring break.”

I am not saying I am John Hinckley 2. I am peaceable and don't have an unhealthy fixation on Jodie Foster. My obsession with Buffy the Vampire Slayer is totally cool, by the way.

But the spring break tag is how I feel a lot, especially on a week like this when I am off.

For my job, I read stories and play on the computer all day. I do that when I am home.

Most of my expenses are for comics or things I will consume. I save a lot for retirement, but that's for me – or my little sister if I kick it early.

My latest expenditure plan – obviously not until after the house it built and I get settled financially – but my plan: Sponsor a little league team, either as Matt's or the Good Kind of Bitter. I would not be doing it to help the kids but because it would make me laugh to see Matt's Orioles or the Good Kind of Bitter Blue Jays.

I asked Mom what I should wear tomorrow when I go talk to my niece's first-grade class about service dogs. Do you want to present yourself as an adult or one of the kids, she said.

I am wearing shorts and my Flash T-shirt. And my spring break continues.

Miles to go

My little sister spent a good chunk of the afternoon at the hospital.

She and another friend went to sit with a third friend whose husband was having exploratory surgery. Apparently, he is fine, which is awesome.

The whole episode shows me that when it comes to having good friends, I am in the rookie leagues. If that.

Am I my sister's keeper? I guess so

I was in the shower this morning when I heard a little voice asking me where Mom was.

I knew where my mom was and told my niece, but she asked again so I answered again.

Then I heard the bathroom door creak open and I pulled the shower curtain back enough to see my niece, who will be 7 in a few weeks.

With her left hand, she was simultaneously trying to pull back the curtain and shield her eyes so she wouldn't see my naked self. She was also crying.

“I can't find my mom,” she told me, “and I'm really upset.”

I said OK, I'll come right out and find her, turning off the water. So what if there was still soap in my hair?

The hardest part was figuring out what to do next. I knew my little sister was around and I also knew that she and her cellphone are joined at the hip, so I wasn't worried about finding her. But I normally I dry off before getting out of the shower. My niece might have called 911 by then, though, I reasoned, so I just plopped my wet self down on my chair and put my towel over me. I didn't even dry off my glasses.

I then went out to give my niece a hug, tell her the world was not over and find her mom.

She wasn't there, which seemed odd, so I called my sister and left a message on her cellphone. Then, because I was sure she was within shouting distance, I called her name.

She came right over and apologized because I did not hear the “I've got her, Matt,” which followed the weepy shower interruption.

I think I need to start locking the bathroom door.