nonplussedpilot

It’s really another child.  We have had another child.

That’s how I am now thinking about Merrows.  Oh yeah, there was no 1st trimester nausea, no aching back, no stretch marks and, happily, no more diapers to change.  But the addition of a dog–service animal or not–forever changes the dynamic in our family.  I used to think we had our plates full with just two kids.

Hardly–hah.  O how naive I was.  Now we have a third mouth to feed, groom, bathe, comb and make poop in the correct place.  We also are going to be home schooling this girl, so to speak.  Although Merrows has been in training for the better part of the last year, at 14 months old, she’s still an adolescent.  Our trainers told us all when we received our dogs that this was the case.  In other words, she can be bright, sleepy, creative, lazy and possess a photogenic personality yet still not want to get in the car with her parents for any reason.  That’s what we have.

And as we’re trying to undertake with our ‘real’ kids, it takes two dedicated parents to accomplish the job of raising a stable, well-adjusted child.  This requires Kat and I to act in concert.  Same commands, same boundaries, same methods of reward.

To be honest, we are a work in progress too.  Kat and I have different attributes.  We handle the stressors of life in different ways.  We were raised differently, in different households.  So when we married, we have had to blend these lifetimes of experience and distill some essence for our kids.  As I mentioned at the top, Merrows is our new kid.

Alex was a handful again at times today.  We headed to a relatively far-away park to practice tracking some more.  The reason for this is obvious.  If you try to play this game of hide and seek, the dog will eventually learn where all the good hiding places are.  When we arrived, there was a very colorful, attractive, compelling interactive art/play area.  Both Drew and Alex hit the pavement and went scampering towards it.  In my own tracking mode, I launched the helicopter to follow them, my concern mostly being Alex.  I had left his helmet back in the car and by the time we were at the play area, it was a good 200 feet away.

Alex and Drew were both fascinated with the exhibits.  Big and vibrant on a bright, clear spring morning, they smiled and giggled as they explored the place.  Kat called me on my cell phone to get my attention, saying I needed to bring Alex a little closer to where she was with Merrows, because in order to effectively track a child, the dog has to establish where she last saw the child.  I needed to bring Alex closer.

Alex didn’t agree that this was a worthwhile investment in his interest, so he fell to the ground in protest, fists quickly colliding with his skull.  Remember where I put his helmet?

It devolved from there.  As the trainer was waiting next to Kat and Merrows to begin the tracking exercise, I made the next of a couple of tactical errors today.  I just scooped up a very upset, writhing Alex and brought him close enough so Merrows could establish that visual point of last contact.  Then, still protesting, I carried Alex away from the play area to hide.

Eventually, and with good skill, Merrows tracked us down in the weeds a ways away. By then, Alex had calmed a little.  But I definately had stirred him, which is not something I advise to anyone.  As a walked back carrying Alex towards the car with Kat, Merrows and Jessa the dog trainer, Alex reared back with his head and clocked me in the right ear.  It hurt so much I practically saw stars.  I staggered for a few steps then attempted to regain my composure.  This is not an easy thing to do.

Quick aside:  Kat and I made the observation that of the dozen other special needs children in our training class, Alex is by far the most mercurial and violent.  That makes us sad.  Yes, the other kids might have their outbursts and may yell and otherwise have what I term as a “high-speed come-apart”.  But no other child has demonstrated the ability to hurt someone else like our Alex when he is upset.  This sucks.

We got back to the car.  Kat put on Alex’s helmet and I worked on holding on to Merrow’s leash while digging through the cooler for a snack–something that might be helpful in bringing Alex down.  Please–I know–this is not to make it sound like a reward for Alex’s behaviour.  It was to be a powerful distractor–sometimes all he needs to settle down.  When you just had your bell rung, you revert to some knee-jerk methods of coping.  It’s stressful, for chrissake.

We didn’t have to wait more than 10 minutes and it was our turn to track Alex again. This time it would be Kat who would lead him in the direction necessary for good practice.  Alas, Alex was not too keen on the idea of walking through 100 yards of dewy grass.  So Kat had to carry him, pull him, cajole him, helmet and all, all the way out of sight.  I could tell by his little flailing fists that he was protesting every step of the way.

I began my track with Merrows.  She performed well, eventually finding Alex and Kat next to a small stream on the edge of the park.  When Kat told me she had to essentially carry Alex all the way here, I told her that she will never have to carry him if and when he escapes our sight for real.  Cold comfort to a weary, stressed mom of a child with autism.  I was sorry.

We broke for lunch and drove back to the hotel.  I had a beer with mine.  (Just one.)  The break (and 12 ounces of malted beverage for me) helped all of us settle down.

This afternoon’s exercise would be tracking indoors.  For this we were to again meet in the mall.  And once again the gathering of 11 service dogs in a public place was a sight to behold.  Collectively, we were all the center of attention.

While we waited for our turn to track, Kat and I gave our first shot at tethering Alex to Merrows.  As I mentioned yesterday, tethering is literally attaching the child to the animal via a 6 foot strap.  We used a large, soft dog collar as a harness for Alex (no, not around his neck) around his midsection and attached the D ring of it to the strap, then to Merrows’ tracking harness.  Kat used her leash and simply commanded Merrows to heel.  Alex looked around as if to say “Hey?  What’s going on here?” but eventually we were off to the races.  I held my breath the entire time, fully expecting Alex to explode in a fit of protest, but he didn’t.  Wow.  He whined just a little, but for the most part just kept on walking right along a few steps behind Merrows.  Color me surprised.

We headed back to where the other dogs were congregating and uncoupled Alex from Merrows.  It was now our turn to practice tracking indoors.  Together again with Jessa, he headed into the nearby JCPenny store to hide among the clothing racks.  I misunderstood Jessa’s command to hide only two dozen steps away, so it took Merrows several minutes to find Alex and I.  But we practiced again and again until we had the basic idea.  We can practice this more when we are at the hotel.

We fell into our evening, post-class routine.  Alex took a few showers.  They help him regulate himself like nothing else.  Plus the water’s abundant and hot–and included in the cost of the room (me being a cheapskate and all).  Eating in shifts, I got Alex dressed again so we could practice tracking around the hotel.  This time Drew was able to participate.  He loved coming with Kat or I as we took turns guiding Merrows to Alex.  He helped to gush praise over her when her job was well done.  Another high point to the day.

We put the kids to bed without drama and quickly followed them.  Kat and I had a little pow-wow before we hit the pillow, admitting where we had failed today.  We agreed to be proactive instead of reactive, and more prepared for tomorrow’s tracking.  We need to get this right–together.  There is no time to waste.  We have another child now.  Our success with Merrows hinges upon our ability to rise to this challenge.

How do we do it?  Is it obligation?  Love?  Inertia?  How do we do the same things over and over and over again for our kids–especially our kids that have special needs?

I was wondering this today as I monitored a hurried, scattershot lunch I had provided via leftovers and a sandwich from Subway.  Drew, Alex, his buddy Robert and his father Steve were all eating lunch again on a long folding table in the training center strewn with bits and pieces of a wooden train set.  There was little room for actual plates, so we made do with napkins.  A bottle of water for Alex and jug of chocolate milk for Drew, a can of Coke Zero for me.  Parallel to me was a similarly crammed table, hosting the meals of two other service dog families.  Same kind of presentation, a ramen noodle container, some macaroni and cheese with bits of hot dog, apple slices and potato chips.  Nothing fancy.  Just as we have served probably hundreds of times, this menu was chosen for ease of preparation, economy and most importantly, popularity.

Little snippets of conversations sink in about what the other families have dealt with up to this point.  Seizures in utero and beyond, meds given through feeding tubes sticking out of otherwise normal looking tummies, lost children found atop playground equipment a block away–completely naked, diets consisting of pepperoni, rice crispies, burnt bacon, sugar and salt.  Some kids can talk quite clearly.  Others, like our Alex, cannot.  Each one of us has had to carry a large, heavy burden up a steep grade.

All of us are here to receive and train with our four-legged, furry new family members in the hopes of a better quality of life.  It might not make the burden much lighter, but it may lessen the slope of the landscape.  And for us, every little bit helps.  Exactly how these dogs might help us was further explained to us yesterday and I frankly forgot to write about it:  Tethering.  This is literally connecting the child to the dog (or vice versa, I guess) via a sturdy 6 foot nylon strap.  Pretty effective, if you think about it.  So many of us parents have taken our kids to a mall, store, airport or whatever large, chaotic place…stopped to look at something more closely and then suddenly our kid is nowhere to be seen.  A service dog doing his or her tethering job would make our lives immeasurably easier.

Practicing this with the dog is quite hilarious to watch.  Command the dog ‘down’, then simulate a wayward child pulling on the tether connected to the dog’s harness.  The dog, all 75 lbs. of them, merely slides along the ground.  They don’t get up, they don’t bark or try to bite.  They just…lay there.  And most of the dogs get this look on their faces as if to say “uh, why am I moving?” yet they do not get irritated, nor do they rise to stand.  Which ultimately slows the child down big time.  Pretty effective.

The other skill we have been practicing now for several days–tracking.  This one is cool to watch and fun to participate in, too.  Recall yesterday our intrepid canine was having some difficulty picking up on Kat’s commands and tracking Alex’s scent.  Today, though, I did much better with her.  Merrows gets very enthusiastic about tracking anyone–and this is exactly what is hoped for in a service animal.  If you think about it, this is what you want…an animal that is totally fired up to find your kid.  So, we have been taught to gently but enthusiastically stoke Merrow’s enthusiasm and skill.  In fact, we are to periodically practice this with her once we get her back home.  This should be fun, because she really goes crazy when we shower her with praise and rubbies after she finds Alex.

Speaking of Alex, he had a pretty decent day today.  No great journeys to restaurants or malls today.  No big changes to routine.  I did have to make him wear the helmet for about an hour or so, but compared to other days since we arrived, he was more mild than ever.  Which means we each had a good day.

Tomorrow, we are again going to be tracking Alex.  We will also practice indoor tracking at the local mall.  Up until now, we have only practiced tracking outside.  Inside, of course, is just as necessary.  And other than Merrow’s indoor poopage, it was fun day.  We hope for more of the same tomorrow.

So again we do this.  All this.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Why?  I’d say that in Alex’s case, we do it because we love the little guy even if he may never be able to say this sentiment to us.  He deserves it.  And like Merrows’ love, it is unconditional.  He is ours.  Parenthood isn’t for wimps.

I was pleased to write that we had reasonable success with Alex (and Drew) yesterday.  Drew is usually easy, but after being away from home for 7 days, it really is such a joy to have him with us.  He’s not bored, he plays well with other kids near his age, including two boys on the autism spectrum.  It just reaffirms to Kat and I that we have a very intelligent, bright and accepting, compassionate young man in our home.

Alex showed us some of what he was made of today, too.  As we left the hotel, I did have to place his helmet on him.  He mewled most of the way to the training center with a couple of half-hearted punches thrown at his slightly bruised legs, as if to say “This sucks!”  Well…perhaps it does for you, pal.  But you’re still gonna have to put up with this training for another week.  Sorry.

We started with tracking again.  This time I was sent out with Alex to a hiding spot at least a block away.  Kat was left back where we all parked our cars, waiting for the signal from Jessa to hunt us down.  Eventually Merrows found Alex and I, but it took some time.  With Kat holding on to the lead, it was up to her to try to rev up the dog to get excited about the impending search.  Unfortunately, if one does not have a similar way of speaking to the dog (inflection, tone quality, word choice), the dog might just look at you like you’ve got nothing but marbles in your mouth.  Not only this, once the dog is searching for the scent of the child, if the person who is holding on to the leash holds on too tightly, the dog might misinterpret this resistance as contradictory.  Like saying “Go!” but holding her back at the same time.  Give the dog too much slack on the leash and the dog won’t sense the proper urgency.  The dog needs to know that you, the handler, are “in on the hunt, too”.  The gods are in the details.

The weather today was cool and damp.  Conditions like this tend to be ideal for getting the dog’s best effort, but can almost be too perfect.  Merrows did find at least one dead bird and one dead frog, which seemed to really preoccupy her.  I will try as her handler tomorrow, hoping to effectively parrot the enthusiastic voice of her previous (successful) trainers.

During this time Alex’s helmet remained affixed .  Although looking mollified, he was still reluctant to allow me the deference to take it off of him.  While we waited for class to resume again at the center, I spoke with Alex’s head ABA therapist.  She agreed that Alex’s helmet might be meeting his need to feel pressure on his head.  In turn, it would offer the feeling of security and allow him to relax easier.  But, she said, I do need to attempt to remove the helmet every 5 minutes or so.  If he lets me, he’s doing better.  This occurred finally about 90 minutes after I needed to place it on his head.  Again with the details.

As the class lecture resumed, led by Jeremy the training director, Alex contented himself by poking at the same Fisher Price counting app on his iPad.  Whatever it takes.  He was good until we attempted to break for lunch with our friends at a local Chipotle restaurant.  We hadn’t done this before, so Alex was not familiar with the area.  He reverted to flying fists again at the thought of just exiting the car.  On went the helmet again.

This is another hurdle for Kat and I.  Having to shepherd Drew and Alex–and now Merrows–into a restaurant required more attention than we had today.  Alex won’t himself be sidling up to the order counter for a burrito yet.  And Merrows needs our attention, too.  Suffice to say, “lunch break” for me was confining Alex to a tiny stool in the corner of the eatery while attempting to interest him in a cheese quesadilla and some yogurt.  I ate 90 minutes later when I returned with my cold leftovers to the hotel room.  Kat was having difficulties of her own trying to keep Merrows beneath the table while she ate.  It seemed quite tempting for our pooch to want to sneak up towards any loose morsel of food that might have fallen to the floor like manna from heaven.  Although I love the idea of Merrows being a food vacuum cleaner for us, we are trying our best to keep her safe and healthy with her diet.  We failed to clear this hurdle today, alas.

The rest of the day went pleasantly enough.  Alex and I played together at our hotel room.  Alex loved to watch a few YouTube videos that I pulled up for him.  He would sit on my lap and pick up my hand, directing it toward the keyboard as if to say “show it to me again”.  I would then ask him to either use the sign language symbol for “more” or just say the word.  To my surprise and delight, Alex softly said “more”.  I love that.  Every so often, in the white noise of his whining, he will clearly, softly, enunciate very common words like this.  I hope speech therapy can pull more of this out of him.  Another loose end we must tie up soon.

This evening saw us winding down in a familiar ritual of dinner for Alex prepared and served by Kat while Drew and I went for a brief swim in the indoor pool at the Holiday Inn next door.  Our own hotel pool (outdoor) is not yet open for the season.  When we returned, we ate in the large, comfortable hotel lobby.  This time, we brought Merrows with us.  She did better here for Kat, but still attempted to position herself for any little snack she might find on the floor.  Afterward, she delighted everyone–especially Alex–by smothering him with licks while he rolled in ecstasy at our feet.  Alex’s laughter is like hearing angels sing.  And for Merrows to be enjoying herself, too…well I think we have found a good, good dog.

After heading back to our room, I decided to take Merrows to the local supermarket with me for a few things we needed.  She hopped into the car with little effort this time–she is getting better at this.  When I took her into the supermarket, my goal was for her to practice heeling and sitting when I stopped.  Often, Merrows would stop and just stand there–but not sit.  This is not the ideal.  Unfortunately, my ability to correct her seemed minimal tonight.  She would only sit with the greatest of effort on my part–repeated “no’s” with a simultaneous snap of her training collar.  And when she did sit, she would often slide into a “down” position.  Not what we want.  I get the sense that my not having much “leash time” with her has made her at the very least unfamiliar with my voice and directives.  Or maybe it’s some other detail.  I will discuss this again with our trainers tomorrow morning.

Regardless, it is not difficult in the least to fall in love with Merrows.  She is soft and smily and energetic and engaging.  A wonderful creature that you just want to put your arms around and hug.  Very endearing.  We hope, however, to get her to respond to our commands as easily as we are smitten by her personality.

Today was one of those hand-to-forehead slappers, where you just can’t quite make sense of much.  Alex had a surprisingly different day today.  And I am not sure why, precisely.  As I mentioned to another parent this morning as we were remarking about our kids, what I don’t know about autism could fill a warehouse.  Color me chagrined.

So, here’s how the day went.  Alex slept well–again.  For him, day 6 of sleeping on the floor of the closet with nothing but three or four soft, fuzzy blankets beneath him all lumpy and uneven.  Go figure.  When we went to load up the car, I steeled myself for his displeased response.  And, as expected, the pouty lip and whining started…followed almost immediately by the self-injury–fists smacking his head.  When I attempted to block them he resorted to banging the back of his head into the wall.  I put his helmet on him.  More whining, crying and attempts to strike himself.  Of course he won’t be able to hit his head, but his hands certainly will hurt…

So far, this is what I expected of the day.  We head over to the training center.  By the time we get there (it’s about a 15 minute drive), Alex is reasonably calm.  We park…Kat takes Drew and Merrows into the building and I focus my attention on removing Alex’s helmet.  He protests by trying to push my hands away from the straps that hold it to his head.  Strange, but not entirely uncommon for him to not want his helmet removed…

A little bit about Alex’s helmet protocol: as per his head ABA (Applied Behaviour Analysis) therapist, we are not to leave Alex’s helmet on his head after his bout of self-injury appears to have subsided.  Why?  Because he will get used to this.  And by that, the theory is, he will get used to feeling secure (safer?) with it on–he will begin depending on the helmet to be worn.  Want your kid wearing an ugly medical helmet out in public for the rest of his childhood?  Crap, just give him a neon sign that says “I AM WAY DIFFERENT–LOOK AT ME” and see how that works out for you.  He is different, yes, but that’s not the point.

But then I thought about it.  Given his marked negative reaction to so many changes in his life the past week–where he sleeps, eats, plays, who he interacts with–perhaps all of this just overloads him.  And perhaps the feeling of constant pressure on his head via the helmet calms him down some.  So I acquiesced and left the helmet on him.  We trotted inside, Alex distinctly more calm.

We would only be at the training center for about 15 minutes before we were scheduled to depart for our daily tracking exercise.  Kat handed me Merrows’ leash with the hope that I would use this time to work one-on-one with one of the trainers there.  Remember, I was grousing about not really being very hands-on with Merrows.  Kat and I discussed this.  But, to Kat’s credit, she said she would take care of Alex while I tried to catch up.  Merrows again demonstrated her faithful willingness to adapt to me.  I practiced walking with her, otherwise known as ‘heeling’.  I practiced ‘under’, a command used to get her to sit beneath a table or desk, essentially out-of-the-way of foot traffic.  I practices ‘jump’ and ‘off’, used to get her to leap onto anything elevated and off again.  Other than ‘jump’, Merrows did well.  She still needs a little more prompting to jump into the back of our car, a station wagon with a relatively high rear perch–lower than an SUV, but not as low as a minivan.  Our trainers said she will eventually adapt to this.  So…my review with her went well.

And then I looked over at Kat and Alex.  There he was, still in his helmet, reasonably content to poking at his iPad.  No whining, no fussing.  I was surprised.  He had been sitting on her lap for over 15 minutes.  This was a good thing.

We all reloaded the car and headed off to a local park to do the tracking thing again.  Still Alex kept his helmet on.  No complaining.  He wore it as he walked with Kat to “hide” while Jessa, one of the trainers, and I corralled Merrows so she wouldn’t know where Alex had gone.  By now we had put Merrows in his tracking harness, a web of straps that allow the dog to lead with substantial force (think being pulled vigorously) without causing any discomfort to her.  And when Alex was out of sight, Jess commanded her, in an excited voice, to go find him.  It is amazing to see a trained dog in the midst of tracking.  Merrows would walk left, then right, then back left again, nose down to catch Alex’s scent.  I would keep positive control of her retractable collar, braced against my chest, with just enough slack to let her figure out which way to go.  Once she locked on to Alex’s scent, away we all ran.  Across the grass at least 300 yards and over a small hill and, ta-dah!  Vigorous, excited praise for her.  And Alex, too, for being so calm.  He was still wearing his helmet.

After walking back to where the cars were parked, I headed off with Alex to a playground I spotted earlier.  Now quite smily, I was able to slip his helmet off.  He climbed up the steps to the slide, looked around, climbed back down and did pretty much like any kid would do at a playground–he enjoyed himself.

Eventually we walked back to the car, then headed back to the training center.  We gave Alex a snack and something to drink.  Alex was content to poke at his iPad or walk around calmly.  We broke for lunch.  Alex was fine in the car.

This afternoon would be something new for us.  Everyone in class was to meet at a popular local mall to practice our basic dog control.  It wasn’t required that we bring the kids with, but most of the families did.  After all, it’s pretty easy to keep kids occupied at a mall.  We arrived and met near one of those enclosed play areas where kids can climb upon soft shapes and scamper about without shoes.  Drew and Alex both dug this, as you’d expect.  And the dogs all sat patiently, waiting for whatever we wished them to do next.

The sight of 11 dogs wearing their special harness all sitting together attracted plenty of attention.  Many passersby would stop and engage us.  Compliments, why were we there and could they pet the dog were typical quotes.  Jeremy, the head trainer, cautioned us to expect the attention.  He also warned us to toilet our dog before we went inside, and to make sure we had an “emergency clean-up kit” available in case the dog chooses to use the tiled floor of a local merchant as their bathroom.  Good thing, too, because Merrows wasn’t particularly interested in taking a dump in the pouring rain, as was the case this afternoon.  And so, as I practiced ‘heel’ with Merrows, I paused to allow her to sit and enjoy the attention of a cute little two-year old girl.  Before she would entertain such a notion, Merrows proceeded to hunch back and plop a turd right where we stopped, in the middle of the mall.  The little girl was still enthralled but her mom hurried her away while Kat used our emergency clean up kit.  Don’t leave home without it.

It was fun at the mall.  We put Alex in one of those strollers available for rent and pushed him around to his great delight.  We all sauntered through a pet store, a great test for Merrows, making sure she would mind her manners in such a tempting environment.  Merrows did great.  The funniest thing we saw was Alex picking up a rawhide bone and attempting to chew it–not Merrows.

Drew was a trooper, accompanying us in all directions.  Returning the favor, we plied him with a chocolate chip cookie and some gum balls procured with a few quarters from me.  Jessa again gave me some pointers with Merrows.  She sensed correctly that Merrows was trying to see how far ahead I would let him walk before I corrected his heel.  I learned that Merrows needs a short, sharp pull to his training collar with a simultaneous “no” to get the point.  Dutifully, Merrows complied.  And Alex, all through the visit, was placid.  No whining, no self-injury, no helmet needed.  Eventually we all headed back to our hotels, class dismissed.  Success.

So what was it?  Just a strategic use of the helmet for a while this morning to “recalibrate” Alex?  Is he getting used to the routine?  Feeling better about something?  Dunno.  We’ll see tomorrow.  Same Bat time, same Bat channel.  Stay tuned.

I took the night off from the blogosphere yesterday because I couldn’t keep my eyes open to type.  In fact, I’m having trouble doing so now, so if this gets published with basic rules of grammar/spelling/punctuation flagrantly disregarded, please accept my apologiessssssssssssssssss.

Whoops.  I guess I must have dozed there.

Fatigue is probably one trait each family in our class has in common.  Sleep comes irregularly to Alex, though–surprise, surprise–he has slept well so far this entire journey, six nights and counting.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not worn out.

Alex is still out of sorts.  Kat and I have noticed that even short trips in the car will cause him to react with sudden whining, fist-clenching and eventual self-injury.  Many times these tantrums devolve into such fits that donning his protective helmet becomes a necessity–which usually makes things worse for a while.

You recall, dear reader, when day one here at Doggie Boot Camp arrived Alex was reasonably fine while class was underway.  But only a few minutes later his unrest began to settle in.  Wandering aimlessly, Alex would whimper and cry with no provocation at all.  He must not feel good.  I made the correlation that he was constipated.  After Kat cleared that log jam, Alex was fine.  For a little while.  In fact, day 2 of class was better.  Hardly devoid of negative behaviour, but better.

Still, day 3 and 4 saw Alex upset easily.  This even though he had usual bowel movements.  What was causing his acting up now?  About all I can reckon is that Alex must still feel very anxious about where he spends much of his waking hours.  This hotel, however comfortable, is not his home.  The training center is not his school.  Xenia, Ohio is not his neighborhood.  And I am not his usual beloved teacher/bus driver/aide/therapist.  Yes, I am “daddy” to him, but that’s about all that is still “regular” in his days right now.  Absent any physiological need like hunger or sleep, his world is frighteningly challenging.

Which is where, of course, Merrows comes in.  Our new little girl affably leapt into Kat’s car after day three and spent her first night with us.  Upon arrival in our hotel room, she proceeded to check out each of our beds, bathrooms and sofa, surmising each one for comfort and size.  I don’t blame her.  I guess we as humans tend to do that when we first walk into a hotel room.  Why shouldn’t she?  She won’t have such freedom to sample at our home, though.  Alex’s bed along with her own bed will be her approved ‘places’.

One of the concepts that Kat and I envisioned a service animal like Merrows providing was a sense of comfort and familiarity for Alex.  Her presence would help make these transitions between Alex’s comfortable “known” world and the infinitely larger unknown world a little easier.  This hasn’t happened yet.  As I said, Alex has just been feeling more anxious–not less.

But Merrows is still in training.  And Kat is doing beautifully with her.  Our sessions at Doggie Boot Camp now begin as “tracking” exercises.  This requires us meeting in our vehicles at the training center with our dog, then following the training leader convoy-style to a local county fairground.  There, we take each child from where the dog can see them to a place where they cannot.  Essentially, it’s a game of hide and seek.  The point is for the animal to “track” down the child, a very desirable skill given Alex’s propensity to slip away from us in case we let our attention to his whereabouts wane.

This game each dog performs astonishingly well.  Dogs have a keen sense of smell which they utilize to literally sniff where the child might be.  About the only difficulty I encountered was having to carry Alex into the woods–literally–and holding him there in my arms as he whined and wiggled.  Eventually, Merrows would arrive at the tip of a long lead held by the trainer who would be imploring her excitedly to “keep going, keep looking…”  Then, when Merrows successfully “found” us, we would drench her with effusive praise, rubbing and stroking her to underscore her job well done.  It was great fun.

After each dog/child combo had played this game, we headed back to the training center for more indoor instruction.  Kat would take Merrows and I would lead Drew and Alex in.  Drew would head off to play with his new friend Robert.  I would attempt to hold Alex on my lap as another instructor would begin to demonstrate new commands for the dog.  ‘Place’ and ‘under’ were introduced, both quite useful.  This, in addition to a review of ‘sit’, ‘down’, ‘free’ and of course, ‘heel’.  Merrows would perform well, though sometimes she would need a little goading with a spoken “no” and a tug on her “gentle leader”, a special collar each dog wears for better adherence to commands.

Still, most of this was with Kat holding the leash.  Usually Alex would allow me or her to hold him on our laps for only a few minutes until he began to whine in some sort of discomfort.  Away he would trot, or melt into a little puddle of boy at my feet, requiring me to heft him into my arms and carry him away.  As I did so, I would ask him, “What do you want?  Are you hungry?  Do you want to play on the swing?  Would you like to go for a walk?”  Of course Alex would not respond.  At least not directly.  But if his whining diminished suddenly, I would surmise “Ah hah!  You’re thirsty!  Lemme get you a drink…” or whatever.

I did this for the rest of the sessions both today and yesterday.  Why?  Because Kat doesn’t have this ability I do when it comes to Alex.  She cannot hoist him up into her arms any longer without difficulty because of his weight.  Besides, she takes any of his random punches, pinches or bites much more delicately than I do.  This is not a knock against her–just a fact.  Plus, I don’t have any long blonde hair for Alex to yank.  I guess that’s one good thing about being bald…

But I do feel like I am missing out on many of the nuances of dog control.  Simply where one holds the treat in ones’ hand can have more sway with these animals.  I caught that.  But these nuggets of wisdom I only catch when I am in the room with the rest of the parents, which is only about 10% of the time.  I’m on the outside looking in.  And with Alex out of sorts and not really allowing anyone else to help him when he is uncomfortable, that’s where I have to stay.  I don’t feel cheated–I will learn these commands and gain control over Merrows in my own fashion.  But I’d rather learn now, not later, when everyone else is resting.

Today was a better day.  Lemme just get that out of the way.

Much of what Kat and I do with Alex is tactical.  Recall he’s non-verbal–except for his whining and very occasional verbal sounds like “dah-dee”, “mah-muh” or “dooo!”, which can be loosely translated as daddy, mama and Drew but these are used only haltingly.  He still cannot communicate with us in a reliable fashion.  There are many avenues that offer hope as an address somewhere down the street–like PECS (picture exchange), which Alex has used successfully–but they are cumbersome and require a tremendous discipline that Kat and I do not, sadly, have.  Our hope is a device like the iPad may allow Alex to scroll through an app and then choose the most clear way of describing what he needs, or feels, or whatever.  Alex does like to use his iPad, and he can navigate it with surprising accuracy.  He even tries to use our iPhones in the same manner, all good things.

But I digress, sorry.  As I said, much of what my wife and I do with Alex is tactical–keeping Alex’s immediate needs met.  They may be physiological (like food, water, toileting) but can be others–like providing motion, or sensory input–a playground swing is a good example.  We installed one of these in our living room (they don’t take as much space up as you’d think), and Alex uses it every day when we are home with or without our assistance.  Of course we are not at home.  We are in one of those extended stay hotels 350 miles away.  So we have to make do with what’s around us.  Again–tactical.

The weather cooperated nicely today.  No more rain (at least not when we needed to be outside).  So Alex and I got to spend more time just coming and going inside the doggie training camp and out.  Together we explored the playground equipment that is set up for all the kids that are here.  Alex is happy climbing stairs at home.  Also desks, tables, shelves.  I even caught him in the utility sink in the basement once, having reached this perch only after climbing on top of buckets and the washing machine.  He’s resourceful when he needs to be, too.

After yesterday’s fiasco, I was determined to manage Alex better.  And for the most part, I succeeded.  When I say “I”, I mean it was mostly the David and Alex show today.  Kat settled in to her role as primary trainer to Merrows and Drew happily played with another equally rambunctious 7-year-old boy, the son of one of my friend’s here.

We showed up on time at the training center, all of us families a little more relaxed (if not more tired) from Day 1.  I think it is clearer now to us how each day will go for our class, so we can try to focus our energies where they belong, which is learning to be a good trainer to our dogs.  Kat gamely rose to the challenge.  Each of the dogs were trotted out, with Merrows gently setting herself at Kat’s feet.  Drew gave a stroke or two to her head as a greeting.  I did, too.  Alex sat on my lap facing outward, calmly noting Merrows and gently touching her nose.  Merrows is very tolerant, very patient.  Just as we’d hoped.

We learned today that many of the dogs that are ultimately placed with kids that can be violent are first brought to prisons where they can get used to the cacophony of sounds one would hear, along with the impolite nature of prison life in general. Thankfully most of the homes these service animals ultimately go to are hardly so stark and harsh.   But at least the experience is gained.  Very impressive to me.

Soon enough–too soon, frankly, I could no longer keep Alex on my lap so off he went.  I fired up the chopper and went hovering after him.  One of the skills Merrows will be able to do is literally be tethered to Alex–or vice versa, as she will be heavier than Alex for a few more years.  Kat and I can’t wait for this, as Alex has “escaped” from our house/hotel room/grasp more than once.  Merrows will help try to keep Alex out of harm’s way.

I mentioned the poop episode yesterday.  Alex was constipated.  And this was probably why he was so out of sorts.  Today, Alex still was frustrated a few times–and violent to the point that I needed to slide on his helmet.  But the good news is that these times few fewer and widely spaced.  He was hungry, I made him a snack or got him lunch.  He was thirsty.  I set him up drink side.  He needed motion, we sat on the swing together.  In fact, Alex and I discovered one of those rigid plastic baby swings hanging near the playground.  I put him in that and he happily swung back and forth for at least 15 minutes.  Yes, it’s repetitious and dull, but when your child is content, it is easy to remember it’s about him, not you.  Little successes get me through the day sometimes.

Kat and all the other primary dog handlers took occasional walks outside with the dogs.  Like handing the keys to her new car, Kat handed me Merrows’ leash with the offer of ‘taking her for a test drive’–meaning I could practice some of the most basic commands with Merrows:  sit, free, shake, ‘high 5’, all of which Merrows did perfectly for me.  Of course I did have little pieces of snacks in my hands.  Just like in ABA training with Alex, food is used as a positive ‘reinforcement’ to make the dog do what you want her to.  There it is again–the same stuff that works with a dog will work with Alex (usually).

I felt a little more connected to Merrows today because Kat tried to include me more.  I still need to practice a ton with her, but at least Merrows is agreeable to include my commands.  Besides, I have snacks.

About 2pm or so, Alex was upset again.  He was done with the swing and the playground.  Not up for any more food or drink.  Didn’t want to be held any more.  So he and I headed back to the hotel.  There, he proceeded to have a bowel movement that many adults would be proud to claim.  Okay, maybe not.  But still it must have felt very satisfying to him, it was that sizable.  Funny thing, changing a diaper is not very high on my list of excitable activities (not even close), but when Alex is “productive” like this, I am downright giddy.  Alex was fine the rest of the day.

We headed back to the training center, where Alex was calm and mild.  There, the head trainer announced that the dogs would not be coming back with us today as we had earlier been told.  Reason being our training class is now 12 days long instead of 11 days, so we will get to bring Merrows home tomorrow and still get 10 days of time with her at our home away from home.  Instead, we brought back her kennel, food/water bowls and a garbage bag full of food for her.  We’re all still very excited about welcoming her into our brood.  We’ll see how that goes.  Perhaps less “tactical” and more “strategic”.  We want Merrows to make a difference in Alex’s world.  And not just help us hover over her.

Today was the day.  The day that was to usher in a new era of peace, love and understanding (sorry Mr. Costello) for my family and I–all courtesy of one big, soft, spry, gentle and all around sweet little golden retriever named Merrows.  For Kat, Drew, Alex and I, we’ve been hoping this time would come for many years.

I posted one photo of our introduction on my Facebook page.  (I haven’t yet embraced the ability to post one here–yet.  Sorry.)  The photo shows an eager Kat holding Alex on her lap as she sits cross-legged on the floor.  Alex’s left arm is outstretched, tentatively patting Merrows’ head.  A slightly blurred Merrows, she with the long, strawberry-tan fur, stands at attention, patiently letting Alex do so.  Alex is obviously smiling.  To the uninitiated, it would look like a budding friendship.  Wonderful.

If that is the only image that you reference of our first day here at Doggie Boot Camp, all the better.  The rest of Alex’s day at camp–and my day, for that matter–wasn’t so good.

The old, ADHD, crabby, uncomfortable, whining Alex showed up a few minutes later and didn’t really go away for the next 5 hours.  After meeting Merrows, Alex rose from Kat’s lap and wandered away.  One of Alex’s behaviours is to stand in a corner, or just with his back against any barrier, a wall, fence–and hunch over just a little, grunting.  This is Alex trying to poop.

Recall that Alex has historically had difficulty pooping.  He’s on a gluten-free diet, and we avoid giving him lactose as we’ve seen evidence of correlation between the two.  We mix soluble fiber and a little laxative into his liquids.  He might have decent bowel movements one day but for days in a row, just sticky little extrusions clinging to his butt cheeks.  He had several of these today.

Before I describe further the day’s events, let me set the scene on what Doggie Boot Camp looks like.  It’s held in a large, kind of tired looking old VFW hall.  Single story, grey brick and aluminum clad.  A big, fenced in parking lot and yard behind the place.  Inside, your nose tells you who lives here.  The distinctive scent of dogs is pungent.  Occasional barking–very occasional–these are very well-behaved animals here–can be heard behind a large sliding partition.  This is not a public veterinary clinic, though one is on staff and obviously busy.  At least 50 dogs are kept here most times, all in kennels with their names clearly labeled.  Good doggie names like Delmar and Merry and Clank.  These light beige boxes are sometimes stacked with the smaller breeds of dogs enjoying the higher perch.  Staff, mostly women, but at least a half-dozen men, walk around with purpose, attending to each of these creatures.  Whiteboards hang on the walls with little placards of the dogs carefully organized into columns.  File cabinets full of medical records are kept nearby and often referenced.  One gets the sense that this space is utilized as efficiently as possible.  Most not-for-profits tend to be.  It is clean, but not antiseptic.

As we walked into the building, we entered a large, open space ringed with folding chairs and, for those who grabbed them first, a few comfy, well-worn sofas.  All the families staked our a few places to sit.  Everyone is dressed casually.  Each family brought along the child receiving the dog, and in most cases, the other child siblings.  As I mentioned, we brought along Drew.  Behind the great circle of chairs were shelves full of toys, mini trampoline, a TV, a Wii video game console and lots of big, squishy play mats to help keep the kids occupied.

There were bagels and coffee.  Staff introductions were made.  Everyone was very cordial and welcoming.  If anything made me feel most reassured, it was the reaction of most of the parents to Alex.  You see, Alex likes to wander around.  Probably the ADHD working here, but Alex has no problem crawling onto complete stranger’s laps.  Or trying to wiggle behind someone who is obviously quite comfortably sitting on a soft couch.  Or gesturing to be picked up.  Or…just wandering.

And there is me, Helicopter Daddy, hovering close behind to grab Alex when he shatters that invisible personal space bubble that most ‘normal’ people have.  My apologies are quick and meek, “Sorry…c’mon Alex.  Let’s let them enjoy their coffee without you on their lap.”  Or something to that effect.  Most reactions were the same, “Oh, it’s no problem”, they would say calmly.  Which is likely true.  But it still stresses me out having to hover, chase, apologize.  All.  The.  Time.

Eventually, after a few minutes of introduction, each dog was led into the room by his/her trainer.  All are on leashes.  Wonderful, beautiful creatures.  All are about a year old at this point.  Retrievers, Golden and Labrador, some poodles and at least one German Shepard.  What seemed like a phalanx of photographers followed.  Usually it was just the parents, friends, and at least one staffer capturing the moment.  The children, each with different levels of ability, would respond in their own certain way.  All of the dogs were embraced.  It happened in a blur and was glorious.

And then the training began.  Time is not wasted here.  Class is from 9:30 to 4 each day.  Some days at the facility, other days at the mall, or the store, or the zoo.  All designed to allow the handler to learn to command and control the dog in as many varied public and private situations as possible.

I didn’t get to see much of this initial activity.  As I said, I was with Alex.  After a few minutes with Merrows, Alex decided that wandering around was much more to his liking, so off we went.  Unfortunately, Mother Nature chose to bring the rain today–a light but consistent variety.  One that required a raincoat and umbrella.  I came prepared with both.  But having to hold Alex while holding an umbrella got old fast.

And then the whining began.  I brought Alex back to the hotel for lunch.  Happy boy soon refreshed.  Then quiet, and what’s this?  Oh, just Alex offering his hand, full of feces.  He had decided to “dig” into his behind.  And then show me what he found.  Yay.  Shower time for him, and a change of clothes.  Newly attired, I headed back to camp with him.

But he wasn’t happy there.  More wandering.  Now the whining again.  Remember that Alex cannot easily be reasoned with.  His ‘receptive language’ is very good–meaning you can tell him something and he will probably understand what you said to him.  But that won’t always make him happy.  It certainly didn’t today.

Lightning-fast little hands, self-flagellating *smacks* as his fists would strike his head before I could block them.  On went his helmet.  Down came the tears.  Was he thirsty again?  No.  Hungry.  Nope.  Did he need a new diaper?  Usually, but if I changed Alex whenever he had a skid mark in his diaper, I’d be changing them every 15 minutes.  I’m just not that good.  We went for a short car ride, as that typically makes him feel better.  Not today.  We walked in the rain.  I carried him in my arms in the rain.  We ducked back into the back seat of the car to escape the rain.  I held him, I sang to him, I recited ‘Goodnight Moon‘, one of his favorite books, to him.  Nothing worked.

Finally, 4 pm rolled around.  Kat and Drew appeared at the car–Kat beaming.  “I did so well!” she said.  And this I did see.  Believe it or not, Kat is terrified by dogs.  She was mauled twice by dogs when she was a little child, and has feared them ever since.  So, no kidding, she just being in the same room with a dog is a grand accomplishment.  I was so proud of her.

Together, we climbed into the car.  Alex still wailing, wearing his helmet again, digging into his bottom some more, we drove back to the hotel.  There, I sighed, pulled down Alex’s pants and proceeded to change his diaper again.  “Maybe he’s impacted again?” wondered Kat.  I got her a latex glove and left her to do something that I am not at all skilled at.  Indeed, Kat found the impaction.  Lots and lots and lots of smelly, sticky impaction.  I will spare you any further details, though you, dear reader, are probably grossed out already.  Afterwards, Alex was fine.

I was bushed.  Before we went to bed, Kat and I thought about the day.  Kat thanked me profusely for allowing her to spend so much time with Merrows today–to bond with her just as I hoped she would.  She would be training Merrows most of our time down here, because of my traveling for work, she will be with Merrows the most.  Makes sense.  I’ll pick up what I need to know with Merrows, too, soon enough.

It dawned on me earlier this afternoon as I struggled to corral Alex.  The same simple, short, calm commands we will learn to use with Merrows are ones we have been trying to use with Alex.  I sighed deeply with this realization.  So far, our ability to be successful with Alex has been halting, in fits and starts, with what I see as only a little progress.  Knowing that it is probably a lot easier to teach a dog than it is to teach a child with autism doesn’t make me feel much better at the mountain we have to climb.  A ‘better place’ may indeed exist someplace far away for us, and the journey is long.  It begins with just one step, than many more.  Good thing I like to travel.  I’ll get moving.

Tomorrow will be better. Merrows, our sweet girl, will actually be joining us at our hotel for the rest of our stay.  And for the rest of her life.

Days like today drive me nuts.  Little worked out as planned.  ‘Tis to be expected, of course.  That’s the way life is, sometimes.  As usual, I started the day with a reasonable plan.  T’was not to be.  Alex was a handful.  Lots of whining, fists clenched in anger or frustration (it’s difficult to tell the difference with him), a few short-lived temper tantrums–in public, no less.  It’s days like today that make me especially wistful for Alex’s service dog to enter our life.

Here was the plan:  wake up at a decent time, not too early, not too late.  Breakfast.  A quick trip to the local children’s museum.  A bite to eat for lunch, then a car ride to our hotel home away from home for then next 13 days in suburban Dayton, OH.  Who could possibly derail this bullet train of sensibility and order?  Alex could, that’s who.

He began by whimpering.  Insistent.  Was he hungry?  Thirsty?  Did he not feel good?  Was he wigged out that he slept in a closet the night prior?  (He slept well, I might add.)  Yes, being in a different home must be unsettling.  But he has been here before.  And when we finally pointed the car eastbound for the relatively short two-hour drive (he’s done 5 hour drives easily), Kat had to wrestle his protective helmet onto his head because little fists can cause big bruises and large tear drops.

It’s almost as if his behaviours today were a crescendo to a softer, calmer, longer passage in our lives, the full effect courtesy of Merrows, Alex’s service dog.  Or not.  I love not having answers (hah).  Isn’t autism swell?

So, tonight, we made it.  Tucked into our extended-stay hotel.  Drew asleep on the pullout bed.  Alex asleep in the closet.  Pantry and fridge stocked.  Clothes neatly put away.  Our feet are at the starting line, we’re ready to run.  We have beer and wine, too, for afterwards.

But then, when I think about the events of the day, I have my doubts that our new furry four-legged friend will do much to ameliorate them.  But, she could.  Hope.

Now it is up to us.  Kat and I showing up at 4 Paws For Ability tomorrow morning, Drew and Alex tagging along.  We will meet Merrows, that darling 13 month old Golden Retriever with the wise, patient eyes and shiny strawberry hair.  Hopefully her tail will be wagging, she won’t mind if we gush a little bit and rub her behind her ears.  We can’t wait.

After the introductions have been made, there’s lots of work for us to do together.  4 Paws makes it known that keeping a service dog a ‘working’ dog is not a simple task.  We, as the dogs’ owners, will be responsible for keeping the skills Merrows has–sharp, and helpful.  Kind of like learning a different language–and practicing it.  Much to learn there, too, for us.  Effort.

Because Alex is worth it.

I am trying to be as quiet as possible as I type this.  My wife Kat is slowly winding down with her Nook.  My two sons, Drew and Alex, have already drifted off to the Land of Nod and are laying on the floor of my brother’s guest room in their home outside of Indianapolis, halfway to Xenia, Ohio.    Unfortunately, the click-click-click of the keyboard is hardly silent.  I’m not worried about Kat or Drew being stirred by the racket.  My concern, like most nights, is how well Alex will sleep.

Each night, I carefully log Alex’s sleep cycles.  I’ve been doing so now for over two and a half years.  The record helps Kat and I monitor Alex’s general well-being.  Essentially, if he’s sleeping well, he’s probably feeling well.  I will go to great lengths to ensure that Alex isn’t disturbed.

Alex was born six years ago.  He was a fussy sleeper literally ever since his feet hit the floor (he was a breech baby).  Kat deserves sainthood for nursing Alex for over 19 months.  Yes–he had long since cut his first teeth by then.  Most nights the only thing that would mellow Alex out enough to sleep was a warm drink and snuggle from Mom.  Given that Drew only nursed for six months, to say that Alex’s needs were fatiguing was a dramatic understatement.  Kat was exhausted.  By association, I was, too.

Alex’s fussiness in this regard was one of those developmental details that Kat and I had to explain to the raft of doctors, therapists and specialists who would eventually come to the conclusion that Alex had autism.  That, his loss of speaking ability, his disinterest in playing with toys “correctly”–if at all, his lack of attention and interaction all pointed like a lazy compass to this cheerless, heart-rendering diagnosis.  Kat sobbed, she and I clutching each other as the synopsis changed forever the tangent of our life.  That was in February 2010.

Fast forward to today.  Kat, Drew, Alex and I are on our way east–ultimately to Xenia, Ohio, where we will spend almost two full weeks.  It’s not really a vacation, but in some ways it seems to be.  Hotel room stays, less than nutritious food, lots of driving.  We are going to “doggie boot camp” to train with our newly assigned service animal, a downright gorgeous 13 month old Golden Retriever named “Merrows”.  She will be Alex’s closest friend, confidant, protector, buddy and likely–warm, soft pillow for at least the next 10 years.  Merrows will probably forever change Alex’s life, just as his autism diagnosis changed ours.  But in a good way.  We are very hopeful about this.  That’s why it’s kinda vacation-like.  There are some wonderful days in store for us.

Our car carefully packed with enough stuff to last us at least a few days.  I was adamant about not taking too much stuff, lest we not have adequate room for our sweet not-so-little four-legged friend when we head back home two weeks from now.

What are we expecting with Merrows?  An obvious question and one that I have answered only vaguely to those who ask.  I have a little experience with dogs in general, but next to no experience with service dogs.  I do know, however, just how patient, obedient and faithful these dogs appear to be, helping steer their charges away from harm.  Essentially, that’s what I want.  I want Merrows to watch over Alex with an extra set of eyes and four extra paws if he tries to walk into a busy street.  I hope Merrows protects Alex by attempting to calm or distract him when Alex has had too much or not enough of something, which can trigger horrible, painful bouts of self-abuse.  And I wish for Merrows to bring a certain constant, warm fidelity to Alex’s life.  Alex will always have his mom, dad and big brother.  But, sadly, Alex might not have many ‘real’ friends.  I want Merrows to be Alex’s friend–the best friend he could have–warm, soft, patient and unconditionally loving, even if Alex may never utter her name.

And here I am tonight, trying to type quietly.  I want Alex to sleep well but it’s not easy when he’s not in his own room laying on his own bed.  Lots of kids with autism are like this.  And if Alex wakes, I will wake with him–a vestige of a time when I got to sleep in because, frankly, I wasn’t the parent that could lactate.  Regardless, he usually wants a snuggle or a sip of water, but sometimes he wakes up with enough electric energy to power a small island nation.  In short, we want him to sleep.  As long and as soundly as possible.  ‘Helicopter parenting’ a sprightly non-verbal six-year old with autism is not for the weak–or the tired.  I need my rest, too.