We Go With Him

A Horse Rider, A Pit Bull and the Wrong Kind of Chow Fun

 

Despite three unsettling events on Sunday, Charlie kept his cool (though a little lag is always possible).

On the bike path in Jersey horse country on a beautiful sunny day, while pedaling at a slow speed, a woman on a fractious horse chastised Charlie to 'slow down!'. Charlie was in tears when Jim caught up to him after offering some no nonsense wprds to the rider and her entourage. Charlie was somber at the ride's end but nothing stops him from pedaling steadily on the trail.

On the return leg of a 12-mile ride at home, Charlie averted riding into a pit bull whose 14-year-old owner had chanced to look the other way. The dog was not on a leash and Charlie was able to swerve his bike away just in time (or his bike tire would have run over the pit bull's, um, neck). 'So call it a very good day,' Jim texted me.

Uh-huh.

To celebrate Charlie's Chinese birthday (4TH MONTH, DAY 9 = APRIL 29, as my parents emailed me on Sunday morning), we thought we'd get Charlie some chow fun aka 'brown noodles.' I called in two orders only to make the mistake of asking for the 'sauced' version instead of the 'dry' one, and to realize my error when we got the food and  I saw separate containers for the sauce and the wide white rice noodles: Charlie likes them mixed together and pan-fried. 

He poked at the contents of the containers and handed them back to me in the car. The thought came into my head to go to another Chinese restaurant that has the brown noodles too, but that is farther away. I suggested, maybe we could go tomorrow?

'Tomorrow,' said Charlie.

He is grasping this concept and what it entails far better, I would say. Just a short time ago, saying we'd do something 'tomorrow' was tantamount to having to do it 'today' and 'right now.'

Charlie sat quietly in the car listening to his iPad. At home, he poked a little more at the noodles and tried some lo mein that was pan-friend. But he really likes the chow fun best.

I drew on my secret store of Chinese sausage and quickly cooked some with white rice and  Charlie ate this (well, mostly the sausage, lop cheung) and a bunch of apples and a few frozen fries after a brisk walk (and a 56 mile weekend on the bikes).

Then he went to bed with some Disney music -- lately he seems to like Annette Funicello singing classics like 'My Little Grass Shack' and 'Beach Party Tonight' -- playing and was sound asleep around 10.30pm.

 

Meg in the Bushes

 

Meg is the name of a leash-less dog who appeared, rummaging in the bushes, just before Jim and Charlie were about to get on their bikes for a bike trail ride in Jersey horse country on Monday. Charlie did not see her at first, then he did.

He kept his right eye on Meg while shifting just so subtly to the left as she glanced in his direction. Then he got on the bike and, with his eye still on her (Meg was good-sized), Charlie pedaled off behind Jim and I heard a woman's voice calling 'Meg! Meg! Meg!'

Charlie may never entirely get over his wariness of dogs, but he's learning to manage it.

 

Every Day Starts at 6am (approximately)

Charlie has been waking at 6 or 7am most days, weekends including: While I admit it would be nice to start Saturday and Sunday a bit more slowly (i.e., without hearing the clompclompclomp, getting right up to give Charlie his medication and a glass of water, grabbing a jacket and shoes and heading out for a frosty one), Charlie being able to get himself up at those hours consistently means school day mornings have become almost too easy.

Sunday, he was raring to go out to New Jersey horse country but we wanted to wait as it was about 1 degree Celsius and we knew it would be a bit warmer later in the morning. Just some months ago, we had used a timer and all manner of stratagems to help Charlie get through an hour. Yesterday, I made coffee, cut up an apple that Charlie ate, went running, cleaned the floor, chopped up some vegetables for later; Charlie watched and stood, eventually sitting down in the black chair and dozing a bit. Once he woke after a few minutes, he asked for 'white' (as in our car) and, as it was nearing 9.30am, I got out the bikes, Jim loaded them, we were off.

Jim made sure that he and Charlie both added a key piece of winter gear, skullcaps under helmets to keep ears warm. He couldn't get Charlie to change into warmer gloves; one thing at a time. He did convince Charlie he didn't need to run into the bushes when they encountered a dog running ahead of its owners on the path. Charlie had stopped and got off his bike while the dog jumped a hello on Jim, who was quite aware that Charlie was not going to like that. He assured Charlie to stay put and they got back on their bikes and kept going on the otherwise empty trail -- it was 0 degree Celsius and the trail was muddy and, in some places, icy.

With all that, they did 15 miles, Charlie smiling as he pedaled up to the car. He kept smiling at particular moments for the rest of day, when I looked in his room where he was stretched out for a nap after we got home; after a crisp walk in the early evening; after an ice cream and lemonade run (summer time foods that know no season); after a late evening walk.

He willingly assenting to wearing his new green coat for the walks. It's a size large and Charlie has taken to it quite quickly. He still fits his blue coat from last year but on discovering that the zipper is broken, and seeing how such immediately consternated Charlie, we immediately ordered him a newer, bigger one in green, a color Charlie seems to favor along with blue. Black isn't such a good idea for a jacket for Charlie as it's harder to spot in a crowd.

Or ahead of you on a muddy bike path since, except when Dad's needed to help with a dog, Charlie so often leads the way.

 

Charlie Meets Bambi (and Bambi's Mom)

Jim kept Charlie busy Friday morning while I worked my way through teaching Latin, Greek, Mythology and more Greek. They attempted the wonderful new bike path in our town. My parents each got on one of Charlie's old bikes and followed Jim and Charlie for a few blocks.

Jim had had a very strong feeling that Irene had not been kind to the bike path and he was right. There were not only fallen trees blocking their way but, as Jim said, 'boulders'; he had to hoist both of their bikes a couple of times across tree trunks. At another point, Jim found Charlie stopped short on the path: A doe was standing to the side and, instead of darting into the trees as deer in New Jersey suburbs and parks are wont to do, she was acting menacing, to protect her fawn. (Too, she must be affected by the change in the landscape wrought by Irene?) Jim got Charlie to keep biking and they continue on and off the trail, back on local streets.

They picked me up in Jersey City and the rest of the afternoon spun down in at home and in our local environs (the little local amusement park) and a-bike in an easy-going pleasant way. As we were finishing dinner, Charlie went down to the basement and we could hear soft stomps and things being moved around. After he went up to his room, Jim discovered that Charlie'd found the Winnie-the-Pooh beach chair my parents bought for him when he was bout a year old and opened it up on the basement floor. I recalled how, in a beach house we used to rent, Charlie had used the chair as a garage door that he would 'enter' while riding in a car (his long-gone stuffed Barney).

Then we heard a crash.

Charlie stood crying at the top of the stairs, having thrown a box of CDs (from my graduate school days) and slides (from Jim's days teaching in New Haven). He ran to his room and as my mom and I addressed the mess, we heard a huge thud.

Jim came up, not overly quickly -- important, so as not to communicate undue stress to clearly upset Charlie -- and found that he had knocked over the wooden chest of drawers in his room. It took Jim several minutes to move it, while Charlie stood by, very weepy and groaning.

'We'll ride bikes tomorrow, right, pal?' said Jim after he'd fininshed with the dresser. 'Bikes tomorrow,' sniffed Charlie. Jim quietly exited as did I, after giving Charlie a cup of water that he quickly drained.

Several minutes late, we heard him (no longer crying) turn on the Kinks.

Charlie does need to clean up the messes he makes. At this time in his life, making him do so has the potential to lead to even bigger, messier behavior issues: Better to defuse things first. Yesterday night, hat could have been a massive bout of behavior storminess, fueled by a real storm on its way and The Big Transition back to school after summer, quietly subsided. Sometimes Charlie just needs a bit of prompting to get himself out of whatever's in his way on the path, and move on.

(While the ever-protective mother keeps her eyes and ears open.)

 

Spring Break Starts with a Little (Really) Magic

If the first day of Charlie's Spring Break is any indication, it's going to be a break very much like the spring break I passed back in March when I traveled to Greece with 9 college students.

We went all over Greece in a Pepto-Bismol colored bus; saw lots of sites that I had seen before but you always see something different; got a fair amount of exercise from walking lots; ate plenty of really good Greek food; got minimal sleep (that is, I ended up keeping my students' hours as I wanted to make sure they all returned from their 'exploring' safely); had a genuine immersion in another country; encountered many feral dogs wandering the streets on their own.

On Monday, Charlie and I all drove all over a good-sized area of New Jersey in our less than shiny white car; saw many places we have seen many times before (his school, the town we used to live in, a certain 'scuzzy' (Jim's word) convenience store, a certain Mexican fast food place, the grocery store, numerous sites in our neighborhood when Charlie and I did another evening 5-miler) and a new one (our town's running track---Charlie only looked at it from the car; it is just day 1 of the break!); got a goodly amount of exercise (a bike ride after Jim came home plus that walk); ate some not quite so great chain store food (the place we call the 'St. Louis Bread Company' makes a very chewy brownie; Charlie just had some frosting); got minimal sleep (despite going to sleep around 1am Charlie was raring to go at 8am Monday---midnight seems to be his new average bedtime); had a geniuine immersion in above locales and each other's company.

While we encountered no feral dogs, I did espy our neighbor's dog trotting ownerless down our street as I stood on the porch watching Jim walk to the train.

Now that didn't seem right.

These neighbors live behind us and often go on walks with their two young children and Magic, the dog. And seeing Magic trotting along as happy as can be, on his own, I had a feeling that he hadn't exactly told his owners he was off for a trot downtown.

Magic responded immediately to my calling his name. I ushered him into our backyard and shut the gate; he immediately ran onto our deck and probably gave Charlie quite a startle, to see a four-legged creature staring at him through the glass door of his own kitchen.

Charlie assented to getting quickly into the car and we hurried round the corner. Fortunately, we caught our neighbor just as he was backing out his car: I don't think Charlie, or I, was quite prepared to host a guest-dog, in addition to our other Spring Break activities.

Though I do have to say, there was something positive about Charlie having a bit more of an interaction of the canine kind. Surprises can have their benefits.

Magic safely home, we got right back to our planned activities and took down two book shelves, raised a lot of (duly dusted up) dust, and stacked up towers of books in our dining room. And dragged (after Charlie opened the door, as requested) all the shelves out to the deck.

While Charlie was not happy at how many times I sneezed while dusting ('ex-cuse me!' he said, over and over, hands over ears), it was a good start to his break. Hoping the rest of it will be as memorable as my earlier spring break in Greece was!

(Though animal visitors being very rare in our house, I'm thinking our visit from Magic certainly made at least our Monday one for the record books.)

(And yes, the photo above was taken on Sunday at the beach. Amid everything, photo-taking didn't happen yesterday.)

A Change in the Landscape

The Nor'easter dumped 28 inches of snow on us and I'm feeling a bit achy in the back and shoulders after shoveling, shoveling, and more shoveling Sunday night and first thing Monday morning. (Though not exactly as much as the massive mound you see above.)

Actually though I am thanking the snow ('Holiday Blizzard 2010' as it's being called) because, due to it, Charlie did something he has not been able to in quite some time.

On an early afternoon walk with my mom and dad bringing up the rear, Charlie walked past the house of Nemesis Dog. With no adamant utterings of NO, tears, mad dashes in the opposite direction.

28 inches of snow can quite alter the landscape. With everything cloaked in several inches of the white, icy, cold stuff, everything looked different. Charlie quite relies on seeing small details to orient himself in the world, so the transformation of our street into the proverbial winter wonderland was not so much a marvel for him as a quite alarming nuisance.




Most people had dug out the sidewalks but there are always those sections where someone has a lot of lawn or at the corners where the snow is left in a solid mass and you've not much (i.e. you have no choice) but to set each foot down into a significant volume of snow, with the occasional 'snow down the snow boot' result.

Last year we experienced this phenomenon quite a bit. Our walk takes us through a school yard and an open field. These of course go unplowed and all I could think on seeing them was that we would all have some very cold and wet feet after about three paces, indeed.

So I kept walking up the street we were on, knowing that we would be passing the house where Nemesis Dog resides. And also knowing that the likelihood of her or him being out in her or his electronic fenced yard was low after the blizzard.

Charlie (he refused to wear a hat) walked slowly, eyes alert to the right where the feared canine resides. The house was quiet and still, and Charlie kept walking, tall and steady.

I am not sure if he will be inclined to do the same after the snow is gone and the dog is again out in the yard. But perhaps now that he knows he can walk past That Spot, he can take heart and have another go at it, whatever the weather.

One thing's for sure: We'll be walking with him.

Tragedy Into Comedy

As a final assignment, I asked the students in my summer school class on ancient Greek drama to write about what they understand 'tragedy' and 'comedy' to mean; to describe a movie that they consider a tragedy and another that they consider a comedy; and to write about an experience that could be considered 'tragic' but that they were able to get through by having a sense of humor---by referring to comedy. As expected, I had not heard of many of the movies they mentioned (and seen none except for West Side Story). The students' responses to the last question were often the briefest, but the ones that left me with the most to think on.

I had this post, Autism: Not Exactly Heaven on Earth But Not a Daily Hell (written just over 5 years ago, on the 25th of July, 2005), in mind when I composed the 3rd question about 'an experience that could be considered "tragic" but that they were able to get through by having a sense of humor'; of the comedy of it all.

I'm so used to hearing about autism as a tragedy. Even with all the difficult things that have happened to Charlie and us, I know that it is not. For me, even the worst, worst moments become tempered, infinitesimally at first and then more and more over time thanks to small doses of comedy; of understanding how we regularly encounter la comédie humaine in all of its glory and its dirt, its gold and dross, in our basic daily doings with Charlie.

Buying (or rather, attempting not to buy), a red box of brownies.

Going on a walk. On walks.

Dealing with garbage.

Indeed, the last-linked post, Sleeping With the Garbage, was subtitled Notes Toward the Autism Comedy. Five years ago, I wrote about a period when:

 

Five out of seven evenings, Charlie picks up the kitchen garbage can--lock, stock, and barrel full of apple cores, coffee grounds, empty juice packs, junk (snail) mail, uneaten cereal and hot dogs--and carries it, in happy glee, to the foot of his bed. After he's asleep, I sneak the garbage back downstairs, tie up the bag, and Jim takes it out in the middle of the night.

 

Whether you're disgusted, or baffled, or pitying we who, in the middle of the night, hasten out to the driveway with a smelly trash bag---we've grown accustomed to a certain laugh-with-sigh combo when Charlie stomps past us, can in hand, and mounts the stairs. Jim used to groan at the scent of my "graduate student coffee" infusing our living quarters, but Charlie does not seem to mind the scent of day-old fish fillets one iota.

 

As to why Charlie, back in July of 2005, felt that he had to to sleep with the kitchen garbage can at the foot of his bed, you may read the rest here. Over the years, there's been many a thing that Charlie has done that isecht Charlie to Jim and me, and that once caused us to fret mightily, and then somehow faded away and became the stuff of family history and, yes, shared chuckles between Jim and me.

'Do you remember how he used to....'

'And we used to have to......'

'And the time that you had to hammer.....'

Charlie himself seems to think it's funny to mention the things that used to bother him and, well, not be bothered. This afternoon (after furious-fast bike ride #1) he was using the computer and suddenly, on catching my eye, said,

'Barney.'

At one point I had a whole didactic spiel and would go into how 'we used to have Barney and now he is OLDer and we DON't.' Now I find that something a little more simple does the trick. So I responded:

'Yeh, Barney.'

Charlie grinned and said, a little more slowly,

'Bar-ney......'

To which I replied, echoing his intonation,

'Bar-ney......'

'Barney, Baby Bop, BJ!' (Haha we don't have the plate anymore with Barney and Baby Bop or the videos or the stuffed Barney and it's okay haha!).

Well, that parentheses is what I think is Charlie's tragedy-into-comedy spin on the loss of the Purple One and the accompanying Backyard Gang. Certainly it seems that Charlie is as tickled pink as Jim and I are, to see how he's now able to talk about past sorrows and even to laugh at them.

Earlier in the day Charlie had had to deal with something that most definitely makes him nervous, anxious, and the like. A therapy dog visited his school. Charlie would not (as his teacher wrote) go into the room with the dog, but he did stand outside it the whole time his classmates were checking said Fido out. Perhaps one day he'll look back and laugh at how he once had severe dog-fear---severe enough that for a time, on meeting Fido, he was running, or jumping off his bike lickety-split across the street without bothering to check for cars.

Before abandoning the bike Charlie always (as Jim related) put down the kickstand and left it carefully parked, albeit sometimes in the middle of the street.

Things like that are one reason why I wrote that:

 

even on the tough days, as chronicled in Why Charlie might sometimes be a tiger, but never a tragedy (#15) and Not a bathroom story; or, more on Charlie's words (#11), I know my life with Charlie--Jim and I know our life with Charlie--is the best that can be, and we only love our feisty guy all the more in his struggles as much as his triumphs. Some call autism 'a daily hell' on a par with the suffering of the inhabitants of Dante's Inferno. I have tried to show that, while Charlie's and our days are rife with awful, messy doings that contain words like "self-injurious," "helmet," and "severe," life with autism, however tough and messy (literally and figuratively) is not a tragedy.

When a child is diagnosed with autism, one can never think (as Dante read on the gateway as he was about to enter the Inferno) "Abandon every hope, who enter here" (Canto III.9).

 

We get new hope all the time from Charlie who, against some very tremendous odds, continues to show that he can learn and grow and laugh at his former woes. And get us to laugh with him, too.

Here There Be Dolphins

We had a little triumph yesterday at the beach and it wasn't of a swimming sort.

Charlie did have a superb time in the ocean (a bit more on that to follow), Afterwards, Charlie, in accordance with the latest routine, asked to ride the ferris wheel. We stopped for some sandwiches---I'm a vegetarian but I always make an exception for Jersey shore seafood---and went by the little amusement park by the beach. We parked and, noting the time (just after 5pm), started walking towards the ferris wheel which was very clearly not moving.

Obviously not a good sign---indeed, we found,the rides did not start till 6pm. 

We asked Charlie if he'd like to go back to the car and drive around---no, the response. We talked about waiting and Charlie stood with hands under his chin and looked tense and worried. We mentioned the timer and he said 'no timer' and then 'timer' and I went back to the car to get it.

Just as I was shutting the car door I saw Jim and Charlie approaching. We got into the car and Charlie started saying 'beach house, yes beach house. Yes beach house!" Over, over, and over.

We've been staying for two weeks in August at the same lovely white house on this beach for the past five years. This year, we've decided not to: We did fine at the house last year but, for this year, day trips have seemed the wiser choice (except for the fact that our still less-than-a-year-old-car has an awful lot of miles on it). The beach house happens to be near a long row of parking space and we've been parking there and walking to the beach, the same one where Charlie really learned to boogie board and swim; as we discovered last week, at least one of the lifeguards recognizes us. Too, we recognize a couple of families who must have their own houses, as we've seen them and their kids over the years. We figured it will take some efforts to explain to Charlie about not staying at the beach house but he really did seem miss being at our our house last year; it's not (as suggested by our numerous day trips to the beach) not terribly far away.

Saturday, my thought was that Charlie was that Charlie was asking for the beach house so ardently as a way to deal with not getting to ride the ferris wheel. Perhaps he was thinking of our stays there and how we could just go back to the beach house, hang out, and try to back for rides? (Although, for the past couple of years, he has had very little interest in rides; we only went once or twice last year.) 

Charlie continued to say 'yes beach house,' very insistently, as Jim drove back to it. We uh-huh'd and said 'yeh, yeh' in a non-committal kind of way, again (as I had on Friday about the position of the driver's seat) not trying to use a lot of words to explain things like 'the ferris wheel is closed now and we can go back and ride it at 6 o'clock' and 'this year we aren't staying at the beach house so we can just look at it right now but not go in.' We weren't exactly ignoring Charlie (hence the uh-huh's and 'yeh' talk)---weren't using the ABA principle of 'putting a behavior on extinction' by not responding to or, to be more precise, rather (here's the behavior-speak) not reinforcing it. (We were indeed reinforcing Charlie's requests with our uh-huh-ing.) 

We've certainly done our share of 'putting a behavior on extinction' in the past. 'Stim-talk' like humming or repeating words over and over are prime candidates for such an approach. Head-banging is not---or rather (and this is from our experience with many years of dealing with self-injurious behavior and head-banging in particular; I am NOT a behaviorist and I'm sure we have made many an error in addressing SIB's with Charlie but it's one thing to be a behaviorist and another to be a parent (as a good behaviorist will acknowledge) and, moreover, in addressing Charlie's SIBs, we've most often felt that you just have to keep trying and working on it, no one really has the answer, end of diatribe!)-----rather, if a child head-bangs once, one might 'pretend' to not notice (i.e., appear to ignore) it the first time, in the (frantic) hope that one won't be reinforcing such an inappropriate behavior and it will just never happen again. In some cases, the child does not indeed head-bang again. 

That not being the case for Charlie, we have had to address SIBs in other ways. Simply ignoring such behaviors would obviously be dangerous; the fact that you can't put them on extinction means that one must seek other ways to minimize and (ideally) eliminate them.

But back to the beach. 

We got to the beach house and parked opposite it. 'Open door' said Charlie. 'Taking a look,' I said. 'Look,' said Charlie. And then, 'Open door.' 'Just looking, pal,' said Jim. 'Just looking,' said Charlie. After a minute more of this punctuated with quite a few 'yes beach house' 's, Jim started up the car and we decided that, rather than doubling back towards the rides, we'd head home. 'We're going that way,' said Jim as he turned left. 'That way,' said Charlie. And he stopped talking about the beach house, opening the door, etc..

After a stop at a McDonalds that is located just a mile or so from the entrance to the beach (thank heavens, is my view now; I used to think it a major nuisance to see that golden M but things change), we had a peaceful ride home. The rest of the day was peaceful: A walk with me (driver---Jim---needs to rest!), consumption of a great deal of vanilla soy ice cream, listening to music, another walk with Jim before bedtime. The only thing that marred the peace was fact that, today being the Fourth of July, it was a major sensory challenge outside our house with fireworks going off left and right, extra cop cars with their lights flashing, many cars cruising by with windows rolled down (the better to blare out the hip-hop), motorcycles (including that of our neighbor two doors down) revving off into the dark, hot night.

Charlie handled all of this with aplomb.

Same with the ocean. Regarding which:

Once we got to the beach, Charlie led the way across the parking lot holding his boogie board. He ran in a straight line down to the water and immediately got out when Jim directed him to swim between the flags. Then he ran as if hell-bent (he was running as if he had a motor were propelling him) straight into an oncoming wave. He swam with much kicking and splashing and left a trail of white foam behind him. This was repeated at least a dozen times over, with boogie board and without. 

On one of those rounds, an elderly man found himself diving into the waves next to Charlie. For a moment, they were swimming side by side, and then Charlie took off out into the ocean, on his back, head first and arms paddling (this latter was something we tried to teach him years ago---all in good time, all in good time, he gets things). He even threw in a flip As we stood on the beach, Jim sighted a dolphin and pointed far out into the waves, but, strain my eyes as I might, I couldn't see it.

The man who'd swam with Charlie came out of the water and made his way past us 'Oh to be young again!' he exclaimed to me with a big smile.

We couldn't help but to agree, and kept watching Charlie. Who, from the way he was swimming Saturday, could hold his own with the dolphins.

(And certainly, so long as he's in the ocean, with any teenage guys.)

  (click photo to enlarge)

Beach Walkers

It's looking like 2010 is going to go down as the year in which the beach became not a vacation for us, but a habit. Indeed, a weekly habit: Saturday we went to the beach where we've vacationed almost every year since Jim and I met in 1994. We've been going to the beach almost every weekend since this past January; during Charlie's recent Spring Break, we went a couple of times. We used to never go in the "off season" as Charlie had such a tremendously difficult time transitioning to and from the beach. But he seems to be handling this much, much better.

The other reason we never visited the beach in the fall, winter and spring was that Charlie could not be dissuaded from jumping into water that was of a more polar bear sort of temperature. Even though he did put on his swimsuit Saturday morning, and though he did pack his boogie board in the trunk of the white car, he didn't make any effort to get into the waves. And, while he asked Jim and me to bring the boogie board to the beach, and while we responded "nah," he didn't get upset at all; a couple of weeks ago, he was not very happy when he had the board on the sand a few weeks ago and couldn't go in. I wondered yet again if there's something going on whereby Charlie asks, asks and asks for something that he's really wanted in the past but he's really testing us and doesn't (necessarily) want whatever he's asking for. Indeed, he'd kind of rather not have whatever he's asking for, but can't stop himself from asking.

It was just around 60 degrees fahrenheit Saturday, nowhere near as warm as it was last Easter weekend (and certainly not as warm as it was earlier this week). Charlie got into the car "avec winters" and then took off his fleece jacket and gloves in the car and threw them in the trunk. It was breezy down at the beach but he said "no" to wearing the jacket, and a very firm "no" when I said I'd carry it in my bag.

 

Our walk on the beach had been cut short last weekend when Charlie spotted a small dog running on the sand without a leash. Just as we were walking onto the sand we spotted a woman with a brown Scotch terrier walking in the same direction. Charlie hung back and then walked on, most cautiously. By the time we were on the sand the woman and the terrier were already turning around.

So we had the beach all to ourselves.

 

It was low tide and we were able to walk much farther out than we ever had.

 

 

  

We went as far as there was sand and then Charlie led the way back, over flora and fauna.

 

And over the foliage.

  

I spied a little turtle.

 

We were warmed by the sun, so that Charlie's t-shirt and swimsuit didn't seem a bad idea at all.

  

We got takeout at a diner and drove to another beach.

Charlie ran back and forth with a pleased smile. 

 

And then we heard "up, Dad!" and Charlie was running to Jim on seeing two medium-sized dogs running onto the beach. Jim obliged by piggy-backing him, Charlie watching the dogs with wide, wary eyes. Once he got down he ran to the parking lot and ran the length of it, noisily. I ran after him; Charlie ran back to the car. I was thinking he'd run into it for security but then he turned and did another fast trot in the lot before getting into the car and buckling up.

Jim and I exchanged looks to remind each other of Charlie feeling the lag about such an abrupt end to his day at the beach. 

Charlie was cheerful all the way home, singing and humming from time to time. (I also really think it had good for Charlie to do those two fast runs in the parking lot, as if he knew he needed to run out his fears and being upset) We went for a walk; we used the computer; Charlie wanted another bike ride as the sun was setting. We went for a short ride around our town to check things out and then Charlie asked for another walk. And then, after attempting to go to bed, another walk under the stars.

Besides being the year of becoming regulars at the beach, 2010 looks like it's also going to go down as the year of walking with Charlie.

Canine Capers

"He really hates our dog."

A neighbor said that to me yesterday afternoon. She was working in her garden; three big bags of soil were stacked by the bushes in front of her house. She has a dog---a dalmatian, I think---and Charlie always checks to see if the front door is open and if the dog is standing in it. If it is, he makes a concerted dash across the street. Yesterday I didn't see or hear the dog myself but Charlie must have as one moment he was walking and looking towards the house's door, the next he was running, really really fast.

I jogged after and got within a couple of feet of him, and on we walked. Our neighbor's comment kept playing over and over in my head.

Having observed Charlie around (if you count up all the walks over all the years in all the different parks, suburbs, city streets, and other places) a couple hundred dogs, I would say that he's very fascinated and even curious about them. His is, 'tis true, a fascination closely coupled with intense fear. Sometimes I think Charlie's ever on the lookout for dogs not so much to steer clear of them, as to actually see them and see what they're up to---and then he's terrified and makes a run for it.

When Charlie was about 5, he was not only very interested in dogs, he was quite interested in stroking and petting them. But a couple of years later, whenever we encountered a dog (and this happened fairly frequently, as those were the days when we took Charlie on long walks in New York City), he would run to Jim and me saying "up, up!". It wasn't too long before I for one could not carry Charlie and neither of us thought carrying the best response anyways, and praised Charlie for holding our hands and not, as it were, freaking out.

And then came a new dog problem. Jim and Charlie would be out riding bikes and a dog would run after them. Or, a dog on a leash out walking with its owner might bark at Charlie, who would then, on some occasions, abandon his bike, even in the middle of the street, and go running. (Mind you, Charlie was always careful to set the bike straight and on its kickstand before running stage-down-the-street-as-fast-as-could, with Jim in pursuit and slowed down by the fact that he had to take Charlie's bike with him, while still riding his bike---it would have been even harder to get Charlie to go back for his bike). 

For awhile, Jim and I thought it was the barking of dogs that most irked our sound-sensitive boy, but so many (as you may have noticed from my photos), a lot of sounds (most sounds, it often seems) really bother Charlie, who is more likely to walk around with his hands over his ears these days than not. 

In the past couple of months, if a dog is on a leash, Charlie moves off the sidewalk (to a neighbor's lawn), but doesn't entirely run away: A little bit of progress.

On the other hand, if Charlie sees a dog without a leash----in a field or on the beach (wide open spaces where animals couped up in small yards or apartments or other domestic spaces can move to their heart's content)---he is overcome with anxiety and a sort of fight-or-flight response sets in, and off goes Charlie  (and he is a very fast runner now---graceful to behold, but very fast).

But it's not exactly "hate" that Charlie has towards dogs. Certainly, fear. But also something like---curiosity? 

A kind of healthy respect so that he's careful of stepping into their space?

The likelihood of us getting a dog remains as unlikely as ever. I do know that therapy dogs occasionally visit Charlie's school and I think that would be a good way for him to have some more "up and close" reactions with our canine friends. In the meantime, rather than having any strained interactions with dog owners (we've had more than a few, puzzled that Charlie shows such an extreme---?---response to human's best friend), my new strategy is to be easy smiles and "hi, hi," when the owners and I pass each other. 

Charlie, of course, is already quite far ahead, shooting me a glance over his shoulder to hurry up, please, 'tis time for walking.