Git Along L’il Dogies

by Dean Kramer 
October, 2002


In the town closest to Cripple Creek there is an agricultural fair every September. All the kids enter their 4-H projects. There are rides. There are games of chance and skill. There are plenty of fatty and sugared foods from which to choose. There is entertainment. And there are trotting horse races because the area around here is famous for trotters and pacers— a legacy of the Amish cart and carriage horse tradition. The judging barns are filled with livestock and the halls with displays of produce (the largest pumpkin, the largest sunflower head) and household crafts (quilts, pies, jars of pickles). This year I went one evening with my companion, Twink, and a couple we know, Rich and Pat.

When I was healthy I used to love going to fairs, dog shows, crafts exhibits— you name it! But with MS walking difficulties and fatigue I began to find these events very tiring. My friends would be trotting along and all I wanted to do was sit down. It annoyed them and made me sad. Getting a manual wheelchair helped, but sometimes people got tired of pushing me and wanted to move at their own pace. Then I'd be parked to sit even though I wasn't tired yet. It's hard to watch your friends disappearing energetically into the distance when you want to go along but can't.

I own a ramp van and a very large 4WD scooter. The scooter is for outdoor use only. The van was purchased specifically so I could take my scooter along on trips but I had never done so. For one thing, I went into remission just after the van was bought and was able to walk with a cane. Then, too, I had the manual wheelchair. And finally (and this is the real reason) when the van first arrived my mobility equipment guy very slowly and carefully loaded the scooter into the van, shook his head and said, "It can be done, but it's an awfully tight fit." I was afraid to try lest I get stuck or, scarier still, overshoot the ramp and dump the scooter. But the fair is an outdoor event and fearing that, once again, I'd be left to sit while others scampered happily about the fairgrounds, I resolved to practice getting my scooter into and out of the van. With increasing confidence I realized it really could be done. I felt like Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh as, over and over again, he put his deflated birthday balloon into an empty honey jar and pulled it out. "It goes in and it comes out," I muttered happily with each successful maneuver. I took my scooter with me to the fair.

Parking was expensive and the line at the lot was very long. Our friend, Rich, knew a guy who lived a block away and we were able to park in his driveway. We walked (I rode) to the pedestrians' entrance where it cost $5 to get in— except for me. My friends glanced at me with some envy as I was admitted free of charge due to my being disabled. We visited the goat and sheep barns to admire the animals raised for wool. Twink wanted to get into the petting zoo but the line was too long. She vowed to return after dinner. Initially we all stayed together but when it was time to eat things changed. We ordered seafood platters at a stand which had a small seating area behind it. The access to this area was restricted by a picket fence. My friends, assuming I'd follow, headed for the seating area without a backward glance. There was no way my scooter could get past the gate or fit among the crowded tables so I decided to do some exploring on my own, checking back every-so-often to see if they were done eating.

The fairgrounds are, for the most part, paved with asphalt and are quite extensive. Even when I was a healthy walker I'd never really covered the whole fair. But with my scooter I was able to go everywhere. The place was extremely crowded. There were lines for everything. People were packed in like cattle in a feedlot and, like those cattle, our mouths were mostly in motion, chewing. I discovered that people who will step heedlessly in front of a manual wheelchair get out of the way of a scooter, especially one with headlights and a horn. I visited parts of the fairgrounds I'd never known were there. I saw the swine and chicken exhibits and the farm implement dealers' tents. I chatted with the security guards in their guard post. They were very interested in my scooter because, while the fair has a wheelchair rental, it had been suggested that they also rent scooters. And in my wide-ranging tour of the fair I came upon a man who exhibited a tame roe deer and her fawn for petting. "This is something my friends would love!" I told him, "I'll be back with them later!"

I found Rich and Pat in the Small Animal Hall. They had bought a dwarf rabbit. They have quite a home menagerie already, and this would be their latest addition. We walked together back to the petting zoo where we hooked up with Twink and I told them about the deer and her fawn.

"Where is it?" they asked with excitement.

I waved my hand vaguely, "Over there someplace."

Well, they all wanted to go. When I'd first found the exhibit I'd been riding from place to place and now I realized I didn't know the direct route. I would have to retrace my original wandering path.

"No problem." My friends said, "How far can it be?" So, off we went. I led the way followed by Twink and then Pat, carrying the box with the bunny, while Rich stumped along in the rear. A few minutes into the walk, after a couple snack purchases (popcorn, candy-apples), they asked, "How much further?" I really wasn't sure and I told them so. After all, what is distance to a woman on a well-charged scooter? I sailed along. They tramped and tramped. Every few hundred yards I'd glance back to see if they were still in sight. Each time I looked they were farther behind.

At one point I called gaily over my shoulder, "Just a little bit along here, now!" And then I stopped and looked behind me. They were nowhere to be seen. I waited and then headed back the way I'd come. I found them trudging along (now with French fries) looking pretty bushed.

"Is it much further?" they asked. Two of them were panting. One of them had a blister on her foot.

"Oh, I guess it's a little ways, yet." I said cheerfully, "Why? Are you tired? You're not TIRED, are you?" Though they didn't want to say so, after murmuring among themselves they finally admitted they really couldn't walk anymore. They wanted to go home. They wanted to go home now. They wanted to go home before I wanted to go home (heh, heh), and would I please carry the rabbit on my scooter.

So, back we went the way we'd come. They straggled along and I rode circles around them to keep them bunched together so no one would get lost. I yipped and yodeled and called words of encouragement. When we got to the van I loaded 'em up and moved 'em out. We headed home in the warm summer darkness, bidding good-bye to the lights and hoopla of this year's state fair. My friends and I all had a good time. Well, I might have had a slightly better time than they did— for a change.