“What happened to your dog?” The kid must have been about eight; his sister younger by a few years. She wore a silver tiara. He held the matching magic wand and brandished it like a sword. It took me a minute to register the question. He frowned and pointed to Gus who was perched on my wheelchair. “Why can’t he walk?”

Leslie, Gus, and I were seated outside Sisters Coffee Company close to a small water feature. That was the original draw for the kids who tentatively balanced on slabs of wet stone. They were fully absorbed in climbing until they spotted Gus. I’ll often transfer out of my wheelchair when sitting at outdoor cafes. Gus usually hops onto the cushy seat and settles right down. He knows this vantage point offers greater opportunity for treats and pats.

“Gus?” I finally answered. “He’s okay. It’s my wheelchair, but I share it with him.”

The little boy moved closer. “Oh. What happened to you?”

The mother of the two children mouthed a silent “sorry.” I waved off her apology. “I’ve been letting Gus sit in my wheelchair for years, and I wondered why no one asked about him.” I turned to the two children behind me and tried to keep it simple. “I hurt my back, so now I need help getting around.”

“And you can’t walk, right?” He put his hand on my chair.

“I can take a few steps. Not many.”

Both kids touched their own backs and started to talk at once about accidents. The little boy had fallen off the monkey bars. He pulled up his shirt to show me where the bruise had been. The little girl remembered a bad encounter with a rock during a camping trip. She demonstrated how she had to rub her back to make it feel better. She wanted to know, “Did it hurt like that for a long, long time?” She asked if anything could make it better. I had to shake my head.

Now their mother was noticeably antsy. I looked at her directly. “It’s a relief, really, to talk about the obvious. Your kids are refreshingly honest.” She smiled and then reached for their hands. They had a big hike ahead of them.

Before they left, I felt a gentle tap on my back, as if a sword-like wand had briefly landed there.