From the first moment that Brandee and I approach a mall, all we hear is, "Look, a dog!"  Most people are not surprised when they notice a Seeing Eye dog in a store, but they don't expect to see a sighted woman in a wheelchair with a Service dog.   Brandee seems oblivious to the attention that she attracts as she maintains her correct position next to the right wheel of my chair.  Standing almost as tall as the wheel, she brushes a little too close, and nearly has her paw run over.  Brandee is accustomed to concentrating on the direction the chair moves in, so she looks around with her big brown Bambi eyes and adjusts her position.  On our way to the mall entrance a young woman with a crooked yet friendly smile ropes me into a ten minute conversation about dogs.

        "Your dog is beautiful," she gushes, "such a lovely colored yellow Labrador Retriever:  blond, brown and tan all together.  Let me tell you about MY dog. . . ."

        Not wanting to be rude, Brandee and I pause beside the rusty bench the woman is perched upon to listen to a description of her "baby".  Finally the woman asks, "What's the dog for?"   I tell her Brandee is a Service Dog, she's trained to assist a person who is physically disabled.  The woman nods her head, studying Brandee's specially made backpack.  A bright orange patch is sewn on the tan colored pack, it says:  "Please Don't Pet Me I'm Working."

        Brandee often attracts a crowd of interested spectators who stand around and watch her work.  Opening doors is one of Brandee's skills.  The problem with having a dog open a mall door is that every person within eyesight rushes over to hold the door open for us.  I tell these well intentioned folks, thank you, but I need Brandee to open the door.  She needs to stay in practice opening doors for those times when there are no people around to open them for us.

        "You mean to tell me your dog can open doors?"  asks the disheveled looking little boy suspended from the door handle in front of me.

        Smiling, I tell him, "Not with you hanging there."  He jumps away from the door and leans against the wall instead.  I unzip the left pocket of Brandee's backpack and pull out a specially tailored door hook.  A crowd begins to gather.  As I hastily scan the growing number of faces in the crowd, I can't help but feel self-conscious.  I try to appear refined in my door opening routine but I manage to look as if this is the first time I've done this.  Dropping the hook, I notice a petite black woman covering her ears as the hook clangs hitting the floor.  In the shape of a "7", the iron hook has been covered with electrical tape, and a black nylon leash hangs from the longer end.  Brandee lunges at the hook, anxiously retrieving it when I tell her, "Pick it up!"  Children are babbling and calling out various versions of "dog", while the adults nod their heads and stare.  Enthusiastically wagging her tail, Brandee's whole body is in motion when I take the door hook from her mouth.  As I position myself in front of the left swinging door, the hook fits into the hand grip of the right door.  I tell her, "Open," and Brandee chomps on the leash and yanks.  Smiles light up the faces around us as the glass door swings open.  An older woman with grey-blonde hair murmurs, "Amazing."  A friend beside her is practically clapping her hands.  Brandee then jumps over my feet as I block the door open with my chair.  I grab the hook and scoot through the door.  I have to smile as well; she is quite remarkable.  Making sure that Brandee knows how much I appreciate her help, I tell her she's a good girl and pat her soft head.

        By this time most of the spectators have either gone inside or left the mall.  Instead of going through the process again, I decide to let a man clutching an armload of shopping bags hold the second set of doors open.  Brandee has gotten enough practice opening doors today.

        Brandee loves to shop.  It's a good thing she does because shopping is one of my favorite activities.  Most malls are crowded, though being among many people doesn't seem to bother her.  Crowds can be troublesome for me though.  As Brandee and I traverse the mall corridor, hands reach out from the sea of shoppers, touching Brandee, and in the process, distracting her.  "Oh, don't pet her"; I repeat time after time.  I try to sound friendly in this admonition, not wanting to sound like a bitch.  Then these friendly groping hands snake back, recoil, as if bitten.  "She doesn't bite"; I attempt to soothe.  I explain, Brandee has a job to do and she can't do it if she focuses her attention on every person who might reach out to pet her.

        "Mmmm . . .," they mumble,  with their heads guiltily shaking up and down.  Most people then hurry away, and I feel bad.  People don't understand.

        Brandee is much more than a pet, I think to myself as we move on.  Yes, she is an extremely well behaved dog, but that is part of the criteria for a Service dog.  Brandee began her training as a fuzzy tan puppy, graduating as a two year old.  We even had to train together for almost 100 hours.  I had to learn her commands and how to handle different situations.  For instance, I had to get acquainted with Brandee's ability to pull me in my wheelchair.  I was taught to hold the hand loop on top of Brandee's backpack, tell her, "Forward," and give a push with my other hand.  I decide to have Brandee pull my chair up the corridor toward the elevator to avoid more outstretched hands.  It's while Brandee is towing me that the onlookers seem most pleasantly surprised.  I call out, "She's faster than a motor!" in answer to their smiles.

        Training has also warned me about potential hazards.  Elevators can be very dangerous for an assistance dog.  If the dog's leash gets caught when the door closes, the dog can be hung.  The elevator car will go up or down, yet the leash will stay at the floor you got in on.  This is why I block the elevator door open with my wheelchair, then send Brandee in or out.  The door can't close on her leash with me holding it open.  The elevator doors open in front of me and a young mother holds both the door and her toddler's hand.  I block the door with my chair anyway.  Brandee is precious to me, and I want to make sure she is safe.

        Now upstairs, Brandee and I enter a clothing store that is set up like a maze.  Racks laden with their hanging clothes are pushed together making it difficult to maneuver through.  My head barely peeks above these racks.  Looking down, Brandee seems a bit apprehensive being surrounded.  She's also used to walking beside my chair, but there isn't enough room.  A young salesclerk  bustles over, parting the racks in her wake.

        "If you need any help, my name is Tammy."  She sees Brandee and stops.  "Aren't you just a little sweetheart!"  Tammy pats her leg and makes a kiss sound with her overly-lipsticked pink lips.  Brandee is confused.  She wags her tail, depositing blond fur on a rack of black blouses and steps toward Tammy.  Brandee finds that this is a bad move when I snap her leash.  The leash correction tells Brandee to move back into position.

        I don't really know what to say to this woman.  I doubt that she would call to a Seeing Eye dog as it guided its sightless companion, at least I would hope not.  She doesn't understand so I end up educating her about Service dogs and their functions.  In a way I don't mind.  Brandee makes me feel like a celebrity, or at least "the girl with the dog."