Angel on a Leash. David Frei
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was a combination of his sense of duty and his love for Scout. It was wonderful to witness this two-way devotion every morning.
When you have a dog, whether or not you are smart enough to realize it, this faithfulness and patience in the daily routine from start to finish is part of the deal. So in spite of the fact that we were watching Scout nearing the end of her life, we could all smile at what we got to see every day. I know that Bern would have done anything for Scout, and Scout would have done anything for Bern. She may not have done it as quickly as she would have in the past, but she would have done it.
One morning, watching Bern head back up the street with Scout, I said to him, “I guess you don’t have many early morning appointments at the office these days.”
He paused, looked at Scout, and smiled. She kept trudging along, not wanting to slow her momentum. She knew that he would catch up.
“You know,” he said, “Scout has taught me that you don’t need to go through life in a hurry. You see so much more when you go slow.”
Ah, wisdom. Bern’s a smart guy; he gets it. But as good an attorney as he might be, I bet he rarely says anything this powerful in any courtroom. I am never surprised by the simple eloquence that dogs inspire from their people.
Scout passed shortly after this, and all of us in the neighborhood mourned the loss of a family member. It doesn’t take Bern as long to get to the bodega every morning now, but I’m sure that Scout is still making that trip with him every day. And even better, she left him with a piece of wisdom that may not be taught in law school, or in any school, for that matter.
In my world of dog shows and training, we always worry so much about what we teach our dogs—to stand, to move, to heel, to sit, to behave—and that’s a good thing. But as we saw with Scout, what’s far more important is what we learn from our dogs.
So pay attention.
I Get It
Dogs are spontaneous. They live in the moment. They react to anything and everything that we say or do. They live, love, celebrate, and mourn with us whenever we give them the chance.
Interact with a dog—pet him, talk to him, feed him a cookie, go for a walk with him—and you feel better. Dog owners have known that intuitively for years; it’s a concept that anyone who has a dog understands. It’s the dog greeting you at the door, tail wagging at full speed, after you’ve had a long, tough day at the office. It’s the dog sitting next to you on the couch, putting his head on your lap when you need a little something.
It’s unconditional love. Your dog doesn’t care about appearances or how much money you make or how you talk. He just loves you, and he loves you every waking moment, whether or not you have good shoes.
It’s the combination of that spontaneity and the unconditional love that they give us every day that makes dogs so good at therapy work. No expectations, no grudges, no charge for the service. Well, maybe a good scratch right there … thank you very much.
I’ve been seeing this spontaneity and unconditional love happening with my dogs for a lot of years. In fact, I saw these things before I ever got serious about therapy dogs, but I just never really put it all together.
And here is how we know that it works: when a dog walks into the room, the energy changes.
The dog doesn’t need to be a high-profile show dog like Westminster Best in Show winners Uno, Rufus, or James, or a TV star like Lassie or Frasier’s Eddie. And the place doesn’t need to be a hospital or a nursing home. Any dog can make this happen, and it can happen anywhere. Sure, we see wonderful pictures of dogs visiting children, spending time with seniors, or comforting wounded military members in health care facilities. But it can happen for your elderly neighbor who lives alone, for someone you meet walking down the street, or right in your own living room just for you.
Maybe it’s the anticipation of that spontaneity or that unconditional love. Look! It’s a dog! Look at that haircut, look how excited he is to be here, look at his tail … wow! I want to pet him!
Suddenly, someone is thinking about something other than his or her challenges or pain or a grim outlook or the next treatment. Right now, for this moment, it’s not about the person, it’s about the dog.
Next, maybe it manifests itself in a smile—a smile from someone who hasn’t had much to smile about. I can’t tell you how often a parent has said to me as his or her child is petting or hugging or watching my dog: “That’s the first time she’s smiled this week.”
Maybe it’s a laugh or a few words or a step out of a stroller or wheelchair. Maybe it’s a lucid moment for someone, a look back in time at his or her own dog. It could be any or all of those things.
Is it magic? Perhaps. Are we changing people’s lives? Yes, we are. Maybe only for the moment, but yes, we are.
And speaking of changing people’s lives, here’s how it happened to me. When two spontaneous, unconditional-loving, energy-changing, orange-and-white dogs charged into my world in 1999 and brought their blonde Jersey girl owner with them, my life changed.
The dogs’ names were Teigh and Belle. They were happy, enthusiastic, energetic Brittanys who loved everyone they met. I didn’t know it at the time and would have laughed if anyone had said it to me, but they were going to teach me about life.
The girl’s name was Cherilyn, and she was a graduate student at Seattle University pursuing her master’s degree in theology. Her thesis was going to be on animal-assisted therapy. She had heard me mention therapy dogs on the Westminster telecast and asked a mutual friend to introduce us so we could talk about therapy dogs. She had just started visiting Seattle’s Swedish Medical Center with Teigh, and she was competing with Belle at dog shows.
I was smitten by all three of them, and soon we were together. Cheri continued to pursue her degree, and I often served as the handler for Teigh and Belle, her “demo dogs,” in her presentations. I learned a lot from her as she worked her way through academia. Actually, I learned a lot about myself, as well—that was the life-changing part of the deal.
While all of this was going on, I still had my own public relations business in Seattle, and one of my clients was Delta Society, the world’s leading organization for therapy dogs. A great client, a nice fit, and Cheri was a big help in handling the production of their Beyond Limits Awards, which were presented annually to the therapy dog and service dog teams of the year.
I went with Cheri a few times on her therapy visits with Teigh, and I helped her with presentations at Seattle University and Providence Hospital. I thought I would try to become trained and registered with Belle as a therapy dog team as a way to learn about animal-assisted therapy. I thought that I could support Cheri and her work if I was involved myself, and I thought that we could do good things for people in need. But, admittedly, while helping people in need was a positive thing, at the outset my intent was mostly to learn about the work that my client did and to be supportive of my wife and her studies—what was to become her life’s work. Belle and I went through the training class and passed.
I did some visiting with Cheri at some of the places she had been working, but after watching her in action and hearing some of her stories about her other experiences, I thought I should see what it was like on my own with Belle. The first visit that Belle and I did was to an extended care facility in north Seattle. Visits to extended care facilities (they used to be called nursing homes) can be somewhat uncomplicated, as the people there are relatively quiet and the situation is not too stressful for the dog or the handler. I thought this would be the perfect maiden voyage for us.
The administrator greeted me, and I introduced him to Belle. She gave him the standard Brittany greeting: the butt wiggle, the lean-in, and the wagging tail. He loved her. Of course. I was certain that she would get the same