This was our first "unattended" visit and it went really well.  Shiloh learned how to step up on a folding stool we carried around so he could get closer to the residents that are in bed. This was a trick learned from Malinda Red Cloud. It was cool.  We felt very at home and are excited about continuing to visit. We visited unit 3 and unit 7 which is what we were asked to do. However, we visited many residents in the common areas as we walked around from one unit to another.

Life and Times of a Therapy Dog and his Chauffeur

It was just one of dozens of visits to a nondescript room in a nice little rehabilitation nursing home in a suburban setting.  In the morning my collie, who looks like Lassie, visits an elderly group that is about to have a church service.  There are about 25 or 30 wheelchairs lined up in a small cafeteria/ auditorium and facing a podium toward one side of the room.  As the dog enters the room, she is Lassie incarnate in the prime of her beauty, and all eyes are upon her.  Oddly enough this particular collie is a boy but we shamelessly play the Lassie angle with the group.  One lady that is a little mentally challenged blurts out, the same as always, "There is a dog, what's he doing?"  And like always, I say "he is coming to see you because you pet him so well!"  As we move to the side of her wheelchair she pats him harshly on the back because she has trouble with her motor control.   The dog accepts the harsh petting with a wag of his tail and a small wince as each mild blow descends upon him.  Quietly, I realize that this dog is an angel that has come to us in canine form.  And with that thought, we move along the line to visit the other residents.  It is our duty to smile and try to give each person a moment of forgetting their cares and experiencing an enjoyable moment by just petting a dog.  It is therapeutic for them and us.

There are many smiles and calls for the collie to come.  The collie has been visiting this facility every Saturday for over a year.  He greets each wheelchair bound resident along the way, some with a wagging acknowledgment of their dog loving credentials and others with a cautiously optimistic glance.  At the end of this procession amongst the group, we practice our basic obedience skills  with antics like sit, down, stay, give me your paw, go to sleep and heel.  All of these routine "tricks" are appreciated each time we perform them.  After this twenty minute encounter,  we depart for the rooms in the wings of the facility where patients are bed ridden or just not interested in a Saturday church service.  We see many familiar faces.  Our job is really an easy one.  We just knock on the door and ask if they want the dog to visit.  Some love dogs and others are frightened of this 82 lb. Lassie.  However, he never seems fazed by the snubs as we travel from room to room. 

We don't try to visit everyone, and my job is more like a chauffeur, providing transportation to a visiting dignitary,  looking out for his needs and making sure his schedule is productive.  Probably a little like a political campaign manager but not intentionally comparing politicians to canines as one of them might object.  Anyway, the typical visit is guiding the collie to the wheelchair of the patient in the room (or more likely the bedside).  We have a small step stool that we carry and the dog's big trick is stepping up on it to be able to get right into the person's face.  What the patient sees is a big, furry beautiful collie with a happy face, being subtly guided by a few cheerios in my other hand.  For the more difficult maneuvers around hospital equipment we sometimes deploy the "heavy artillery" which are meaty type treats to incent the puppy dog to get close to the patients.

Sometimes we realize that these people don't get visitors very often but there are of course, some happy exceptions.   Also, some of these guys have become our good friends.  They may be past their  physical prime but they are still the same person on the inside, just like you and I.  Just because they are elderly does not make them irrelevant though sometimes it seems the environment is conspiring to do just that.  Age does not make them good or bad, just invisible to some degree.  Some of those living here like to read and others love to talk of their past hobbies and some just want a friendly smile.  Many love the dog and are so happy he has come to visit again.  They ask for photos and want to know when he will return so they can get their families to come meet him or take a picture of him.  Of course, many times they ask the same questions over and over, how old is he, what is his name and we cheerfully answer with all the details.

Today, there was an emotionally charged visit that happens from time to time.  As we peered into the room (if the door is open we take that as a cue for a possible visit) we see two residents in wheelchairs so we knock and request permission to enter.  We get a slurred acknowledgment and enter with an enthusiastic hello.  There are two ladies in their late 70s or early 80s in wheelchairs side by side between the two dorm style beds.  There are mementos of their families on the walls and these 2 have been there for at least the year and a half since the collie and I have been visiting.  One lady is larger than her wheelchair and yet somehow comfortable enough to sleep.  The second resident is a woman that we have seen there before many times.  Her hair is gray and her face is very wrinkled, and she is barely awake but somehow aware of our presence.  She has that look that she is not long for this world.  You start to recognize it when you spend a lot of time here.  She says something and we try understand as she looks up at us.  I tell her that the collie is there to visit and she holds our her hand which I grasp.  She says something about missing someone, maybe her child or husband, it was not clear.  But she holds on with a force that does not seem possible given her apparently weak condition.  It is a moving moment as you realize that she is so very lonely amid a strange place with many strangers and still the memories of her perhaps beautiful life are strong within her mind.  I comment on the dog and he comes in to nudge her but she keeps grasping my hand.  Next she looks at me and in a motherly demeanor and says "could I hug you."  I offer her my shoulder and she lightly gives it a squeeze and the lump in my throat is starting to constrict the passage of air.  We tell her that the dog and I love her and ask to see a smile, and she weakly complies.  We don't know if this moment is one of her last but is was our place to share it with her and it has a profound effect on us.

Later we hop into the SUV and head for the drive through of the local burger joint.  Volunteering is hard work and needs to be rewarded.  The dog gets his burger plain and dry with a cup of water on the side.