Toby Goes to Hospice

Our booth at the festival was a quiet success. We didn't have a splashy presentation, as no electricity was available in our location, but many people stopped by to read our informational signs, give Toby and Trooper (dog and puppy) a treat, and ask about animal therapy. At least two of the passersby stayed to talk about how they could get their own dogs involved, and I gave them my card and a promise to help them if they decided to pursue it. I didn't sell any of my storybooks, but I didn't really expect to. It wasn't the venue for such things. But I did give one book away in a free drawing, as well as two sessions of R.E.A.D. for a child, so at least two families will remember us after the festival is packed up and put away.

Yesterday Toby (my Sheltie) and I had our first meeting with the Hospice staff. We sat in a storeroom that had been reclaimed and nicely decorated as a small library/lounge and, while Toby napped beside my chair, talked about what each of us hoped to achieve with a therapy animal program. I was asked what my "dream goal" would be for Hospice, and I confess to being a bit surprised by the question. I know what animal therapy does for people, and sometimes forget that it is a fairly new concept for many healthcare professionals. I do hope to grow the program, someday, by adding more Pet Partner teams, so we can make more frequent and varied visits, but that is too far off to contemplate at this point. They didn't want pie-in-the-sky projections, but down-to-earth possibilities.

So I said I understand that my animal partners and I will not be working with physical therapists to help patients get well and go home again -- that's not what Hospice is about -- but that we want to bring comfort and pleasure to the patients who are spending their last days there. We know that visiting with an animal can reduce pain, anxiety and blood pressure, and can be a bright spot in a dull day. We want to do all that for the patients, plus put a little fun into their lives. Animals live in the present, and help us to do the same. While we are stroking or playing with an animal, we are not worrying about the future. They bring us into the present, too, and make us feel alive and happy. This is what I hope to accomplish for the Hospice patients.

I talked about how a Pet Partner visit can also help the families of patients/residents in care facilities. When they see their loved one responding to an animal, they catch a glimpse of the person they love before the illness or dementia robbed them of their vitality, and perhaps their awareness as well. When an ill person spends time with a pet, he or she remembers their past life with their own pets, and other joyful memories that are associated with them. For a short time, they are who they were, and families can rejoice in those moments. Family members receive their own portion of therapy from the animals as well. A calm, loving dog or cat makes everyone in the room more relaxed and amused, and provides a distraction from more serious thoughts. I suggested that the staff let families know when our visits are, so they can plan to be there if they'd like.

We also discussed basic things, like behavior and liability. I explained that a registered Delta Society Pet Partner has had two full days of classroom training, plus lots of directed training time with their animals. I described the test we had to pass (obedience, ignoring distractions, socialization with strangers, etc.) to become registered, and told them we had a million dollars liability insurance through Delta Society, and additional insurance with our homeowner's policy. I wanted them to understand that there is a big difference between a registered Pet Partner team, and someone who has a pet they bring in to share. Delta Society establishes standards of conduct and safety that all Pet Partners are bound to follow, so a facility can feel confident they are getting a healthy and professional volunteer team.

When we had finished our discussion, we took a tour of the Hospice wing of the hospital. The private rooms are quite large, comfortably furnished, and attractively decorated. The lounges and kitchenette for families are soothing and conveniently located. We met the staff working at the nurses' station, and as we made our introductions and small talk, two ladies (family visitors) in the patient room across the hall noticed Toby standing beside me. They saw his working vest, and asked if he could come in to visit their mother. I looked to the volunteer coordinator for permission, as we had yet to complete an orientation/training, and she gave me the nod to enter the room.

Inside was a frail old woman in a hospital bed, bundled to the neck in soft fleece blankets. The daughters greeted Toby with enthusiasm, and then asked if their mother could see him. I asked for a towel to put under him, which was quickly provided from the woman's bathroom. I leaned over to Toby and said, "Up to me," and he jumped into my arms. I lifted him up and laid him in the bed beside her, with his head on her chest. He lay quietly while she extricated an arm from the blankets and stroked him with a large smile on her face. We talked about her dogs, Boston Bull Terriers, that she'd had when she was at home, and her daughters smiled and joined the conversation. When she appeared to be getting cold and a bit tired, I lifted Toby out of the bed and thanked the woman for visiting with us. Her daughters also expressed their gratitude for our visit, and asked us to come back as often as possible. They said they knew that our visit would be the highlight of their mother's day. Toby quietly woofed goodbye, and we left the room.

Back in the hallway, I apologized to the staff for hijacking their tour, but they were quick to say that they were happy to make the stop, and it only illustrated to them how important our ministry would be to their patients. The volunteer coordinator usually holds volunteer training only once a year, and the next scheduled session is quite a long time from now, but she asked if I would be willing to come in for a couple of private sessions right away, so we can get the program up and running immediately. I of course said yes, so we have our first session tomorrow morning. Toby, Teddy, Tinker and I are looking forward to starting work there, and will make every effort to complete the training as soon as possible. We may not save lives with our visits, but if we can bring a lessening of pain, and some joy to Hospice patients and their families, we consider ourselves successful.

Getting the Word Out

I'm working on putting together a booth to promote animal therapy at our local festival, Mineral Springs Days. I found a cheap gazebo at Menards on sale, and hope I can make it stand up on the sidewalk spot I've been assigned. My animal partners will need shade if they are to help me that day. Animal therapy, at least as most of us do it, is completely volunteer. Since we have no budget, we can't always get the most elaborate equipment. All we can do is operate as frugally as possible, buying on sale, and take a tax deduction for volunteer expenses. As long as the facilities we serve are nonprofit, we can declare it.

We never break even -- the cost of printer cartridges alone, for R.E.A.D.(R) program materials and business cards, are enough to make you weep -- but we aren't in it for the money. We do it to serve those who need the comfort and inspiration a therapy animal visit can offer, and for love of our fellow man. If we can make this journey through life -- and sometimes the leaving of it -- a little easier for some, we are fulfilled as human beings. We have the joy of working with our best friends, our animal companions, and the satisfaction of knowing we are doing good in the world. Those of us who are Christians believe we serve our God in this way, and feel blessed to be able to help His people.

I have written a short children's story about the R.E.A.D. program, called Ben and the Reading Dog, that I am attempting to put in some form to self publish on my computer. I copyrighted it this spring, and hope to sell a few inexpensive copies to help recoup some of my costs for the booth. I will also have a free drawing for a couple of services -- reading animal sessions for kids, and a therapy animal visit to a home or care facility -- to help raise awareness of therapy animal work. I hope many people stop by and visit, and perhaps become interested in training themselves and their pets in therapy also. If I show local folks how it works and create some enthusiasm via word of mouth, perhaps I can help create a few new therapy teams in our area. There truly is a need for it.

Trooper Wins (attention) at the Iowa Straw Poll

Greg and I took our two ten-year-old boys to the Iowa Republican Straw Poll in Ames, Iowa, this last weekend. We wanted to give them a micro-lesson in the democratic election process, and this was a perfect opportunity. At the Straw Poll, they don't ask you about your party affiliation, so everyone is welcome, including kids and dogs. We took our Sheltie puppy, Trooper, dressed in his "Therapy Dog in Training" vest. He can't stay home for any great length of time without a potty break, as he is only seven months old. We used this as yet another opportunity to socialize him in preparation for future therapy work.

We visited all of the candidates' tents, enjoyed the entertainment (I didn't know that Herman Kane had a wonderful voice until he sang a number with Mike Huckabee and a young guitarist) and free food, and got autographs and photos of all kinds of celebrities. Trooper had his photo -- and even video -- taken by many photographers throughout the day. I'm wondering if he will show up on someone else's blog about the Straw Poll. He is always a popular attraction whenever we take him out.

I answered a plethora of questions about animal therapy that day, which is the norm when folks see our dogs in a vest. I found out after the fact that the woman with whom I had a nice conversation (about Trooper, of course!) next to the Fox News stage was Mrs. Huckabee, and it may have been their daughter who also asked about Trooper and gave him a treat. They were just regular folks.

Greg wanted to see Sean Hannity, and we were fortunate enough to find him greeting people around the Fox trailer before his and Huckabee's shows started live filming. I had the camera in one hand taking a photo of Sean and my guys, and Trooper in the other arm to keep him from getting stepped on, when Sean said, "What a cute dog!" and stepped over to pet him. I explained that Trooper was being trained to work with our veterans at the VA hospital, and he said, "That's great! Let's get a picture with the dog." He put his arms around us, and Greg snapped the shot. Trooper is becoming quite the celebrity hound!

Hospice calling: will you serve?

I got a call this week from the local hospital's hospice grief counselor, responding to a message I'd left on her phone. I'd seen an ad in the paper about her counseling sessions for children affected by the loss of a loved one, and called to ask if she could incorporate any of my therapy animals into the program. She thought the kids' program would not be the place for us, as it was just a short series of meetings, but was excited to know that we were available, and asked if we would be interested in working in the hospice wing of the hospital. I, in turn, was thrilled at the invitation. I want to learn as much as I can about all aspects of animal therapy.

Some people don't like the idea of spending time with folks who are terminally ill, but I've had several of our "visitees" at the nursing and rehab center (we visit monthly) pass away between our visits, and I'm just glad we were able to bring some happiness into their last days on earth. I know nothing we can do will heal their bodies, but something about hugging and stroking a furry ball of unconditional love is very healing to the heart, soul and mind. If I were very ill, I would want the comfort of my dogs and cats lying on the bed with me. I'm glad I've been given the opportunity to share them with others.

Flashback: On our first visit to the nursing and rehabilitation center, Toby and I visited in the "memory wing," the part of the facility for residents with Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia. We were accompanied by the assistant activities director, whom I will call "Emmie" for this blog. Toby (my Sheltie), Emmie and I entered the room of a tall, frail woman, who lay fully clothed in her bed, staring at the TV. Emmie told me that "Janet" (another alias) had stopped responding to people months ago, and would not talk. When Janet saw Toby, she became animated and verbal. I pulled a chair up to Janet's bedside and had Toby jump into it and sit beside her. Janet sat up and began to pet Toby with her long, skeletal fingers. She told Toby what a pretty dog he was, that he was a good dog, and how much she liked him. She smiled and caressed his soft coat.

I looked up at Emmie, and saw tears in her eyes as she watched Janet and Toby. She had wanted for so long to somehow reach this woman, and the quiet presence of a dog had finally gotten through the fog of Janet's dementia and touched the person inside.

Toby and I visited the next month with Janet, with the same response. The month after, another woman was in her bed, and I learned that she had passed away soon after our last visit. I should have been sad, but the knowledge that Toby had helped her to become herself again for even just a few minutes was a source of joy for me. I only wish that her family had been there to see her talk and enjoy Toby's company for those fleeting bits of time before her death. They would have found comfort in those moments.

Tinker Stakes his Claim

Flashback: One day in the summer of 2006 we were leaving our house in Humeston, Iowa, when my husband noticed a cat in the shrubs by the front door. He called to the cat, who strolled up onto our steps as if he belonged there. The kitty was a beautiful Siamese mix -- I now know the coloration is called "chocolate lynxpoint" -- with fabulous blue eyes. He stretched his paws up our legs and begged to be picked up, but we had to go, so left him on the steps looking longingly after us.

When we got home hours later, he was still there, so my husband, Greg, thought we ought to feed him. We both knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do if we wanted the cat to go home, but for some crazy reason we did it anyway. The next morning he had somehow found his way through or over our chain link fence in the back yard, and was sunning himself on our patio table, staking his claim to our deck and -- as it turned out -- our hearts.

After about three days of this, we couldn't take it anymore. I gave him a bath, blow-dried his coat (which he actually seemed to enjoy!), took him to the vet (who said he was probably about a year-and-a-half old), and arranged to have him neutered and declawed (we have antique furniture). He became a part of our family, and shared his affection with all of us equally, including our old dachshund and female cat. We called him "Tinker," because he had shown up on our doorstep like an Irish gypsy.

About this time I had started to hear about therapy animals, and how folks in nursing homes love to be visited by pets. I thought Tinker, with his uncritical love for all humans, would make a great therapy cat. I called the nearest nursing home and asked if we could visit. They were tickled to have us, asking only that he have his inoculations up to date. So one afternoon I loaded up Tinker and our two five-year-old boys, and trekked to the facility.

Tinker did pretty well sitting on laps and visiting, but the people seemed to be more interested in the cute little boys than the cat. The boys were not happy getting kisses and hugs from elderly women they didn't know, so I decided to put the therapy idea on hold until they were in school, and I could make visits on my own. I wanted to do animal therapy, not reluctant kid therapy!

And so we begin...

I have to admit, I've always been crazy for animals. I had beagles, mutts, St. Bernards, ponies, mice, a Bantam rooster, rabbits, runty pigs, goldfish, orphaned lambs, toads, retired lab rats, hamsters, guinea pigs and a bunch of affectionate outdoor cats while growing up on our acreage in Iowa. My grandmother told me that once, when I was very young, I even begged her to help me catch a skunk that I'd cornered outside.

If you had asked me as a child if animals could talk, and if I could understand them, the answer would have been a wide-eyed, "Yes, of course. Can't you hear them?" Children have an instinctive sympathy for and understanding of animals. I feel fortunate not to have completely lost the wonder and joy of communicating with them, though not on the same level that I did as a child -- who can? I've been around the world (some would say, around the bend!) a bit since then, and some of the innocence has gone away. But I've lost none of the real magic of knowing and loving a puppy, or stray cat, or even a one-eyed white rat named Oedipus Rex. I feel blessed to have had so many wonderful four-footed (and one three-footed) friends in my life, and have learned amazing things about the world because they were in it, sharing it with me.

This blog will help me share some of those special moments with you, and tell how I came to be a Delta Society Pet Partner therapy animal handler and member of Intermountain Therapy Animals' R.E.A.D. program with some of my animal companions. I'll try to enter current events as they unfold, and when I need to give a little background to help you understand the present, I will indicate it like this:

Flashback: (etc., etc., etc.)

I hope you won't find it too confusing. It seems to work in the movies...