Trooper Goes to Washington

Flashback: Trooper grew up quickly, though there were times I wished he would leave the puppy stage behind sooner rather than later. He continued to harass poor Toby, to the point where Toby now has much less of his mane than he did before. I have started to tell him no when he pulls Toby's ruff, but bad habits -- especially when they're so much fun -- are hard to break. Trooper was finally completely potty trained at eight months. A puppy should be reliable at about six months, but Trooper had an aversion to going outside, perhaps because of the bad weather when he was a tyke. At last I can let him run loose in the house without constant supervision, though he generally stays in the same room with me, snoozing until I move, then following me everywhere. He's even more attentive than Toby, who has shadowed me since he was a puppy, too.


A few highlights from his early puppyhood:

When he was only four months old, he went on two summer vacations with our family. The first was to Washington, D.C. to visit Greg's father. Our other pets went to a sitter's house, but Trooper wasn't yet potty trained, so we decided to take him with us. He was a good traveler, snoozing in his kennel in the back of our van when we drove, and doing his business on command when we stopped for exercise. He loved meeting strangers and taking treats from them. I had bought him his red "Therapy Dog in Training" vest before we left, and this (and my Pet Partner credentials) allowed him access to places where regular pets were not allowed.

We called the administrative office at the Marine Museum at Quantico, and received permission to bring him into the museum with us. He was a real trooper in all the displays, even the room with the loud soundtrack from a Civil War reenactment. He sat calmly and took treats while the cannons and gunfire boomed all around him. When the gentleman who cleared our visit found us among the WWII display, he invited Trooper to come to the adminstrative office to provide some stress relief therapy to the staff there. We were happy to go with him -- another chance to let Trooper ride an elevator -- and play fetch in the office. The man had a silly wind-up toy alligator that intrigued the puppy, and his antics brought some much-needed laughter to the staff.

The Sergeant at Arms of the U.S. Capitol Building granted Trooper permission to take a Capital tour with us, provided by one of Senator Grassley's aides. Trooper behaved himself very well, with the small exception of a few small yips in the gallery of statues, probably in reaction to the cacophony created by the many student groups who were there that day. He went into the Senate gallery with us, and ate a lot of treats to make sure he stayed quiet. He was interested in the goings-on of the Senate floor below us, and I was terrified that he would let out a bark and get us tossed out of the building. When it was time to go into the House gallery, I elected to stay out in the hallway with the guards instead. I'd evaded disaster once, and didn't want to risk it again.

While we waited for my family, we entertained the guards and other visitors. Trooper always collected a crowd wherever we went, and this stop was no exception. One family offered to hold his leash while I went in to be with my family, but I wasn't about to leave him with a stranger, no matter how well meaning. I wouldn't leave my child alone, and I take my responsibility to my animals just as seriously.

I picked Trooper up for the many elevator rides we had to take, to keep him safe from unseeing feet, and tried to keep him out of the other passengers' faces. Some of our fellow riders were amused by his funny face, others didn't understand why he was there and registered either disapproval or confusion. I looked once at our young guide's face, and wasn't sure what his odd expression meant. I asked him if he was allergic to dogs, and he said, "No, I was just thinking that my dog would never do that." He went on to explain that his dog would not hold still while being held in an elevator full of people.

We took our kids -- and Trooper -- to the Smithsonian Aerospace Museum. The guards, rather than telling us we couldn't come in, welcomed Trooper with open arms and gave him treats. While we were there, we sat at a table in the museum's McDonald's restaurant with an oriental family of tourists. The father was very interested in Trooper's breed and animal therapy, and the kids went nuts for a puppy. It was yet another opportunity to spread the word about animal therapy. A few minutes later an Hispanic man and his son walked by us speaking Spanish. I understood very little of what they were saying to each other, but I immediately recognized the name "Lassie" when the father looked at Trooper and spoke to his son. That famous collie has made Shelties recognizable as well. (I could go on and on about how people think Shelties are miniature collies, but that's not why I'm here today.)

A woman employee in the museum wanted to meet Trooper, asking all about him, and I told her we had named him Trooper hoping he could work with veterans when he grows up. She blessed us, and said we had made her day. Leaving the museum later, we discovered there had been a partial change in the guard. One of the guards we had met previously gave us a huge grin, and said "Hi, Trooper! Hey, guys, this is Trooper -- he's a therapy dog!" And Trooper had to meet all the new guards and take treats from them, too.

We took the opportunity while in D.C. to visit the many war memorials and take Trooper's photo with them. We were forced, because of a last minute change in our schedule, to do this on a 90-degree afternoon. Trooper got very hot and tired as we walked around, and I ended up carrying him a lot, traipsing through the shade on the lawn, hoping that no one would tell me to stop stepping over the short chain that was supposed to keep me on the paths. (Whoever decided that all the sidewalks there should be paved in blacktop rather than white concrete ought to be fired! The heat was absolutely radiating from them.) When we got to the reflecting pool at the WWII memorial, I was very tempted to dunk Trooper in it to cool him off, I was that worried about him. Concern about what kind of organisms might be growing in the water stopped me, however, so instead I poured his bottle of drinking water over him, rubbing it into his fur down to the skin, and sat with him in the shade while Greg went to get the car. Trooper was none the worse for it after he cooled down, but I felt badly that he had gotten so hot. He was just a baby, after all!

This vacation was our first with a dog, and we learned a few things about hotels and restaurants along the way. Many more hotels are becoming pet friendly, perhaps because a greying America likes to take their "children" with them when they travel. A few hotels allow pets in free, others charge small (or large) fees, others ask for a deposit that is returned after a check-out inspection for damage. Overall, I think it averaged out to much less than keeping Trooper in a boarding kennel for the same amount of time. Some restaurants let Trooper in with his vest on, even after we explained that they were not legally bound to do so, as he is not a service dog. Some would have liked to let him in, and regretfully told us that their policy forbids it. One let us order ice cream without saying anything, then asked us to leave after we had paid and sat down. One's waittress said he couldn't come inside, but offered us patio seating and brought him a dish of water. Several of their employees found an excuse to come to our table when they heard there was a puppy outside.

We felt it was a successful experience. It was good for Trooper to get away from Toby and learn to depend exclusively on people for his entertainment and contact for a long week. He was already showing signs of not wanting to be touched, and the time away from Toby was very beneficial.

More vacation stories later.

Hospice, for Real

I've finally done all the preliminary training and paperwork to be a hospice volunteer. Last week Toby and I went to our first volunteer training meeting, and the coordinator asked us to come to the front of the room and introduce ourselves. She then told the others how excited hospice is to start this program. She and the hospice director had to jump through a few administrative hoops, as they hadn't had an official animal therapy program before, but the way has now been cleared for future visits. I got my required flu shot after the meeting, courtesy of the hospital, which saved me/my insurance company a few bucks. Nice benefit, if you happen to like getting holes poked in your arm. I'm not really complaining. Maybe it will save me a couple of sinus issues this winter.

I was also asked to help edit a draft of their new animal therapy team policy. I feel honored to be the one to help them start the program. It gives me a chance to make sure the standards are kept high enough to ensure the professional conduct of hospice therapy teams. They were adapting a policy used by another hospital, which was geared entirely toward dogs, so I had to make quite a few changes to include other therapy animals. I also changed all the "pet therapy" terms to "animal therapy," explaining that it connoted a higher, more professional level of practice. Anyone can bring a family pet to hospice for a social visit, but only a trained animal therapist can bring a registered therapy animal to a facility and function in the professional manner required to ensure a safe and effective visit. The new policy states that only registered therapy animals will be allowed to make therapy visits, which I believe is a very wise move, both for the benefit of the patient and the liability of the facility.

Today I made my first official visit to the hospice wing, and decided to bring Teddy, my white cat. Unfortunately, only one patient was able to visit with us today. The woman I've visited with twice before, with Toby, appears to have entered the last stages of her stay there. She spends most of her time sleeping, and probably won't be able to visit with us again. I know the day will come when I will make my regular Tuesday morning pilgrimage, and find that her room is occupied by another fleeting soul. Such is the way of hospice, and I must try to accustom myself to it.

The woman who visited with us today is not as lucid as her family would like, but she did brighten up when I put Teddy on the bed beside her. We helped her pet him, moving her hand over his plush fur. She smiled for awhile, made some simple conversation about kittens, then dozed off. That's how patients sometimes signal the end of our visit, and we just quietly pack up and make our exit.

Since we had no other patients to visit, we spent a few minutes in some of the offices in the hospice's nursing station and administrative hallway, bringing a little therapy to those on the front lines. I sometimes think this is just as important as visiting with the patients. Seeing so much sorrow and death has to take a toll on the staff's collective psyche as well. I'm told that some of them -- as well as the volunteers -- occasionally need bereavement counseling when one of their favorite patients dies. It must be difficult to remain objective at times. I'm almost grateful that I'm only there once a week, and don't have time to form a close relationship with any of the patients.

Being in the hospice really makes you take a hard look at your own mortality, and that of your loved ones. I'm lucky that my parents are still fairly young (in their early seventies), but my father did give us a scare when he coded after heart surgery a couple of years ago. Working in hospice brings it home to me how lucky we were that he made a full recovery. I need to do some heavy thinking about my own health, and what I can do to maintain and improve it as I grow older.

Trooper Comes Home

Flashback:  Trooper proved to be a wild boy when we got him home. Suddenly his sister didn't seem so crazy after all. At four pounds, he did his best to dominate 20-pound Toby, chasing him around and play fighting constantly. Trooper always had his mouth full of hair from Toby's tail or mane. At first Toby didn't want anything to do with him, ignoring Trooper when he could and curling his lip in disapproval -- showing what Shetland Sheepdog people call "the Sheltie smile" -- when the puppy attempted to play with him. After a few days, however, Toby began to grab the other end of a rope toy when Trooper brought it to him as enticement to a game, and he soon got in touch with his "inner puppy," as my husband likes to call it. Those were halcyon days for Toby, when Trooper was still too small to inflict any major damage, and he was a fun playmate.

The potty training began immediately. We have a large wire crate that has been used for various pet reasons, including new puppies (Toby, and now Trooper), visiting dogs (Husker, who is another story), and cat isolation when a new kitten or cat came on board, or one of them had a medical condition that needed special care. Trooper was in this crate in our dining room -- we gave up our breakfast counter chairs for the duration -- when he wasn't doing his business or playing under supervision. He didn't like his crate unless he was eating or sleeping in it, but crate training is essential to consistent potty training and household safety. I confess to not always luring him into the crate, but sometimes picking him up and putting him into it, when my kids were demanding my attention and I simply didn't have the time to coax a puppy. This may have led to -- or at least not prevented -- a problem we still have: hand shyness. But more about that later.

It was in the coldest part of our Iowa winter when he came to us, and as soon as I put him outside to go potty he began to shiver uncontrollably. I decided he needed to be trained on weewee pads for the moment. These are plastic-backed sheets of absorbent material, about 18" x 24", treated with a chemical that encourages puppies to relieve themselves. We have a corner spa tub that is seldom used in our downstairs bathroom, just off the kitchen, so I overlapped three pads in the tub and set Trooper down on them when it was time for his business. He learned to use them quickly, and got a treat every time he used them. When he was finished, I asked him to sit, holding the treat just over his head and a bit back, encouraging him to reach his nose back and plunk his bottom down. Worked like a charm, and he learned to sit in only a day or two. It was then I realized just how smart he is, and knew I was in for both a lot of trouble -- a smart puppy, like a child, gets bored quickly and looks for something to do -- and a good deal of satisfaction, once I could channel the intelligence into productive training and work.

I already felt a huge burden to train this puppy correctly from the very first day, so he could become a therapy dog as soon as he was a year old. I constantly second-guessed my actions and attitudes, worrying that I was doing the wrong thing, or pushing him too hard, or not teaching him enough. I learned from a training manual that a puppy's golden window for training is between the ages of 8 and 16 weeks, so I taught him as much as I could during that time period: sit, come, stay, down, shake, high five, speak, and chase your tail. He wasn't always consistent in his response, but he understood the commands. I laid the best foundation I could, with the time I had for training, knowing that you can teach an old dog new tricks, but it's easier when they're puppies eager to fill their empty little heads with good stuff!

[I wish I could access my early puppy pictures, but I'm having some computer problems right now. I will post a photo of Trooper at about three months, where his blaze is not the massive drift of white it was at eight weeks, though still not as narrow as it has become since. I'll post earlier photos as soon as I get a new laptop and download from Carbonite.]

Super Duper Trooper!

Flashback: As my husband and I discussed our rapidly growing interest in animal therapy, we realized that if we (he wants to be registered eventually as well) want to be able to serve the greatest number and type of clients, we would have to have another therapy dog -- one who was in love with small children and had a higher energy level for physical therapy work (chasing a ball, etc.). I began my search for an adult dog to rescue, so he would already be settled into adulthood, and we wouldn't have to wait for him to become a year old. Petfinder.com became my constant companion, and I contacted many breeders to ask if they had an adult dog that they wanted to retire, or an adolescent that didn't quite live up to their show conformation expectations.

I found several dogs in our local shelter that I thought might work, and the shelter agreed to let me foster them for a couple of weeks to see if they would be suitable for therapy work. One was a wire haired bulldog mix, rather ugly, but with a sweet temperament. I asked my husband to visit the shelter with me to look at him, and Greg pronounced him too ugly to inspire warm feelings in therapy clients. I heard from the staff a couple of weeks later that they had taken him to a family gathering where he started nipping the small children, so we were glad we didn't take him home.

The next local dog was a West Highland Terrier ("Westie") who had been picked up as a stray along with another identical dog. He was nice enough, if a bit strong-willed, but he had a skin condition that I think might have been a flea allergy. Westies are prone to such things, and I just didn't want to take on a health problem that might affect how he looked (and felt) to clients.

The last local dog to come under scrutiny was a lovely little black and white Shih Tsu with a great temperament. I brought my whole family to see him, and my husband and one of the boys were immediately repulsed by his "bulging bug eyes." As much as I wanted to take him, I couldn't fight half the family over him, so he found a forever home elsewhere soon after.

We traveled to several shelters in our extended area to see other dogs that looked good online, but weren't what we wanted once we got there. One lovely Sheltie mix was just too shy for the job. Another American Eskimo was already adopted when we arrived. A Pomeranian didn't seem to take training very well. (He later found a home with a friend here, and has been a wonderful addition to her family.)

Breeders offered us some dogs, but they were either too expensive, too old, or too high of a health risk. Finally Greg and I decided that we should look for another Sheltie, since we had had good luck with Toby, and really liked the breed. We wanted one who wasn't quite as shy as Toby, so I started checking out the breed rescues in the Midwest for an adult who could handle therapy. We really wanted to find a rescue dog. We considered a four-year-old male named Twister, almost traveling to see him, but decided at the last minute that his ingrained habits of spinning in manic circles and urinating on the furniture just weren't going to work for us.

I contacted Linda Kotapish at the Sheltie Shack Rescue in Kansas, but she didn't have any adult dogs at the time that she thought were calm and outgoing enough for therapy. We had several phone and email conversations over the span of a few weeks, and got to know each other a bit as we discussed the problems I was having in finding the right dog. Then suddenly her rescue was blessed with a litter of sable Sheltie puppies. A backyard breeder she knows had had an oops! litter (born December 22) when she thought she was out of the business, and had decided to give them to the shelter rather than trying to find homes for them. The parents were distantly related, which might also have been a consideration. There was always the possibility of genetic issues cropping up.

Linda generally does not let first-time Sheltie Shack adopters take a puppy, and seldom families with children, either, but she said she felt good about us after talking with me, and wanted to offer us a puppy if we wanted to try "starting from scratch" with our second dog. Greg and I talked it over, pros and cons (potty training, unknown personality factors, neutering expenses, etc.), and finally decided to consider it. We got photos of the puppies almost right away, and it was hard not to fall in love with each and every one of them. We thought we wanted a female to neutralize male dominance issues, but the Sheltie people I talked to said that the females tend to be rather bossy, and that two males would probably get along better.

There were only two males in the litter, and one of them -- the one with a beautifully symmetrical face -- was already promised to a friend of the rescue. The remaining male had a face only a mother could love: lopsided mask with a huge amount of white on his face. We were disappointed, and thought maybe we would consider one of his better-marked sisters. Linda agreed we could have the pick of the litter, minus the reserved male, and we decided to go ahead and take one of them, no matter what. We narrowed it down to one of the females with the most outgoing personality, and the little lopsided boy. If we got the girl, she would be "Troika" in honor of our boys' Russian heritage, and the boy would be "Trooper" to celebrate our own service and honor that of our American servicemen. Whichever pup we took would, hopefully, be doing therapy in the VA hospital with us. (The pup's name had to start with "T" to fit in with the rest of our pets, a naming fluke that became a habit.)

We got word in the first week of February that the breeder wanted them out of her house at 7.5 weeks old, so we made plans to travel to Kansas on Valentine's Day weekend. We were invited to stay in Linda's home -- also her rescue HQ -- in the basement apartment of a lovely ranch house on the farm she and her husband share. We arrived on a Friday night, and got to play with the puppies for awhile before putting the kids to bed. We met all of the puppies, but then played with just the two we had decided to choose between. Troika was a little kangaroo, jumping straight up into the air and constantly starting play fights with Trooper. She paid more attention to our dog, Toby (the whole family had to go and get approved by Linda) than she did to people. She also had a domed head (it should be flat), which worried us not only for conformation, but for health reasons. (Her own forever family later reported that she had a few minor seizures as a young puppy, but who knows if the shape of her head had anything to do with it -- Shelties are prone to epilepsy.) She was a very beautiful puppy, but we were concerned about her energy level. We were afraid that Toby would not be able to put up with her harassment. He is a very calm and unassuming dog.

Trooper, on the other hand, was a little less lively, though plenty energetic in his own right. He jumped, but not as often, and was less of a nuisance for Toby. His face was still very white, but we could see the brown had started to close in on the white a bit, as we had learned it would as he grew older. Both pups weighed about four pounds, with Troika just a little heavier than Trooper. I was almost afraid to touch them, they were so small. (One of their sisters weighed only about 2.5 pounds, so we had the monsters of the litter at that point.) Linda put the two of them in a puppy playpen in the basement with us, and we decided to sleep on our decision.

The next morning we awoke to the sound of boys and puppies playing in the next room. We fed them, cleaned up the pen, had some breakfast, and got them out to play again. After awhile, we came to the decision that although Troika had the prettier face, Trooper was better suited to our family, and hopefully for therapy. If we were looking for a funny face that would bring a smile of amusement to therapy recipients, rather than an awed appreciation of the dog's beauty, he was definitely the dog for us. (We briefly considered taking both of them, but reason soon prevailed.)

Linda prepared the adoption paperwork, we paid the fee (more than an ARL, much less than a breeder), and she gave us a gift bag with a ball, tug rope, collar, leash, tag, puppy blanket, document bag, and some food. No AKC papers -- I'd have to apply for an ILP (alternate AKC listing) later. The adoption agreement mandated that he be neutered before he could reach sexual maturity, which we agreed to wholeheartedly. His litter was the perfect example of why dogs should be spayed and neutered. (His mother was eventually spayed before she could have any more "accidents.") All of our pets have been "fixed" as soon as they were old enough, or, in the case of Tinker, as soon as he came into our house.

The boys went outside to meet Linda's miniature horses (one got out, and we had to herd him back in), and we finally said fond goodbyes and started the trip home. Trooper was/is a great traveler, unlike Toby, who suffered from car sickness for the first year of his life. He had nary an accident in his kennel on the return trip, and was great about doing his business when we let him out in the grass. Several hours later we arrived home to start the next chapter of our great therapy puppy adventure: Potty Training.

Toby's First Therapy Evaluation

To pick up where I left off in the last flashback: I went online and found the Delta Society website, and Delta's local affiliate in Des Moines, Paws & Effect. They appeared to be the only animal therapy training and support group of any kind in our area. Their next training wasn't posted, so I got in touch with the director, Nicole Shumate. She promised to let me know when their next Pet Partners weekend workshop would be held in Des Moines. It appeared that it would be early the next spring, so I decided to go ahead on my own until then, making my own facility contacts and visiting wherever possible.

My husband discovered the Intermountain Therapy Animals website as he was searching for therapy animal information. They are another therapy animal organization operating in Utah, and have developed the Reading Education Assistance Dog (R) (R.E.A.D.) program. I was intrigued by this program, as I had heard of children reading to animals in schools and libraries. I pored over the website myself, watching their inspiring online videos and learning about the program. I ordered their training manual and began teaching myself how to run a R.E.A.D. program in libraries and schools. I could not become an official R.E.A.D. practitioner until I had registered my animals and myself with an organization like Delta, but that didn't stop me from contacting my children's school to see if I could work with any of their students.

One of the special education reading resource teachers asked if I would come read with one of her third grade students, a boy I'll call Bobby. Each Tuesday I would bring Toby to her classroom, and we would spend the last 15 minutes of Bobby's resource time sitting on beanbag chairs and reading a book of his choice. He worked very hard for Toby, and we helped him sound out the words and read with expression. At the end of the school year Toby and I visited his regular classroom and presented him with a certificate. (More about Bobby another time.) His teacher said he had made great improvements in his reading that year, and Toby and I hoped we had been a part of his growth.

Back to waiting for training: I happened to meet a woman in a grocery store when I was socializing Toby one autumn day, who told me she had her registered therapy dog -- a golden retriever -- in the car outside. We started talking, and she said she had tested with Therapy Dogs International (TDI) in Des Moines, and it only cost a few dollars. No prior training required. That sounded great to me, so I looked them up online and saw that their next evaluation was to be held in November. I talked it over with my husband, and we decided it made sense for Toby and me to go ahead and get tested and registered with TDI, so I could be an official therapy dog handler right away. I figured I could wait and test the cats with Delta, as TDI only tested dogs.

After talking it over with our obedience trainer, however, I realized that TDI does not allow multiple registrations: if I registered with them, I could not train and participate in the R.E.A.D. program. I could start my own "Tail Waggin' Tutors" program under the guidance of TDI, but it doesn't include animals other than dogs, training, or a local support group. I decided to take Toby to the TDI testing as a spectator rather than a participant, just to see what the test was like.

We went on a Sunday morning. There were quite a few teams there at the dog training facility where it was being held. I spoke with the person at the registration desk, and discovered that the test included elements of both the AKC Canine Good Citizen (CGC) test and the therapy dog test. I could take the whole test (there was no separating the parts) and accept just the CGC for $10 if I wanted to. I was hungry for any kind of validation to take into the facilities with us, so decided to go ahead and participate in the evaluation. Luckily, I had brought Toby's brush, so I could give him a quick spiff up before it started. Grooming is part of the evaluation.

I won't go into any details right now about the test itself, but I will say Toby and I passed with flying colors. I was so proud of him! We got our paperwork and ordered the certificate and collar tag from the AKC. Even though we weren't a registered team yet, I could at least say that we had passed an evaluation for therapy and earned the CGC. When it came down to it, what we did and how we behaved in our visits mattered more than how many tags or certificates we had. We comported ourselves as confident professionals, and our clients were content to wait for our credentials.

"Intro to Animal Therapy," or "How I Fortuitously Stumbled onto my Future'

Flashback: Last September I was walking Toby, our adult Sheltie, through our small downtown, and stopped in at a new craft consignment store. I took Toby in with me (he is so well behaved he is welcome in nearly every business in town), and one of the owners had his dog in the store with him. I struck up a conversation with the man, as dog people are wont to do, and discovered that his was a seizure alert dog (a service dog that warns its human partner when a seizure is imminent, so the person can go to a safe place to have the seizure or seek help). He remarked that Toby was a very intelligent, well trained dog, and told me that such a dog should have the chance to fulfill his potential, doing work of some kind. He said he was a licensed trainer of therapy, service, and search & rescue dogs, and offered to help me train Toby. I said I'd thought about animal therapy, and he thought Toby would be perfect for the job.

He named a figure for his training fee, and it was far more than I could ever have paid. (My husband would have rolled his eyes at me if I'd even suggested it to him.) He then said that I could train Toby myself, and he would evaluate us when I thought we were ready. I liked that idea much better. I immediately went home, ordered Kathy Diamond Davis' book on therapy dogs and a blue therapy dog vest online, and started researching therapy dog organizations. I also enrolled the two of us in a basic obedience class, to make sure that the training I'd done with him had been correct. We would need to pass the AKC's Canine Good Citizen (CGC) test as well as a therapy evaluation.

When the book arrived, I read it from cover to cover in just a few days, learning a vast amount of very useful information about training a therapy dog. Davis' book is referred to as "the bible of therapy dog training" by those in the field, and I could understand why. She covers all the bases. I didn't understand just how excellent it was until later, after seeing training materials from other sources. I only knew that after reading it, I felt confident enough to train myself and my dog, and began doing it.

I called a local nursing and rehab center, told them that I'd like to start visiting them in preparation for therapy animal evaluation, and was met with enthusiastic welcome. I asked a library if I could bring Toby in with me one day to train him in a library environment, and they asked me to come to their preschool story hour on a regular basis. I was at a YMCA fall kids' fest with Toby, getting him used to the noise and energy level of small children, and the activities director of an adult daycare (who happened to be working a booth there) asked me if I would visit her facility regularly.

I was overwhelmed with the response I was getting. I had never dreamed that we would be invited to so many places so soon! And we were still in training, not yet registered with any therapy organization. I made sure our homeowner's insurance policy covered liability for our pets when we were away from home, and jumped into volunteer "practice." I took both Toby and Tinker with me, at different times, on these visits, and our "clients" loved them.

Toby was amazing in his obedience class. We worked together to develop our teamwork, and learned to trust each other more than ever. One of the instructors and her dog were Delta Society Pet Partners, and she encouraged me to pursue Pet Partner training, evaluation and registration. We talked a bit about the difference between the available registering organizations, and Delta sounded like the right one for us, for many reasons.

To be continued...

Adult Daycare Keeps Me on My Toes!

This morning Toby and I made our monthly pilgrimage to the adult daycare center. We had to skip it last month when I discovered that our flea medication wasn't working. There is no greater sin in therapy animal work than taking an animal with parasites into a nursing facility. I have always used Frontline on my dogs and cats, but since moving to Colfax, it hasn't done the job. Last fall I had to take a hiatus in my therapy work for more than two months until a hard frost killed off the flea population in town. When Frontline failed again this year, I was determined to find a cure before I had to bug bomb our house (we did it three times last summer, to no avail -- though it did prove to be effective on the spiders, thank goodness!).

I did some Internet research, and decided that K-9 Advantix (dogs) and Advantage II (cats) were the things to try. I ordered some from Petco.com, which seemed to be very reasonable, along with a box of Capstar as a boost, just in case. It arrived very quickly, and I dosed the whole menagerie (dog, puppy, and four cats). The results were nearly immediate. Trooper, the pup, had some lingering fleas, so he got a couple of doses of Capstar (you can safely give it every day if you need to), and all got their second monthly application this week. At last, something that actually KILLS fleas! (I don't work for any drug company -- just letting you know what worked for us, in case you have the same problem.)

I also took a tip from some of Trooper's littermates' adoptive moms, and sprinkled diatomaceous earth (ground up fossils) in the area of my yard used by the dogs. It kills fleas by slicing through their exoskeletons. Sounds awful, but I have no pity for the teeny varmints. Doesn't hurt mammals, but is deadly to bugs. Works on anthills, too, if anyone has a problem with those guys.

But I digress. The adult daycare is a bit different from my other care facility clients. The folks there are all alert and active, and expect more from us than a quick "pet my dog" session. So I always give them a short program of some sort. I've had to rack my brain a couple of times to come up with something entertaining, but so far I've always managed to think of something to do. They are a wonderful audience to audition new programs and tricks for, always encouraging and offering suggestions and questions that I might not have considered before. Senior citizens have a wealth of knowledge to share, and an inspiring curiosity as well.

Earlier this summer I was asked to do a "dog and pony show" -- minus the pony -- for a group of children at a library. The librarian asked me to bring both Toby and Trooper, because kids love puppies. Within just a few days I had to come up with a routine involving obedience demonstrations and tricks, something that would entertain a large room full of wiggly children. Luckily, my visit to the adult daycare was scheduled a few days before my library gig, and I had a chance to try out my program on the folks there. They were great, and helped me figure out where the dogs needed more practice before the children's program. When we finally did it "for real," the kids were enthralled, and Toby chased his tail in a record number of circles as they counted.

I didn't know until about 9:00 just what I was going to do for the program at 10:30 this morning. Dog or cat? Subject matter? I kept coming up empty. Then I happened to glance at the materials I'd used for the festival booth, and realized Toby and I could piggyback on them to present a program about some of the jobs that therapy animals can do. I explained our work in general, then focused particularly upon the Reading Education Assistance Dog (R.E.A.D.) program. To help them understand the program from a child's point of view, I read them the children's storybook I've written, Ben and the Reading Dog, featuring Toby, and then answered questions afterward. I was a bit embarrassed when they asked me to sign a copy of the little book I gave them. I've signed autographs for singing and acting before, but never for writing.

We also had a great discussion about other kinds of therapy animals, particularly the rabbits that this daycare had several years ago. I learned a lot, too, about how sensitive a rabbit actually can be to a person's emotions. One of their rabbits jumped into the lap of a very upset little lady one day, rested its paws on her chest, and nuzzled her in the neck. What a lovely, comforting experience!

A variety of species of obedient, calm, and people-loving animals can be registered as therapy animals. The most common are dogs, followed by cats. I've also heard of llamas, rats, guinea pigs, hamsters, birds (usually parrots), bunnies, burros, horses and miniature horses becoming therapy animals. Reptiles and exotics are not allowed, for obvious reasons. Perhaps that will change in the future, but for now it is limited to "common" pet mammals and birds. I still get some surprised responses when I tell people that I have therapy cats, too, so I can just imagine their reaction if I offered to bring a llama to their bedside!

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...