Therapy Dogs and Death

NOTE:  The following document is an email I wrote and sent in to the Mastiff email list, back in about 1999 or so.  One of the hot topics on the list at that time was pet therapy work, so I wrote up what had happened and sent it in.  The memory of this event is still clear in my mind…

My wife and I decided to try doing therapy work with our Mastiffs almost four years ago, shortly after her father passed away in the Spring of 1995. We began with two males: CH Westwind Middangeards Chance CD, WD, CGC, TT , and CH Monarch's Orion Shall Rise CD, WD, CGC, TT -of course, they didn't have all the alphabet soup then, but Chance and Rion took the Therapy Dogs International test together, and our work began. Since then, we have added another Therapy Dog,  Haus Humboldt SunSweet Aggie CGC, TT.  Chance and Rion have been at it for the whole time; Aggie has been working with us for about 8 months at this writing.

We do most of our therapy work through a local hospice named Vitas here in San Antonio. It is a very satisfying relationship: we help their patients, while they make our appointments for us. All we have to do is call and tell them we are available, and they find us a place to visit. We have always been welcome at every facility we have visited (although after a bit of initial hesitation from staff  members at first, on occasion), and most have asked for return visits from us. We have visited nursing homes, the hospice wing run by Vitas in a local hospital in San Antonio, and we are regulars at the annual grief camp which is held for children who have recently lost loved ones. We have had many memorable experiences in our four years of work -this is one of them.

The following is a story about our Pet Therapy work, which we have been doing for quite a while now.  Over the last year or so we have been out of the loop.  Other commitments have taken our time away from us, and we just haven't been getting the visits in. We recently made a commitment to renew our service, and made our first visit in a long time yesterday. It started out as a typical visit -going room to room in the hospice wing at the hospital, visiting with patients who showed various levels of responsiveness, but all appreciated our being there and thanked us for coming. Hospice patients are, by definition, terminally ill, so it means a lot to us to see them smile and hear them cheer up. We never know, it might be the last time they ever smile in this life. Yesterday's visit brought that point home like no other has ever done. When we got there, we started our round, noticing that one room had several family members present, and one of the hospice chaplain-types was there. We didn't think much of it at the time, since this is often the case.  We visited with several patients (and their families, it being a Saturday) for about 45 minutes -a typical visit to the wing. Then, as we went to the  nurses' station to pick up the paperwork we have to fill out, we got an unusual request:

"Can you stop by room 524? the patient is deceased, but the family wants you there. Just don't talk to the man in the bed - he won't hear you." This had never happened before, not in about 3.5 years of active therapy work. Visiting a dead patient?  WOW! Well, we looked at each other, looked at the dogs, and said, "Why not?" So we went in the room, to see a man obviously deceased lying on the bed, with a baseball cap on and a Bible under his hand, surrounded by loving family members torn between grief at their terrible loss and the sense of guilt and the release that accompanies the death of a dear one who has been sick for way too long. Now we knew why there was so much activity when we got there. He must have been dying even as we were saying hello at the nurses' station -I remember seeing the chaplain taking the Bible into the room.

Anyway, as we visited with the family, the feelings were like nothing I have ever had before. Tina had seen the exact same thing almost four years ago with her own father - to her the experience stirred up bittersweet ghosts recently forgotten, but for me it was brand new. Having studied forensic anthropology for a couple of years, I have been around dead people before, but never like this. Rion and Aggie behaved like perfect therapy dogs. The family needed lots of hugs, and both of the dogs seemed to sense it. Rion walked up to one family member (a large man, about my age of 35 or so, I would guess) who was sitting in a chair and almost laid himself in the man's lap, as he usually only does with Tina and me. The gentleman latched onto Rion and just held him in a bear hug for about 30 seconds - and Rion let him. I know he sensed the need, and gave of himself to help that man.  Aggie was more mobile, distributing kisses freely to all and sundry, but she allowed herself to be hugged and petted with unusual good grace, too. We visited for about 15 minutes there, talking about dogs and just being there for those folks. Tina was very quiet, but I had a good idea why. The man even looked a bit like her father ... 

I don't think I've ever been prouder of our babies -sure, when we posed for title photos, or when the judge pointed his/her finger at our dog and said, "Breed," but it's not the same.  Neither one of us has ever experienced anything like those minutes, and I'm not sure we ever want to again. However, for a few minutes, we gave that family exactly what they needed, and our dogs were the best medicine they could have had. It's a rare feeling indeed.  I'm sorry to have rambled on so long about our experience  yesterday, but the message is this: If you are thinking about trying therapy work, and you have a calm, outgoing, well-socialized dog with some basic obedience training, GO FOR IT. It will do you, and your dog, and others around you worlds of good. I will never forget those few minutes of my life...  They have been added to my collection of unforgettable experiences in therapy dog work. None of those experiences are bad -none. All are bittersweet, because the patients are so desperately ill, but the difference our dogs made is for the good.