Day: August 1, 2013

I was quite stirred by today, by getting up before dawn with Maria, going with Red to our therapy work at the Veteran’s Home in Bennington, Vt. I couldn’t sleep, despite getting no sleep, and so that is when I know I have to write about what I am feeling. Dr. Karen Thompson, the wonderful human and breeder from Richmond, Va., the person who gave me Red reminded me tonight of our first conversation about Red, when I saw the videos of his trial and farm work and she said her hope for him was that he become a therapy dog, that he has so much trust and heart she knew he would be very good at it.

What Red did not have was faith, because that is a human trait, not an animal one. Karen Thompson supplied that. She had faith in Red, and she followed her God and instincts and chose to have faith in me. She wouldn’t take any money for Red, she was heartsick at the thought of giving him a way. There are people who speak of selflessness and people who are selfless and Karen is the later. The friend who picked Red up for me said she will never forget the look on Karen’s face when she stood in the doorway and watched Red leave.

I think of Karen’s gift of Red every day, and I have not, in fact, ever forgotten that conversation. I took it as a sacred obligation.  I have thought every day how I might honor it, and the truth was, Red was not ready for this work when he came to me. He was not neutered or housebroken, was nervous on many floors, unfamiliar with crowds and buildings, spooked by many sounds and movements from men. We have done so much calming and focus work, he has been joyously and successfully socialized,  he has been everywhere with me. I realized a month or so ago that he was ready. I took him to Therapy Dogs Of Vermont, and we went through good and useful hours of training and evaluation.

Karen does not speak ill of people, and she has never told me the full story of Red and  how he came to her, and it is not my business. I don’t need to know, I can probably guess, but there is no point. Red doesn’t care, and it is no longer important.

I was, Karen remembers, doubtful of the idea that a farm dog like Red could be trained for therapy work. I doubted it was possible.  Lots of people think nice dogs make good therapy dogs, it is more complicated than that. For me, a great therapy dog connects with the soul of the people he or she is seeing. It is not just about obedience, it is a spiritual thing beyond training or breeding. Karen saw the truth. Today, in a dementia ward a tall man sat silently in a wheel chair, the nurse told me that he simply was not present this morning, was off in a faraway place. He seemed discouraged, depressed.  A combat veteran, I imagine he had many such places to go to. He had been staring at nothing for some time.

I walked up to him, he did not respond to me. I have a command now for Red, it is “go here,” and he turned to the patient, and he put his head on this man’s knee – we’ll call him James – and James looked down, and broke into the broadest smile, and then asked me if he could hold the leash, and I gave it to him, and he and Red simply looked at one another, and then Red put his head on James’s knee and I saw him return to the moment, become present, saw an expression of peace and happiness, as if life had become something familiar and comforting again, and the nurses were astonished and overjoyed.

This did not happen because of me, or even Red. It came about because of the great generosity of spirit in Karen Thompson’s soul. I am a controversial figure in some parts of the animal world, among some  border collie people, many of whom were greatly upset by some of my early  writings about dogs and some of my philosophy about dogs. Karen chose to trust me and trust her own faith and instincts. She chose to sacrifice the  breeding fees and the substantial money she could have gotten for this remarkable dog. I was deeply affected by her faith in me, and I considered our arrangement a contract that I would honor.

That is why James  returned to us and smiled  a great and meaningful smile in his nursing home today and why Red is coming into the life he was meant to live, this is how he got to go on his great journey.

Thinking back on Red’s first day as a therapy dog at the Vermont Veterans Home in Bennington, I wanted to write something about the staff. In hospice and other therapy work, volunteers are trained to pay attention to the patients, and to keep an eye on the dog with the patients. There is no room for mistakes in good dog therapy work, it is unthinkable to upset or frighten or harm someone at the edge of life, there is no room for error in a dementia word where people behave unpredictably.

Today, though, I was especially affected not only by how the patients reacted to Red, but also to how the staff reacted, the nurses and social workers who work under the most intense and challenging circumstances and who strike me as almost unfathomably dedicated, cheerful and conscientious. It is very difficult work, it pays little money, it requires unending commitment. Watching the nurses and staff in the dementia and other words, they were thrilled when Red drew a smile or a hug, but I also noticed how pleased they were to see a dog themselves.

Every staffer we passed stop to see Red, to talk to him, to ask about him. I can see how important a dog can be to a patient confined in medical or nursing facility, but I also saw how important he was to the staff. The feeling today was like walking with a bundle of light, everywhere we went we drew smiles and laughter and connection. I am drawn to dementia work myself, and so, I see already is Red, there was an innocence and appreciation in those faces that cut deep. The nurses fight to get to work in that unit, they are very focused on caring for the people there, they brought patient after patient to us, and led us to others in their rooms and in the hallways.

I want to focus on the staff as well as the patients, the therapy dog has more impact than I might even have imagined. Hospice work was different,  find, it was quieter, more restrained understandably. Red had a good time today, and so did the very hard-working people at the home.

Red and I began our next chapter Thursday at a veteran’s home in Vermont. We will be doing therapy work with younger and older veterans, we began at a veteran’s facility in Southern Vermont and the emotional connection between Red these men and women was, from the first, nearly overwhelming. We’ll be visiting there once a week and more frequently if there are special needs or therapy work that can help.

I wanted the first visit to be short, I am mindful that Red was never even in a house until a year ago and a large facility would be strange to him, but we were swamped with people wanting to see him, touch him. He put his head in the lap of one blind vet, an elderly woman and brought smiles and tears to others, they so loved and remembered their dogs. Red seemed to respond to need and attention and he moved from room to room for an hour – a little too much, he was drained at the end. It could not have gone better, been better or more meaningful to me, and I hope, to these veterans whose day seemed to be so brightened by Red’s appearance.

Red moved quietly, calmly, even into large rooms he had never seen before. I’ll write more about this, but I wanted to share an image or two, here and on Facebook. In this very powerful scene, a veteran outside the door of the dementia unit saw Red, and then dropped to his knees to touch and cradle him for nearly ten minutes. The nurses and I were speechless, Red connected to him quite visibly, and we will be seeing him again.

I am excited about this work, eager to bring Red to veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, we are working on that. In the meantime we have found a focus for this remarkable dog beyond his great skills herding sheep. One of the nurses had been at our Open House recently and seen Red work, and she simply couldn’t believe he was coming to the veteran’s facility. Every week.

Maria and I got up before 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise – it was her idea, she is a pagan, but I was all for it, I love working early – and we took our two old ratty lawn chairs and sat out behind the pole barn looking to the apple tree, where the sun always comes up. Lulu and Fanny came over to sniff our pockets, but were not into the sunrise.

Simon came over to join us, he stood right between us resting his head on my shoulder, and then on Maria’s, taking turns. It was wonderful sitting there with him, he was completely into the spirit of it, he is the most trusting and affectionate of creatures. One of the beautiful things about some animals is that even when they have every reason to be wary and suspicious of people – Simon and Red come very much to mind – they never stop trusting, seeking attention and affection. Simon needs our attention, needs to have his nose rubbed, needs to be talked to. It is part of his healing, part of ours.

The three of us sat together for an hour until the sun popped up over the hill, we sat the light on the tops of the trees. Simon never moved, it seemed he was watching the sun too. How wonderful to live in this world, to sit and see the sunrise with your lover and your donkey. How in the world did this ever happen to me?

I focused on this one apple, almost in the center of the photo, flanked by the tree trunk and some leaves being backlit by the rising sun. I used a big lens, the 300 mm, it captures light so beautifully and it suddenly seemed as if I was in another world. There is so much beauty in the world, and I spent so much of my life blind to it. Breakdowns can be good for people sometimes, perhaps it’s the only way to really get people to change. Love helps too.