Sometimes, as people stroke and touch him, I see Red lower his head, I am not sure why, but to me it appears to be an act of humility, a message to the people around him that he is gentle and accepting. I feel a powerful spirituality in the room at such moments, as if something is happening that is beyond my instincts and ability to grasp, but is beautiful and humbling for me. Red reminds me that people are good if given the chance.
Connie’s door is almost always open, she sits near the hallway, her walker close, tubes attached to help her breathe. I say, “Connie, It’s Jon and Red, do you want us to come in.” She says yes, she does.
As we get to know the patients and the Mansion assisted care facility – it is pleasant and comfortable there – I have a new regiment for Red and I, I come in, remind everyone who I am and who Red is – his therapy tag is usually hanging off of his collar – and once we all know one another, I back out of the room and into the hallway, signaling Red with one palm up to stay there.
I know now that the residents are not really looking to talk to me, they want to touch Red, look into his eyes and be transported to a time and place they rarely speak of aloud. I know they are going somewhere, but rarely know where. There is a silence about Red and around Red.
He goes off to places with them.
I imaging them to be going back in time, to their own dogs and cats and lives back in the world.
The residents are well cared for at the Mansion, and content there, but there is an inevitable sense of disconnection in these places, they are not the real world. Residents are cut off from many of the things they loved and were comforted by, despite the intense efforts of the staff to entertain and stimulate them.
I see that the dog brings them back to connection, back to the life they left behind, the life we will all have to leave behind one way or another. We are all one thing, headed in the same direction, going to the same place. There are some people who like to talk a bit – Brother Pete, a monk for 50 years likes to talk about the dogs he had.
Most of the time, the people we visit like Connie just want to be alone with the dog, so I keep in sight. People often fail to grasp that the therapy dog handler has to pay attention to the dog every second, I can be a few feet away but never out of sight or touch.
I never fail to remember that these visits are between the residents and Red, I am just transporting him and watching over him. Nobody wants to touch me or sit with me for many minutes.
The people we see are never aware of the commands I am giving him, almost constantly. Come to the person. Stay still. Don’t sit down. Wait right there. Come around the chair. Come slowly.
Surprising things happen all the time, and Red often looks to me for signals or reassurance or permission. If I wave the hand down, he can lie down, if I hold it up, he is to stay sitting up. People can stumble or fall, there are strange noises, sights and smells.
My rule for therapy is no mistakes, no mishaps. I don’t want anyone ever stumbling or falling over my dog, or getting frightened by him, or jumped on, I don’t want to be far away if he is spooked by something, he will be guided by my signals and commands. It can happen to any dog and my rule for therapy is no mistakes. If you can’t be absolutely certain that you are in control of your dog every minute, or can’t be 100 per cent certain of how he will behave, then don’t bring him near the elderly or the sick.
It doesn’t matter how cute or sweet he or she is, he has to be completely dependable. I could never have trained Red to be as intuitive as he is, he is very unusual.
People sometimes try to talk to me while I am doing therapy work, I don’t like it, it’s not the time for chatter. I need to pay attention.
At the very least, the dog must do no harm of any kind, not around vulnerable people who trust him and open their hearts to him.
Red and I speak without language, he reads me and I read him, and we are never not working, no matter how casual or relaxed it seems. I can only handle this work for 30 or 45 minutes at a stretch, my concentration is so intense.
We both are drained after these visits, and I am also exhilarated. It is good work to do, and it matters a great deal to people, and I am lucky to have Red to do it with me.
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If you wish to write to Connie or any of the residents of The Mansion, you can send your letters to: The Mansion, 11 South Union St., Cambridge N.Y., 12816. They love to get letters there.
Every week, Red and I walk down the long and peaceful hallway of the Mansion Assisted Care Facility, the first door we knock on is Mary’s, she is always sitting near the door, watching TV. She is always excited to see Red, and I step back and out of the room so Mary can have Red to herself for 15 minutes or so.
He looks up at her, and puts his paw in her outstretched hand, something he is learning to by himself, he was not trained to do that, he does no tricks. Maria speaks softly to him, and I am pleased to see the smile cross her face while he is there. She says she could sit there with him all day, and not get tired.
I am bringing her some historical novels, her favorite reading matter.
To touch a dog is such a simple thing, it can mean so much to people, I never tire of seeing the power and impact of it. I am comfortable in the Mansion, the staff is cheerful and present, there are many nice touches there, including two parakeets chirping in their cage in the hallway.
If you wish to send letters or cards to Mary or the other residents of the Mansion, you can write them care of The Mansion, 11 South Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.
You might remember Peggy from the visit of a group of people from the Mansion Assisted Care Facility, where Red and I do therapy work, to Bedlam Farm. Red and I were back at the Mansion this afternoon, and we ran into Peggy again. She visited with her daughter, who did up her hair – it is now Red – and painted her fingernails. Peggy is a passionate animal lover, and was happy with her re-do.
She was also thrilled to get some letters from kind readers of the blog, who took the trouble to write to her. Peggy was very excited to have received a letter from Louisiana, everyone at the Mansion was excited to tell me that, and thank you, whoever you are.
Peggy loves to get letters and cards and if you are so inclined, you can write her care of Peggy, the Mansion, 11 South Union St, Cambridge, N.Y.,12816.
At last year’s Open House, Suzie’s very beautiful fingerless mittens sold out in a few hours on the first day. This year, Maria decided to offer them for sale on our blogs in fairness to the people who couldn’t make it to the Open Houses, most of our readers live too far away. So this post is for you.
The mittens are quite soft and colorful, they are made of wool, mohair and hair from Angora bunnies. They sell for $38 plus shipping and you can order a pair if you wish (12 weeks Christmas) by e-mailing Maria at [email protected]. Dickens would have given an arm for a pair of these.
Maybe a finger.
Just sayin’.
