January 8, 2007 – I learned a lesson, I think, last night, about me, and about how to love a dog. I took Lenore to a hospice meeting to see if she, like Izzy, could become a hospice dog and accompany me to see people at the end of their lives. Izzy has been doing this work for months, and is stellar.
  We went to Ft. Edwards to a volunteers’ meeting and Lenore, enthusiastic and loving as always, bounded into the meeting and, in response to some greetings, jumped up on a couple of people. Perfectly natural Lab puppy behavior, and something that can be handled with some training.
  But watching her sniff around the room for cookie crumbs, wag her tail, run happily over to people, I wondered why I was bringing her. Did she need to be a hospice dog? Why couldn’t Izzy do that, and Lenore be Lenore?
  Izzy was at the meeting. He greeted Keith Mann, the volunteer coordinator and his good buddy, and then said hello to the others, and then was not much seen or heard. He has a genius for avoiding disruptions, and never needs watching or reprimanding. Watching Lenore, I saw what a serious training task it would be to get her to that point. Was it worth it? Was it fair to her? She is such a wonderful dog, and her genial and loving nature is perhaps her most enduring trait.
  Dogs are different. They are not all alike. They don’t all have to conform to our notions and needs for them, I don’t think.
  I wanted to train her not to jump, and would, but did I really want to curb her enthusiasm? Change her nature? Keep that tail from wagging?
  Be so calm, as Izzy is, as to thread around IV’s and not disturb the rest or sleep of the dying?
  I decided to give Lenore a gift, and to let her be Lenore, the loving and enthusiastic creature that she is (without jumping on people). And for now, she doesn’t need to be a hospice dog. She flunked training. Or passed, depending on how you look at it.