My Aunt Becky is struggling this time ‘round in the hospital. She has rejected all forms of treatment - exercise, meds, even food. She simply cannot find a reason to keep fighting.
My younger brother, wiser at birth than I will ever be, had the answer when her care team asked.
“Try a therapy dog.”
My Aunt Becky loves dogs. More than that, she, like most of us, values that part of her that relates to dogs. Also, like most of us, she flatters herself that dogs relate especially to her. Brother Mark understood that.
There was just one problem.
Said the hospital staffer in charge of Aunt Becky’s case, “We don’t have any therapy dogs currently visiting this facility.”
No therapy dog? This hospital is close to two big cities. Brother Mark believed that therapy dogs were ubiquitous, as did my sister and I. They are not.
So this morning, I asked for volunteers among two Labrador retrievers, an Elhew-strain English pointer, one Catahoula Cur, and a pit bull named Cat Ballou.
“Who among you wants to go into a facility where we don’t know anybody and get petted by consenting others?”
In a fit of political incorrectness, I thought about that entreaty being reminiscent of late-70’s Friday night forays to certain sororities at The Ohio State University. I regrouped.
“Who would like to go for a ride and help people?”
One Labrador, Boots, made it to the “help people.” The pointer didn’t hear “birds” in the question, and went on about her business. I had Cat Ballou, the pit bull, and Finn the British Labrador, and Della Abzug, the Catahoula Cur, at “go for a ride.” Some culling was needed.
You see, I had already gone online to http://www.tdi-dog.org/images/TestingBrochure.pdf. It’s basic obedience training, what we ought to expect out of all companion dogs: to sit on command, to lie down on command, to be oblivious to distractions (listed here as people on crutches, someone running by shouting “Excuse me, excuse me”, ignoring others giving commands, ignoring food in the path, meeting other dogs, being oblivious to children, etc.).
Sounded a great deal like life here at Longhunter's Rest. I thought, We can do this.
The question is, Who could do it most easily among my five canine compadres?
The Labradors, of course, get first dibs. They take more in stride than any of the rest of my crew. However, Finn, who is the more aggressive, more inquisitive, the more likely to push the envelope (which I like in a gun dog) is probably second to submission, always-looking-for-leadership Boots.
Besides, Boots had visited regularly when his former owner was in assisted living. He knew the drill.
The pointer, Harper Lee? Wouldn’t do that to her. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t; it means exactly that I wouldn’t. She’s been bred and encouraged in training to push, to move, to drive. That’s not consistent with the innate characteristics required of a therapy dog.
Della Abzug, the Catahoula Cur, might be the best choice of the five. She is considered about everything she does. She is tuned in to me. She is careful. She has not had all the obedience work needed, but she’ll cotton to it, no trouble.
But Della loves individuals. Big settings, large bunches of folks, tend to cow her. The therapy training would likely be good for her…but, "upon further review," not necessarily natural.
That brings us to Cat Ballou, the brawling lady pit bull who would do anything for me just for a scratch behind the ears. I’m drawn to putting her through this program. She would benefit from the additional leadership; she needs to be more mindful of her surroundings. She is incredibly intelligent, emotionally tied to me, and benign to her world…except, perhaps, all other dogs. Plus there’s that awful pit bull quality of wanting very badly to crawl into the laps of those she thinks she loves. That, we cannot have with folks not necessarily up for that sort of engagement.
With all that in mind, Today, we began Therapy Dog certification-specific work with Boots, Della, and the Cat. Boots was as born to this calling as he was to the marsh and dove patch. The latter two need the work. Boots wants to be petted; people want to pet Della and Cat. They are not like other dogs, and thus harbor a different sort of appeal, including Della’s soft silky fur, the Cat’s strong, muscled frame.
All three have long-ago passed the first test. Late of an evening, when the dark gathers more closely than I might like, it is for these three dogs I most often reach. I know the solace they carry.
This new training has an edge, an urgency to it more pressing than the start of any hunting season ever carried. Like me, my Aunt Becky needs a dog.