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It is my first day doing rounds at Providence Saint John's Health Center in Santa Monica, with my dog Cody, an English springer spaniel. Yes, I was making rounds, visiting patients with my rescue dog. I can’t speak for Cody, but I was incredibly nervous as I knocked on the door of my first patient.
It’s not as if either Cody or I had spent years in medical school, but we were trained as Pet Partner volunteers. After I passed all the tests, it was Cody’s turn and he was far less nervous than I was. He had to go in front of a panel of six judges as they recreated hospital scenes to see how he would react. They had angry men in walkers swat at him while yelling about nurses. He stayed cool. They dropped loud items next to him. He ignored these too. He was even cool when getting his rabies shot.
So, this rescued dog, without any doggy obedience training, passed his test summa cum laude. Cody and I were issued our Pet Therapy scrubs. Mine was a blue jacket with pockets for a dog brush, treats, and Purell. Cody had a matching bandana and a hospital picture ID and business cards with his story on it, detailed enough to be on Wikipedia.
Cody was around 6-years-old when he was found by Animal Control wandering the streets of Los Angeles. He was the first stray I brought home who didn’t smell of alcohol. Though we had some initial adjustments as he panicked when left alone, gradually we built up trust. I knew he was a special dog the day I fell into a depression and was sitting in a chair, crying. He came up to me, put each of his front paws around my waist and pushed his head against my heart. He wouldn’t stop licking me until he saw that I was laughing. That’s when I became aware he had healing powers and that I needed to share him with others.
Still, I worried as we waited at that first door in the oncology unit. “Would he be as kind to strangers? Would he freak out with all the hospital sounds and smells?” I called out, “Would you like to have a visit from a therapy dog?”
A women’s voice said softly and hesitatingly, “Well, I guess… OK.” Taking a deep breath, I wiped hand sanitizer on my hands before walking in to see a 60-year-old woman, her arms almost totally blue from IVs with eyes revealing pain and deep sadness. She was staring at the ceiling. The only sounds were the beeps from her heart monitor. Because of her size, there was no room on the bed for my dog so I pulled up a chair next to her, put a fresh sheet on it, had Cody jump up on the chair, and waited to see what Cody would do, concerned he might bark, ignore her or do something even worse.
The woman reached out to pet him, but her IV’s made it impossible to reach him. I extended her reach by giving her the pet brush. He remained rigid as she started bushing his head. “You know,” she said in the softest of voices, “when I was 12, I had a dog and the sheriff shot him in front of me. He covered him with leaves and walked away. I’ve always had a cat, but never a dog again. I haven’t thought about it until now.”
Remembering her childhood tragedy, her eyes filled with tears and that’s when Cody, oh so gently, put his paw on her arm. She turned to stare into his brown eyes. They looked at each other for a while. Then Cody slowly put his other paw on her arm, leaned over to reach her bed, and rested his head on her chest. She put her arms around him. They stayed that way, holding onto each other. Her face softened. A faint smile appeared on her face. It appeared as if the pain I’d seen was replaced with love. In that moment, I experienced the healing power of my dog. He’d done what many people can’t: found his purpose.
For the next few hours, patient after patient got hugs from my dog. It seemed to trigger pet memories. They told me stories about Bugsy, Roxie, and Walter, dogs waiting for them at home, dogs that had passed, and the unforgettable dogs they had as a child. And as they told these stories, there was no missing what had come into the room – love.
I realized how tragic it is that abandoned dogs are so often put to death. They could instead be so valuable – extending a paw and licking the face of a human in need of healing.
Judy speaks and teaches internationally on using stories as transformational tools. More info at TheMessageOfYou.com
