Joy Unleashed

by Jean Baur

  “Okay,” I said, waiting.

  “I didn’t want you to find out in her room. I wanted to tell you that Beverly died over the weekend.”

  “What?” I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach.

  “She was doing okay but then her head dropped down onto her chest, so the aide put her in bed. The nurse checked on her, but after some time, she stopped breathing and quietly slipped away.”

  All I could envision was the way her closed-in face, a face sometimes as dark as a thunderstorm, broke open into a wild grin with half her teeth missing and the others black, and the way her eyes always held pure mischief. She and I shared so many jokes—jokes with no words, just two girls laughing. Girls in their sixties and eighties, that is.

  I tried to get my breathing back to normal. I tried to take in what she was telling me. I had known it would happen at some point, but I wasn’t ready. I stood in the hallway and couldn’t move.

  “I’m so sorry, Jean,” added Judy.

  I thanked her for telling me. I don’t remember what I did next, but somehow I got back out to my car, Bella curled up in the back seat, the windows open.

  “No,” I whispered to the soft spring air. “Not Beverly.”

  I could see her face, I could feel her hand on my wrist, and I suddenly realized that the dolls Beverly always held (her “babies” as I called them), were me. In some inexplicable way, Beverly had become my mother. She had patted my hand, straightened the sleeve of my sweater, and held me in her gaze as she rocked her babies. I took to calling her My Beverly. And Deb often told me, “She loves you.”

  But now her bed was empty, the dolls abandoned, and I couldn’t get my mind to accept she was gone. How could it be that an Alzheimer’s patient with brittle diabetes, in only two years of weekly visits, had become my surrogate mother?

  I always said to her, “See you next week, Beverly.” But now I wouldn’t. And while I cared about the other residents, no one would hold me the way she did. No one would crack my heart open with a grin from the dark place where she was trapped.

  A few more weeks went by and I still had a hard time going to Starfish. I cared about the other residents, but Beverly’s absence weighed on me, pulled me down, and I didn’t yet feel as connected to anyone else. I could barely get myself to go past her room and I wouldn’t visit her roommate. At the same time, I recognized that I had made a commitment, and that it didn’t really matter how I felt about it. I had a working dog and she had a job to do. We showed up, we visited, Bella connected and comforted people in her wonderful dog ways, and every visit, every resident, was different.

  Two things helped me. Helped a little. There was a cemetery near my home that was beautiful. It was really a park and had grave stones dating back to the 1700s. Bella loved going there as she could be off-leash and run. So on a cool June day, she and I were taking a walk there, which meant I was throwing a tennis ball and she was flying after it and bringing it back to me. I found it peaceful and was strolling along, humming to myself, when I saw a fresh grave. I walked over to it and bent down to read the headstone: Beverly. And her last name and dates.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “Beverly. It’s Beverly. My Beverly.”

  Fighting back my tears, I told her how glad I was to know where she was. That I missed her. That I loved her.

  Bella nudged my leg and looked longingly at the ball.

  “I’m coming, girlfriend. I’m coming. Just give me a minute.” And I stood there on a perfect, early summer day, and thought about her grin. Her wide-open crazy smile, her bruised hands, and her dolls. That bond was unbroken.

  The other thing that helped me was a patient we met on one of our visits to the hospital with Deb and Shelby. We saw a woman about our age standing beside a patient’s bed, and learned that the patient was her daughter, Katie. We saw right away that Katie had special needs and it looked to me as though she was in pain.

  Her mother’s face lit up when she saw the dogs. “Please bring them in. Katie loves dogs.”

  Katie was curled up in the bed, but when she saw Bella and Shelby, she uncurled and her face opened. I asked her if Bella could put her paws on the edge of the bed and she nodded. A smile appeared. Shelby got close enough that she could reach her, too. She touched both dogs and as she did, it looked as if her pain was gone. She was beaming.

  “She used to have a lab,” her mother told us. “She’s crazy about dogs. You have no idea—”

  She couldn’t keep talking. I looked over at Deb and saw tears in her eyes. I knew she was thinking about Wendy.

  We stayed, we were never in a hurry, but just as it was time to leave, Katie’s mother turned to us and said, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen Katie smile, I thought maybe I never would again. Today was a huge gift.”

  We told Katie that we really enjoyed meeting her and said good-bye to her and her mother. Out in the hallway, Deb and I didn’t say a word to each other. We had tears in our eyes and we knew. We knew we had dogs who touched people’s hearts, and this helped me see that Bella and I would continue this work without Beverly, and it would still be special.

  But it wasn’t easy. When a new resident appeared with the same first name, I couldn’t say it out loud. There was only one. Her room was still her room. But over time, I noticed I couldn’t prevent bonding. Alice and I had a funny language together. I said something and she said it back. We looked into each other’s eyes, and sometimes I could pull her out of where she seemed to be stuck.

  I said, “You look pretty,” and she said, “Pretty.” Then I said, “How’s your pussy cat?” referring to the stuffed cat in her lap. No response. But if I said, “Meow,” then she almost always meowed back. And after I blew her a kiss when we were leaving, her hand came up to her mouth and she did the best she could to send one back to me.

  Ann was another one because she had a great attitude. She looked out the window in her room at two bird feeders and admired the birds, the motion, the signs of spring. She didn’t complain. She said she had a tumor on her leg the size of a watermelon. I asked if it hurt and she said no, but I wondered. She loved Bella to get up on her bed and then she closed her hand over the treat and made Bella sniff and lick her hand before she gave it to her.

  Joyce was yet another. She always had a book in her hand—her good hand. I didn’t even see her other hand, the one bent into itself by a stroke, until I’d known her a year. She wore scarves and had a small cork board hung on her wall for all her earrings. Deb and I loved the stuffed monkey who resided on her bed until Joyce was too ill to get out of bed. The last time I saw her, I wasn’t sure if she knew Bella and I were there. I told her that we loved getting to know her and that we would remember her.

  As Deb and the two dogs and I made our way down the long hallways of the rehab facility, there were ghosts, shadows of the previous residents. I’d say to Deb, “Someone’s in Frank’s room,” knowing she’d remember him. Or she’d say to me, “I miss Chuck,” and we’d smile, thinking of the time he ate the dog treat. We loved his wife as much as him—she was so patient, so grateful for our visits.

  I realized now that the joy Bella and Shelby brought took place where lives were broken. Where loss and sadness resided. But the dogs taught me that we were all in this together, and that what looked like a depressing place from the outside could be transformed by friendship and what we learned from each other. The residents all taught me something different: Olive, how to face death without a struggle. Karen, how stories last and can be passed on. Chuck, that the dogs we love stay beside us always. Betty, that having two dogs show up to celebrate your ninety-fifth birthday is better than cake. And Wendy, that love can be perfect even from a broken body. And Beverly, my wonderful Beverly, that you never know when someone will come along and be the mother you lost.

  Like a dog unleashed and running full out, like the white streak that was Bella, hunkered down, flying across a field, like Beverly’s smile, like Deb’s face when she said to a new resident “Wou
ld you like to see the dogs?”—like all that, joy breaks out. It fills the room, it’s dappled light reflecting up from itself, up walls, up everything. It’s what my father used to call “hiddy-haddies” for light shimmering on tree trunks at the edge of the water. There was no real way to capture it. None at all. But Bella didn’t mind not having the words. She spoke fluently with her whole body, a gift to all she serves, and was simply joy unleashed.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I was away during Beverly’s funeral so had no way to say good-bye. No way to believe that she was really gone. I asked the head of volunteers if I could write a note to Beverly’s family. She said yes. Here it is:

  My dog, Bella, and I have been visiting Beverly almost every week for two years. Bella is a therapy dog, and we come to The Starfish Home on Wednesday afternoons. I wanted to leave you this note, as Beverly and I had become friends and I thought you’d like to know about our visits.

  I started at Starfish in the spring of 2012 and Bella had only recently been certified, which means we didn’t have much experience. But I was lucky enough to team up with Deb and Shelby, as they had been visiting Starfish for several months and were skilled at asking residents if they wanted to see a therapy dog. They knew how to comfort, heal, and make friends. Bella and I tagged along and learned from both of them.

  When I first met Beverly, she was sitting on the edge of her bed holding a doll. She had a look on her face that scared me—hard to describe but she appeared angry. I quickly left the room and focused on other residents. But during the week before our next visit, I thought about her and wondered if there was some way I could get through to her. I didn’t have any idea if she would be interested in my dog, Bella, or a visit from a stranger.

  The following week, I sat on the bed next to her and told her my name, showed her how Bella loved to eat dog treats, and patted her baby—the doll she was holding. After several months of this, I sang a lullaby to the doll and Beverly smiled. It was a breakthrough. At first the staff didn’t believe that she would almost always either smile or laugh when we were together, but once they saw it they recognized the bond that had grown between us. They saw we were friends.

  And while she couldn’t talk, her eyes were expressive and she often held my hand or fingered the edge of my sleeve. Sometimes she took hold of the badge I wore (this was Bella’s therapy dog certification) and I told her what it was. Once or twice, on nice days, I took her outside (always with the nurses’ permission) so that she could get a breath of fresh air.

  My friend Deb often said, “Beverly loves you,” and the feeling was, and still is, mutual. I will miss her. If there are any ways Bella and I can be of help, please let us know. Best, Jean

  April 2014

  FURTHER READING

  Here’s a list of books that I’ve found helpful, plus a few websites that give you additional information about therapy dog certification.

  Rescuing Riley, Saving Myself: A Man and his Dog’s Struggle to find Salvation, Zachary Anderegg with Pete Nelson, Skyhorse Publishing, 2013. While not about a therapy dog, this is an amazing story about the healing bond between a man suffering from PTSD and the dog he saves from the bottom of a canyon. A wonderful read.

  A Dog Walks into a Nursing Home: Lessons in the Good Life from an Unlikely Teacher, Sue Halpern, Riverhead Hardcover, 2013. Halpern takes us inside a nursing home with her therapy dog, Pransky. While she reveals the power dogs have to comfort and make a difference, her approach is more philosophical and abstract. What I liked about this book is how Halpern’s volunteer work with her dog filled a void after her daughter left for college and she became an empty nester.

  The Possibility Dogs, Susannah Charleson, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014. This is an amazing book written by an author who tells her own personal story of working with her search and rescue dog, Puzzle. Like veterans suffering from traumatic stress, she struggles with deep anxiety issues brought on by this difficult work. Her gift is recognizing dogs who make good service or therapy dogs and training them for people who desperately need them.

  Healing Companions: Ordinary Dogs and Their Extraordinary Power to Transform Lives, Jane Miller, New Page Books, 2009. Written by a therapist, this book focuses on the role of psychiatric service dogs and how dogs can help heal emotional issues. And while a therapy dog does not have this level of training, there are some strong similarities. Written for the lay person who may be training his or her own dog, this book demonstrates the amazing power dogs have to heal.

  Therapy Dogs: Training Your Dog to Reach Others, Kathy Diamond Davis, Dogwise Publishing, 2002 (reprint of 1982 version). This book offers a good overview of the training process and includes an excellent bibliography.

  To the Rescue: Found Dogs with a Mission, Elise Lufkin & Diana Walker, Skyhorse Publishing, 2009. While not a book about therapy dogs, this beautiful collection of photographs includes dogs, that like Bella were thrown away, and were given another chance. There is something special about these dogs who almost didn’t make it.

  Angel on a Leash: Therapy Dogs and the Lives They Touch, David Frei (the voice of the Westminster Kennel Club and founder of Angel on a Leash), BowTie Press, 2011. This book does a good job of demonstrating the power dogs have to heal. His foundation, Angel on a Leash, has done a great deal to enhance the role of therapy dogs.

  Paws and Effect: The Healing Power of Dogs, Sharon Sakson, Spiegel & Grau, 2007, 2009. Finely written, this book starts with ancient history—how dogs and people teamed up and then provides specific examples of individuals who become involved in training service dogs. There are moving stories about organizations that have been created to promote this work, such as one that provides free dog food to low income and homeless pet owners. The focus of this book is service dogs—a very different population than therapy dogs—and one that requires much more training and more demanding certifications.

  A Dog Who’s Always Welcome: Assistance and Therapy Dog Trainers Teach You How to Socialize and Train Your Companion Dog, Lorie Long, Howell Book House/Wiley, 2008. This is basically a training book but has some helpful pages on what makes a good therapy dog, the key things they must learn, and guidance for the handler or human partner.

  The Power of Wagging Tails: A Doctor’s Guide to Dog Therapy and Healing, Dawn Marcus, MD, demosHealth, 2011. This is an inspiring book that gives, from a physician’s perspective, a look at the healing power of dogs. True stories are interspersed with research and studies, and Dr. Marcus uses her own two therapy dogs at work so she has firsthand experience of the powerful ways dogs affect us.

  Therapy Dogs Today: Their Gifts, Our Obligation, Kris Butler, Funpuddle Publishing Associates, 2004. Written for both the therapy dog owners as well as healthcare professionals, this book gives a thorough overview of what therapy dogs accomplish and how best to manage their work in a wide range of institutions. The author focuses on the ethical use of therapy dogs and asks handlers to watch carefully to see if their dogs show signs of discomfort or stress.

  Every Dog Has a Gift: true stories of dogs who bring hope and healing into our lives, Rachael McPherson, Tarcher/Penguin, 2010. This author is founder of The Good Dog Foundation—an organization dedicated to the use and certification of therapy dogs. Reading this book, and learning about her foundation, I realized that Bella would never have passed her test as it’s much more rigorous than many other certifications. She does a nice job of showing the healing power of therapy dogs, but unlike my book, her examples are short—vignettes—and don’t allow the reader to get to know either the therapy dog or the person they’re visiting in-depth. She and her organization have also been instrumental in changing laws that prohibited dogs from working in hospitals.

  Little Boy Blue: A Puppy’s Rescue from Death Row and His Owner’s Journey for Truth, Kim Kavin, Barron’s Educational Series, 2012. This book is like a detective story as Kim investigates where her rescue dog came from, and what happened to him before she adopted him. It’s a wonderful read and an impo
rtant message for those who want to save dogs.

  The Rescue at Dead Dog Beach: One Man’s Quest to Find a Home for the World’s Forgotten Animals, Steven McGarva, Dey Street Books, 2014. I refer to this book in my book, and it was really hard to read. But Steve didn’t give up on the dogs he found at Dead Dog Beach, where Bella was also either born or dumped, and he has become a wonderful advocate for saving these dogs and preventing the cruelty that gives this beach in Puerto Rico its name.

  THERAPY DOG WEBSITES/ORGANIZATIONS

  The Bright and Beautiful Therapy Dogs, Inc., www.golden-dogs.org. This is the organization in Pennsylvania that certified Bella in 2011.

  Pet Partners, www.petpartners.org. According to their website, “Pet Partners is the national leader in demonstrating and promoting animal-assisted therapy, activities and education. Nearly forty years since the organization’s inception, the science that proves these benefits has become indisputable. Today, Pet Partners is the nation’s largest and most prestigious nonprofit registering handlers of multiple species as volunteer teams providing animal-assisted interventions.”

  The Good Dog Foundation, www.thegooddogfoundation.org. According to their website, “Good Dog is proud to provide certified therapy dog teams to over 350 partner facilities in NY, NJ, CT, and MA free of charge. Good Dog is the only certifying organization in NYC, and it boasts the largest resources of any certifying organization on the East coast. The Good Dog Difference promises a meaningful experience for both volunteers and those receiving Good Dog services.” (See the book, Every Dog Has a Gift, listed above.)

  Therapy Dogs International, www.tdi-dog.org. “Previously Therapy Dogs International, TDI® is a volunteer organization dedicated to regulating, testing and registration of therapy dogs and their volunteer handlers for the purpose of visiting nursing homes, hospitals, other institutions and wherever else therapy dogs are needed.”