Angel on a Leash

by David Frei

  At MSK, a canvasser visits the patients early in the day and finds out if they are interested in a visit from a therapy dog team. The canvasser checks on allergies, fears, roommates, and more, but eventually needs to get a signed release form before adding someone to the list of people for us to visit. The list is a bit fluid because perhaps by the time we get there, certain patients won’t be feeling up for a visit because of what they had been through during the day.

  So Teigh and I, sporting our new ID badges, showed up, ready to go, on that first evening. We got our visit list from Volunteer Services and headed toward the tenth floor. Tara, the social worker who had designed the program, accompanied us to the tenth floor, but she wasn’t going to follow us into the rooms. She was eager to get reports as quickly as we could share them with her, but she didn’t want to complicate things by being in the rooms with us.

  Teigh, as always, was ready for anything. A pet, a hug, a scratch, a smile, an encouraging word—that’s what he lived for. Me, I was thinking that this was going to be productive, and I was excited about expanding our world with a target audience I had not visited before. But my job, as always, was to get Teigh or Belle there, make sure that they were safe, and make sure that they didn’t get tangled in any tubes or step on any sutures. Let’s get some smiles, have a little conversation, and then head on to the next patient. We’d been in a few hospitals in our time, so I thought that this wouldn’t be too much different, even if it was one of the most famous hospitals in the world.

  Tara had our first patient picked out and walked us to the room. “Good luck,” she said, and she sent us in to make history for MSK.

  Generally speaking, we do not go into a room with any specific knowledge of what a patient is going through. We may get some ideas over the course of the visit as we position the dog for hugs and pets, but no one says, “They did this, this, and this to me…”

  I was going to play it by the book for this first visit, and I used the same line that I had uttered hundreds of times over the years on my therapy dog visits in many different facilities.

  “Hi, Karen. I’m David, and this is my therapy dog Teigh. Is this a good time for a visit?”

  The “Hi, Karen” was barely out of my mouth when I looked at the patient, and my heart started to race. A beautiful young blonde woman, Karen was lying in bed, crying and in pain. The way she was holding her arms, I could tell that she was really hurting, and it gave me an idea of what kind of surgery she had just been through. She seemed scared, too, which was no surprise, all things considered.

  Take a breath, I told myself. I have to be under control for both Teigh and the patient.

  Before she could answer me, I asked another question: “Are you OK? Do you need a nurse or a social worker or a chaplain?”

  “No!” she said emphatically through the tears. “I need you guys; just stay right here.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us to leave,” I said. I was fighting back tears, too, as I thought to myself, No crying, be strong, you’re here to help.

  Teigh was already at Karen’s bedside, his muzzle on the bed. He always seemed to know when he was needed, and he got right to work. Karen reached down to pet him, slowly unfolding her arms and, I hoped, taking her mind off her pain.

  I could see that there was room for him on the bed. “How about if we try to get him up there with you?” I asked. “Can we do that?”

  “Yes, I’d love that.”

  So I took the spare sheet that I always travel with and spread it out over her.

  “What do I need to know about sutures and tubes and whatever else you have going on? I don’t want him causing any problems.”

  “I’ve got something up here,” she said, pointing to her chest. “Just be careful.”

  That’s one thing about Teigh. He can chase squirrels through Carl Schurz Park like a crazed hunting dog and tear through the apartment like one of them has gotten inside, but when he gets up on that hospital bed, he shuts down his physical side. He knows.

  I lifted him up and put him on his back, along her side, with his head resting on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and, still crying, still in pain, broke into a little smile. Me, too.

  Karen didn’t say anything at that point; she didn’t need to. I could hear Billy Matthews, my NBC producer, in my ear, saying, “Lay out, lay out…” (this is what he says to me through my headset when we are on the air and he wants me to let the moment being captured by the shot play itself out). So I kept quiet, too.

  Teigh, God love him (one of my oft-uttered phrases when talking or thinking about Teigh), lay there like a rock. He looked her in the eye and occasionally closed his eyes. He was loving it, too.

  “He’s so good,” Karen said to finally break the quiet moment.

  “He is very comfortable with you,” I told her. “He trusts you totally.”

  “He’s smiling,” she said.

  “Well, why wouldn’t he be?” I said. “You’re smiling, too.”

  “Yes, I guess I am,” she said. “The first time in a while. All because of him. And you.”

  “He’s doing all the work; I’m just sitting here, watching you both. It’s a wonderful moment.”

  Teigh and I were in there for probably half an hour. I usually try to move along after ten minutes, give or take. Thirty minutes is a long visit, but I saw no reason to leave her, as we were obviously doing something for Karen’s physical pain and her psychological pain. Besides, I had promised her that we would stay there until she told us to leave.

  Eventually, Karen said, “Well, I suppose I should let you get to some other patients.”

  “You aren’t holding us against our will,” I said, laughing. She smiled, too. What a difference from when we had walked into the room. I lifted Teigh from her bed and set him on the floor. He pushed his face back to Karen on the bed, and she gave him one last two-handed pet and a big smile.

  “Thanks so much. I can’t tell you how much this did for me,” she said, probably more to Teigh than to me. This was a powerful visit, as powerful as any I had ever done.

  “We visit here once a week,” I told her as we gathered up to leave, giving my usual close for this unusual visit. “Teigh and I loved meeting you and our time together, but I hope that we never see you here again. Go home, be well, Godspeed.”

  Teigh seemed reluctant to leave the room. We gave Karen one last glance and smile and stepped out of the room.

  Tara was waiting for Teigh and me at the nurses’ station. “How’d it go?”

  “I am exhausted,” I told her. “When we walked in the door, she was crying and in pain. When we walked out, she was still crying and in pain, but she was smiling. And so was I. Teigh loved her; he was wonderful. I’m going to call that a great visit for all of us.”

  “That’s a nice start,” Tara said. “Let’s see who’s next on the list.”

  “Let me catch my breath a bit,” I said. “This was very intense. I’ll go anywhere and do anything for Karen and others like her; that’s why we do this. But as rewarding as it is, Teigh and I can’t do more than a couple of visits that intense in one night, or we’ll burn out very quickly.”

  Teigh was lying on the floor, accepting attention and pets from a couple of the nurses.

  “I thought she would be a special challenge,” Tara said. “That’s why we started you with her.”

  Welcome to Sloan-Kettering. And Sloan-Kettering, welcome to the world of therapy dogs.

  One of the rules for therapy dog work is that you visit in the moment, and you don’t take it home with you. That means that you have no further contact with your patients beyond the hospital, outside your visit(s).

  I really was curious to find out what happened to Karen. I wanted some assurance that she had made it home and that she went on with her life after her major surgery, but as therapy dog volunteers, we just have to have faith that good things happen, that the surgeries or the treatments were successful, and that the patients
go home to good lives.

  That’s what I did in Karen’s case. It’s what I hope for with everyone, before and after Karen, through the years. I say a little prayer for all of them. In Karen’s case, maybe because she was our very first patient at MSK and because it was such a great visit, I really found myself wanting to know. But it wasn’t supposed to happen.

  So we were underway at the world-famous Sloan-Kettering, visiting once a week and doing things for people in need. After the initial six months of the pilot program, we expanded into other areas of the hospital.

  And then…

  In February 2009, I was part of a television show on CNBC called American Originals: The Westminster Dog Show. As spokesperson for the club and the “Voice of the Westminster Kennel Club,” I was on camera several times, talking about the club, our show, and our history, and about dogs in general. It aired on February 8, the night before our 2009 dog show began.

  A week later, while I was going through my post-Westminster email, I came across this:

  From: Karen

  Sent: Monday, February 16, 2009 12:41 PM

  To: David

  Subject: Karen—Patient of Sloan-Kettering—Thank you.

  David,

  I am writing to you, as I have finally learned of your name through a CNBC television program that aired Feb. 8 about the Westminster Dog Show.

  I am a patient of Sloan-Kettering in NY, and I was the first patient to have a pet at my side for the introduction of your pet-patient program. You brought a sweet doggie to me on that day in October of 2007 who sat by my side…and I just cried…still trying to deal with my cancer surgery and pain. I could not remember your name but always remembered your face…today I saw you on TV and got your name.

  Thank you for taking time to volunteer. The time that you and your doggie spent by my side is a memory that will last for me a lifetime.

  Bless you for making my situation just a bit more tolerable.

  Karen

  Sometimes on my visits, the topic of Westminster comes up. Sometimes, the canvasser will have told patients about what I do in my “other” life, and they will want to talk about the show or their own dogs. Or perhaps someone has watched Westminster or the National Dog Show and seen me on the telecast. I don’t believe that was the case with my visit with Karen. It never came up, I never mentioned it; she just came across me on the CNBC show and figured out how to reach me, a year and a half after we had met at the hospital. I am so glad that she did. To have her thank me was nice, but it was more important to me just to hear that she was all right and living her life. I wrote her back:

  Karen: Wow. You were the very first patient that Teigh and I visited at MSK after spending most of our previous time as volunteers at the Ronald McDonald House working with kids.

  Our visit with you was very emotional. I remember you crying and being in physical pain, and my guess was that you were within 24 hours of having had your surgery. I wanted to do more, but it was obvious that Teigh was taking care of things. At the end of our visit, I saw that you were still crying and still in pain, but you were smiling. Me, too (the crying and the smiling part, plus a little pain in my heart for you).

  I have always wondered what happened to you, but I am not allowed to do that. But I did wonder anyway. It means so much to hear from you.

  I am so honored and flattered that you took the time to find me and to write. God bless you. Win the battle; whatever we can do to help, let me know. You’re in our hearts and prayers.

  Best,

  David

  That says it all. I was indeed honored and flattered to hear from her. We get lots of thank-yous and wonderful praise when we are visiting, but most of the time that’s the end of it. To hear such kind words later lets us know that we really have helped someone.

  David,

  What a nice surprise and delight getting your email early this morning before work.

  I go back to Sloan for my first CAT scan since the operation Friday March 13th. I am hoping for a good outcome. After the scan I will have a break in the day and I would love for another visit from you and Teigh—if you can…?

  Please let me know if a visit of this type (not inpatient) will work for you and Teigh on this day. Perhaps you could meet me and my mother at the MSK Rockefeller Outpatient Pavilion on 53rd Street. Let me know what works for you.

  I send frequent prayers thanking Teigh for the gift of love and compassion—it is overwhelming.

  All smiles and a very heartfelt thank you,

  Karen

  I was thinking of a great line from Ghostbusters when Bill Murray’s character, Dr. Venkman, wanted to break a rule that he had just quoted. “Actually, it’s more of a guideline than a rule,” he shrugged.

  Karen: That works for us. I can bring Teigh, he is now 12 ½ and getting blinder every day, God love him. He doesn’t visit much anymore, but I know he will want to see you again.

  Best,

  David

  So, I met Karen, her mother, and her friends. She brought a bag of cookies for Teigh and a bag of cookies for me. Pictures and tears and hugs all around. Wow.

  Hi David,

  I wanted to send a note of thanks to you and Teigh—my angel on a leash. It really was my pleasure in having the chance to meet you under very different circumstances. I am all smiles when I have the opportunity to tell my story, and even get to say how we are invited as your guests to the Westminster—what an honor, and so exciting.

  I wanted to share with you the picture from that day, and I threw in two more pictures…I don’t have pups, but two wonderful kitties (18+ and 22+ lbs) named Mendel and Watson. I can only hope their pictures will bring a smile to you, as they do for me every day.

  Many, many thanks for your kindness and generosity of your time. I am so very happy knowing there really are wonderful people and their pets doing great things for others—just because.

  With kindness and health to you and Teigh,

  Warm wishes,

  Karen

  My response:

  Karen: Great to hear from you. I am sorry that I have not already written you to tell you what a wonderful moment it was for both Teigh and me to get to see you again. And we both enjoyed our cookies (I won’t tell you whose were gone first).

  Thanks for the photos. Your therapy kitties did make me smile, too—it’s great what our animals bring to us each and every day.

  Best,

  David

  Sadly, my next email to Karen was to tell her of Teigh’s passing in January of 2010. She wrote back:

  David,

  I am heartbroken. My Teigh was there at a very difficult time in my life, and I only wish I could have returned the favor. What Teigh meant to me:

  Hope and comfort

  Love and smiles

  Warmth and kindness

  Caring and understanding

  Health and wellness

  I have a loving memory of Teigh at my bedside while I was in great pain and so scared. Teigh helped me—a memory and feeling only the two of us will share, and for that I am beyond grateful.

  Teigh will always be my forever companion.

  I will miss you Teigh, and thank you for such a special memory. David, I am sorry for the loss of your family member. My heart goes out to you.

  Karen

  Then I got this email right after Westminster 2011:

  David,

  Wonderful Westminster!!

  I think of you often—in fact, your name, Teigh’s name, your organization, and our story have become a part of who I am. It is comforting to know that someone who I had never met came to my bedside with a wonderful pet Angel who for no other reason was there for me. It is amazing! They say “everything happens for a reason”… it is not hard to believe in that saying anymore. Teigh and the reason … the reason to believe … maybe I will have a real second chance at life … another chapter of sorts. I keep my eye on the goal—5 yrs or more.

  Stay well and keep doing what you are doing … you
too are an Angel.

  Sincerely,

  Karen

  “Keep doing what you are doing.”

  This is why I do what I do.

  Angels for Everyone

  Angel On A Leash was a big hit from the beginning. It began modestly enough—as a charitable activity for the Westminster Kennel Club at the NewYork-Presbyterian Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital. We were able to share all of it—the patients, the dogs, the handlers, the medical professionals, and the administrators—with the Westminster audience live at the Garden and also live on television, starting in 2005.

  The response was huge. We got rousing ovations at the Garden and hundreds of phone calls and emails after the show. People wanted to be part of it; they wanted to get trained, registered, and visiting with their dogs, doing something for people in need in their communities. And the media loved Angel On A Leash, too, doing follow-up stories after the show. Angel On A Leash was truly helping us emphasize that the Westminster Dog Show is indeed a celebration of the dogs in our lives.

  After Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital, Ronald McDonald House New York, and Providence Medical Center in Portland, Oregon, more facilities came to be Angel partners, including Hackensack University Medical Center, New Jersey; Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin; New Milford Hospital, Connecticut; St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital, Memphis; Ronald McDonald House of Milwaukee; New Alternatives for Children, New York; Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, New York; and the Fisher House at Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center, Houston. Ronald McDonald House of Memphis (at St. Jude’s); the Children’s Hospital at Montefiore, the Bronx, New York; Mid South Therapy Dogs, Memphis; Reading Education Assistance Dogs (R.E.A.D.), Salt Lake City; and the Animal Medical Center, New York, also joined us.

  As we were adding facilities, it became evident that Angel should become its own organization. With Westminster’s continued support, Angel On A Leash became its own 501(c)(3) charity. Famous New York landlord Newmark Knight Frank contributed office space for us in the Theatre District, and we went to work.

  We had a huge reach because of our media exposure, and the phone was ringing every day with people who wanted to become Angel On A Leash therapy dog teams with their dogs in their hometowns. It is difficult, at best, to service individuals in hundreds of cities nationwide, so we decided that our emphasis would be on partnering with facilities to help them create or maintain therapy dog programs shaped by our own distinctive influence and focus. We created a mission statement: