Angel on a Leash

by David Frei

  In this case, I told the interviewer, I know that Rufus and James are both sitting in the front row of that class.

  James (Ch. Felicity’s Diamond Jim), an English Springer Spaniel, had won top honors at Westminster in 2007 after a great career in which he had won nearly everything there was to win, including BIS at the AKC/ Eukanuba Invitational Championship. He was Number Two All-Breeds in 2006 and finished with fifty-one career Bests.

  James was co-bred and co-owned by Terry Patton, with whom he lived. Terry is a dog trainer, and she volunteered with James in health care and extended care facilities. James began making nursing home visits when he was eight months old, and he eventually became an assistance dog and an emotional support dog for Terry’s father, who suffered from dementia. “He was having a great career as a show dog, but he was unique in that regard because showing was not the most important thing in his world, or in ours,” Terry said.

  Along the way, James became a registered therapy dog, specializing in working with Alzheimer patients. Three days after his Westminster win, he visited one of his favorite senior care facilities in Fairfax, Virginia, where he had been a regular before his show career took him on the road. There, he celebrated with the residents, who served him dinner on a silver platter in honor of his win.

  James made appearances all over the Washington, DC, area, helping to raise money for and awareness of Alzheimer’s disease. He was the only canine celebrity in a star-studded group (including David Hyde Pierce and Dick Van Dyke) that helped launch the first Alzheimer’s Association awareness campaign. He also made a number of appearances for Angel On A Leash to bring attention to the great work that therapy dogs do.

  I watched James work many times, and I have always said that I thought he was the greatest working therapy dog I had ever seen. Every time I saw James working, he was focused on the person he was visiting, he was gentle and quiet, and he was totally responsive to Terry’s nudges and commands at the same time. There aren’t very many dogs who can do that; too many are very dependent on having direction to do what they do.

  James came to Ronald McDonald House New York a number of times, and to watch him work was a thing of beauty. There are hundreds of pictures of therapy dogs at work at the House, and it’s no surprise to me that James is in so many of them. He was a walking therapy dog textbook. Look up therapy dog in an encyclopedia, and there should be a picture of James; in fact, the Wikipedia entry used to feature a photo of him from one of his visits to the House. The kids and the parents were all fascinated with James—his attentive, gentle manner and consoling eyes. He was just the best.

  Sadly, James passed in May of 2011, just before his eleventh birthday, losing a short battle to cancer. “He always gave 200 percent of himself, and had an indomitable spirit and a heart as big as the crowds that loved him,” wrote Terry. “The bitter irony is that he delighted in visiting children who suffered from the same insidious disease that has now cut his life short as well.”

  James left huge pawprints to fill—show dog, therapy dog, service dog, beloved family dog. We will never see the likes of him again.

  Among our other Best in Show winners, the Bichon Frise Ch. Special Times Just Right (“JR”) from 2001 and the Sussex Spaniel Ch. Clussexx Three D Grinchy Glee (“Stump”) from 2009 have made some therapy dog appearances as well, visiting pediatric patients at the famed M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in their hometown of Houston. Both dogs are co-owned by Scott Sommer and Cecelia Ruggles.

  In 2011, Ch. Foxcliffe Hickory Wind (“Hickory”), the Scottish Deerhound, made a quick stop at Ronald McDonald House New York on the day after her Westminster Best in Show win. Early in the day, we had run into Archbishop Timothy Dolan in the green room at Fox & Friends; he was following us on the show. I had met him a few times at House activities, so I was not reluctant at all to ask him to bless Hickory. He did, referencing St. Francis and holding her head in his hands. That probably gave her some special strength for the day and some inspiration, perhaps, for her visit to the House later.

  At the House, her imposing size and her quiet elegance made her a unique thought-provoking consideration for the kids and their families, and she drew a crowd in the lobby. Children circled her and stared, reaching out to touch her unique coat and face. Hickory’s owner, Cecelia Dove, and handler, Angela Lloyd, were quite taken with the impact that Hickory made on the kids and the impact that the entire experience had on themselves.

  Josh (Ch. Darbydale’s All Rise Pouch Cove), the indomitable Newfoundland who captured Best in Show in 2004, went from show dog to therapy dog quite quickly, visiting extended-care patients on what seemed to be the weekend following his win. How can you not like a big fuzzy Newfoundland?

  And then there’s Uno. In 2008, Westminster’s most famous winner in history used his celebrity to open a lot of doors for therapy dogs. The incomparable 15- inch Beagle, Ch. K-Run’s Park Me In First, captured the hearts of people everywhere as he became the world’s second-most-famous Beagle, behind only Snoopy. Remember that class I mentioned with Rufus and James? Uno is at the front of the line, standing at the door. We went through Delta Society therapy dog training with Michele Siegel. She loved him, and Uno was registered with me as his handler. He gets a lot done with his celebrity and his Beagle cuteness, but he is also “official,” and that does so much for the credibility of therapy dogs everywhere.

  Uno has been invited to events all over the country, and wherever he goes, he spreads a little joy. Caroline Dowell, Uno’s owner, lived in Austin, Texas, and asked me if I would do most of the traveling with him. He was a great little dog who fit right in with my family. All of my dogs loved him, which is a good thing in a one-bedroom apartment in a Manhattan high-rise. Uno would come and live with us for a few weeks at a time, depending upon his media schedule.

  The White House called, and Uno became the first Westminster winner ever to visit there, meeting President Bush and helping the First Lady put on a program for schoolchildren in the East Room. After the White House, Uno and his entourage visited some of our wounded warriors at Walter Reed Army Medical Center; it was a very special visit for all.

  At Walter Reed, Uno formed a special bond with Lance Corporal Joshua Bleill, a Marine who had lost both of his legs in military action in Iraq. Lance Corporal Bleill was then invited to the 2009 Westminster show as a guest of the club. The day before the show, he and Uno went to Ronald McDonald House New York and visited with the pediatric oncology patients; some of them, like Josh, had amputated limbs. The next night, at the show, Josh and Uno were introduced on the floor of the Garden and received a rousing standing ovation.

  Snoopy was Uno’s best buddy, and Uno became the first Westminster winner to ride on a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade when he was invited to be on the Peanuts (Universal Syndicate) float. Uno returned the favor by inviting Snoopy to come to the 2009 Westminster poster unveiling at Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital. Earlier, Uno had traveled to California to visit the Charles M. Schulz Museum and Knotts Berry Farm with Snoopy.

  Uno walked the VIP red carpet with Hollywood celebrities at Matthew Perry’s Lilly Clair Foundation charity event. He was recognized and mobbed at a street fair in Santa Monica the night before the event, but he still had the energy to visit kids at Ronald McDonald House in Los Angeles the next afternoon.

  Uno and I had some great travel adventures in the summer of 2008. At the time, Midwest Airlines’ Celebrity Pet Program allowed Uno to fly on a seat in the cabin (we had to purchase a ticket for him). He was always being recognized in airports, but we were often stopped by security personnel who wondered what a dog was doing walking around on the concourse. After a while, they knew who he was, especially at LaGuardia (New York), Mitchell (Milwaukee), and Dallas/Fort Worth airports. He stayed in the best hotels and was welcomed in the best restaurants wherever he went.

  I learned how to use every cell-phone camera ever made, as people would come up to us, hand me their cell phones, and ask, “Will you take
our picture with Uno?” Oprah’s O Magazine ran a story written by Oprah’s life coach, who talked about how everyone should strive to create Uno’s “It Factor” for themselves.

  Uno traveled with his own printed airline ticket, just like any other passenger. It read “Uno Frei” whenever he was traveling with me. And like any other air traveler, he was subject to security considerations. At the security checkpoint in St. Louis, we were going through, with Uno in my arms as usual, and the security personnel took a look at his boarding pass. On it was the code to indicate that the computer had selected this passenger to undergo additional screening.

  The TSA folks, who rarely exhibited a sense of humor about anything, had to smile at this one. But they still pulled us out of line and took Uno over to the screening area, where they proceeded to wand him and pat him down (he wasn’t wearing a coat or anything). They did seem to see the humor in this and were taking pictures the whole time. When they were done, I said, “It’s good to be able to tell everyone that the world is safe from terrorist Beagles.” And I actually saw a few of them smile. That ticket is still on the wall in my office.

  Uno was a member of the Midwest mileage program and was welcomed in all of their “Care Clubs” in terminals around the country. All of this came to an end when Midwest was purchased by Republic Airlines and the Premier Pet Program was discontinued, but it was a great run.

  Uno visited Ronald McDonald House New York a number of times, including one celebrity-rich evening with James. He visited children and seniors at Hackensack University Medical Center in New Jersey, where they have a great Angel program. He also visited kids in Ronald McDonald Houses in St. Louis, Los Angeles, and Milwaukee.

  He was invited to throw out the first pitch for major league baseball games in Milwaukee and St. Louis. The highlight of his trip to Milwaukee, and perhaps of his therapy dog career—so far—was his visit to Ronald McDonald House in Milwaukee, which was affiliated with Children’s Hospital. I had asked my friend Bill Sullivan, CEO of Ronald McDonald House New York, for a contact name so I could see about bringing Uno to the House in Milwaukee. Bill lined me up with executive director Pam Buckley, and I called her to ask if I could bring Uno by for a visit with the kids and families. She said sure, and we blocked out the afternoon before the evening baseball game.

  I invited Maggie Butterfield and others from Volunteer Services at the hospital to come along. They have a great therapy dog program and were becoming an Angel On A Leash facility, so I thought that they should be a part of this.

  When we walked in the door at the House, we found several kids and families waiting for us. I also saw a number of adults hanging around the front room who didn’t seem to be with any of the kids. I had been visiting Ronald McDonald House New York for three years by this time, so I could tell the difference between family and “purpose-driven” spectators.

  Pam pulled me and Uno aside. “I had a nice conversation with Bill Sullivan, and he couldn’t say enough good things about Uno and you,” she said, “but I have a confession to make here. We don’t allow dogs in the House, we are making an exception for Uno.

  “All of these people that you see hanging out are members of our board. The board has turned down proposals for therapy dog programs in the past, but we invited them to come and meet Uno. We are hopeful that if Uno puts on a good therapy dog show for them, we will be able to renew the conversation with the board about allowing therapy dogs in here on a regular basis. Not to put any pressure on you …”

  “We’ll make it happen for you; thanks for the advance notice,” I told her, with a wink. “Subtly show me the big hitters on the board, and we’ll make sure they get their money’s worth.”

  So Uno and I had a little something extra riding on this visit. He and I had been visiting many places as a therapy dog team, but, admittedly, it was occasionally based more on Uno’s celebrity than his therapy dog training. But he had been through the therapy dog class with me, we had passed, and I handle him exactly the way that I handle any of my own therapy dogs. He was pretty responsive—a little rough around the edges, but he had just turned three years old at this point and was learning with each visit we made. He had already touched a lot of people as a therapy dog. None of this really mattered to the folks in the Milwaukee House, but it gave me a little confidence as I thought about playing for a big prize.

  Well, we had a great visit. Uno was perfect—wagging his tail, engaging the kids, giving a “rooooo” when I asked for it, accepting pets and hugs, posing for pictures. The kids were responsive, and the parents loved it. I could not have drawn it up any better than it actually happened, and it must have been good, because I was really worn out when the visit was over.

  That done, we headed to the ball game. We had invited kids and families from the Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin to the stadium to be guests in Uno’s VIP suite, where he entertained them throughout the evening.

  Uno was a star that night, too. He visited the Brewers’ clubhouse, posed for pictures for charity, threw out the first pitch with Milwaukee pitcher Jeff Suppan, danced on the dugout roof during the seventh-inning stretch, was a graious host in his private suite, and did everything you could ask of a celebrity without any of the drama. After the game, both of us exhausted, Uno and I celebrated quietly, eating dinner with our friends from the hospital and from Ronald McDonald House at a sidewalk restaurant outside our hotel. I don’t remember the score of the baseball game, but I couldn’t help but feel like we had indeed won something that day.

  A few months later, Pam called me to report that the board had approved a therapy dog program for Milwaukee’s Ronald McDonald House. “Thank you for making it happen,” she said, “and thank Uno for us, too.”

  “We knew that there were going to be lots of friends–four-legged and two-legged—waiting in Heaven to greet her.”

  Making Rounds

  It was my normal Monday night of visiting in the women’s health unit at Sloan-Kettering.

  “Hey, I know you,” said the woman, looking up from her bed as Angel and I entered her room.

  “Well, of course you do,” I said. “This is Angel, my Cavalier. You’ve seen her on the MSK therapy dog calendar. She’s Miss May.”

  “No, I mean I know you,” she said.

  “Well, I have been visiting up here for nearly three years now; have you been here before?”

  “No, I watch you on TV every year. You’re the Westminster guy, David Frei.”

  “Are you a dog show person?” I asked.

  “No, but I love the show and I love you; you’re so good at it,” she said.

  “Well, I’m flattered. Thanks for watching. Lots of people work hard to make it a good show.”

  “And you do that show on Thanksgiving Day, too, with Mr. Peterman.”

  “Yes, the National Dog Show.”

  “I watch that one, too. You’re great.”

  “Now you’re embarrassing me; thanks. I couldn’t do it without John O’Hurley. I think we’re a pretty good team.”

  “You are, but now I am really mad,” she said.

  “Mad at us?”

  “No, I’m mad because I had to get cancer to meet David Frei.”

  “OK, well now you’ve done both. Let’s work on the cancer part of it, let’s think good thoughts, and let’s get you on your way home.”

  I used to visit NewYork-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell’s cardiac unit when Cheri was doing her residency there. The routine was to come to the nurses’ station and ask who needed a visit. Sometimes the nurses had a list ready; sometimes they were winging it. In the latter case, we would get started with a couple of their suggestions and then check back as they thought about it some more.

  So on this particular night, Teigh and I were working the floor diligently. One of the nurses came to me and said, “We’d like you to try Mr. Johnson in 402B. A visit might do him some good.”

  “OK, we’re off.”

  We went to the room, a double room, and my target patient was
in the bed on the far side of the room. A woman I presumed to be his wife was sitting in a chair bedside. I stood in the doorway and said from across the room, “Hi, Mr. Johnson. Is this a good time for a visit from Teigh, my therapy dog?”

  He looked at me and said something to his wife, who got up and came over to us. “Not only does he not want a visit, he’s not happy that you are even in here.”

  My response was different than what I was actually thinking. “Sorry to bother him. Have a nice evening.”

  We get rejected occasionally when someone isn’t feeling well, or is falling asleep, or has other visitors, but this was the first time that I had gotten a slapdown with a rejection.

  I headed right back to the nurses’ station. “Hey, what’s the story with Mr. Johnson? He just chased us out; rather, his wife chased us out, somewhat irritated. Did I get the room number wrong?”

  Two nurses, ones that I worked with every week, looked at one another with weak smiles.

  “We’re sorry,” one of them said. “This guy has been a total jerk here for the past couple of days, and his wife isn’t much better. They have a problem with everything we do. They’re making everyone’s lives miserable. We just were trying to find something that he might respond to. We hope you’re not too upset with us for throwing you in there; we probably should have warned you.”

  “Is it an issue of patient confidentiality when a guy is a jerk?” I winked. “I can take it; I’ve had badder guys than that in my face. I just hope that he didn’t hurt Teigh’s feelings.”

  When Cheri was at NewYork-Presbyterian, she came to know a patient on the bone marrow transplant unit (BMT). The patient, Julie, was a wonderful woman whose body had already rejected two transplants, and she was not doing well.