As my new children’s book about my therapy dog, Rudy, is just out, I thought I’d focus my blog for the next few weeks on him. He’s nine, has been certified and working for the past eight years, and is amazing at his work.
Here’s what happened today at our local hospital. We were in the ER and had visited a few patients. I saw a woman in one of the rooms, and couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. Sitting next to her was a younger woman who I guessed was her daughter. I asked, “Would you like a visit from Rudy?” The daughter nearly leapt out of her chair, she was so excited. When we got close enough for her to pat Rudy, she burst into tears. I waited.
When she could talk, she said, “My dog’s name was Rudy and he died a few weeks ago.” Rudy looked up at her with his deep brown eyes and her hand kept stroking his back. I said something, but it was Rudy who told her with his simple presence, his boundless kindness, that she would be all right. Not now, not for a while, but eventually.
That in a nutshell is the magic of therapy dogs. We visited with her mother and by the time we left the room, she wasn’t crying.
