Four Therapy Dogs

On Thursday, March 13, 2014, my husband, Steve, underwent eye-alignment (on his left eye) outpatient surgery in Pinehurst, N.C. At 9:00 a.m. the next day, I drove, and we both took Daisy, our 11-year-old beagle, to be “put to sleep.” Dr. Keith Harrison at the Animal Health Center in Southern Pines, N.C., carried out the procedure in a kind and sensitive way.

We had tried prescribed medicines for Daisy’s urinary difficulties. She would try to relieve herself but spend lots of time squatting in various places in our yard. And often, soon after coming into our house, she needed to go outside again. Our veterinarian indicated Daisy probably had bladder cancer.
Knowing that I would face a heart catherization procedure not many days after Steve’s surgery, I told Steve that we should go ahead and have Daisy put down. That was a painful and heart-breaking decision to make, but Daisy was getting worse. 

We had known Daisy for nine years. I found her in a rescue shelter in January 2005 (a few months after our 15-year-old Dudley, a miniature dachshund, had to be put down). Daisy’s soldier deployed and had to leave her, a purebred (then 2-year-old) beagle, in that shelter. She’d been there two weeks when I met her. They told me, “Daisy loves everybody.” That proved true. And we loved her very much.
 
On the Saturday afternoon after losing Daisy on Friday, I took Steve, who wasn’t supposed to drive because of his surgery, to Gold’s Gym in Southern Pines. I decided to enjoy the spring-like weather, so I drove to downtown Southern Pines and parked in front of the Country Bookshop. I rolled down both of my vehicle’s front windows and stayed in the driver’s seat to write a letter to a friend, while watching people walk by. I was sad.

A man, probably in his mid-forties, sauntered by, walking two large black-and-white, long-haired dogs. They were about the size of Labrador retrievers and had facial features like Labs.

I called out through my open window, “Sir, I just had to have my beagle, Daisy, put to sleep yesterday morning. I was wondering if I could pet your dogs.”

“Sure,” the man said.
 
“Just open the door so I can pet them,” I said, pointing to the front passenger door.

He opened the door.

“This is Abby and Jake,” he said.

Abby put her paws on the front seat. I reached over, petted her head and told her how pretty she was. Jake looked on from outside the car.

“Abby is seven, and Jake is nine,” the man said.
 
They stayed about five minutes, and I thanked the man.

About five minutes later, a woman in her twenties walked by with a beautiful, large and lean, brownish- and gray-colored dog.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I had to have my dog put to sleep, yesterday. I’m wondering will you let me pet your dog?”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to,” the young lady said. “This is Lilly the Great Dane.”

I asked the lady to open the passenger door, and Lilly put her paws on my front seat.

“She’s only six months old,” the lady said. “She’ll be twice this big when she’s full-grown.”

I enjoyed petting Lilly and rubbing her ears. She had the most beautiful eyes.
 
I thanked the lady and told her how good I felt about getting to pet her dog. She closed the door, and I returned to writing my letter.
 
About 10 minutes later, I was surprised to see a dark-haired lady walking a large spaniel-type dog about the size of a Lab. That long-haired dog was blond-colored with rust-hued speckles spattered throughout its almost-white, blond fur. He had a bushy tail.
 
I told the lady about about Daisy being put to sleep.
“Would you allow me to pet your dog?” I asked.
 
“I’d be glad to,” the lady said.
 
I asked her to open the car door. Then Gus put his paws on the front seat.
 
The lady said her husband was stationed at Ft. Bragg and that she worked there, too, as a civilian. She added, “When we were stationed in Greece, my husband found Gus. He was a stray.”
 
I petted Gus, and he stepped fully into my car and lay down on the front seat with his head toward his master. He looked back over his shoulder at me as if to say, “Keep on petting me.”
 
While I petted Gus and rubbed his back, his owner said, “I can’t believe this. He looks like he’s ready to go home with you. When I take him for walks, he’s always very purposeful and moves forward and doesn’t want to stop for anything.” Then she added, with emotion, “I think Gus knows you need him today.”
 
“I think so, too,” I said. “He’s my pet therapist.”
 
I thanked the lady and told her I had to leave to pick up my husband. 
 
Gus seemed comfortable and made no offer to leave. The lady gave a gentle tug on his leash, and he moved out. As she closed the door, the lady said, “Oh, I’m sorry. He got dog hair on your seat.”
 
“I don’t mind at all,” I said.
 
I was astounded to realize that in the span of 40 minutes, I had met four furry “therapists” that helped lift my sadness.

(Written on March 15, 2014)