Therapy Dog

Ever since I got Max, which has been just a little over two months ago, I've thought that he might make a good therapy dog. You know, the kind that goes into nursing homes and pediatric units at hospitals to visit the patients and bring a little joy into their lives. Max is a two and a half year old Beagle that stands about 15 inches at the shoulders. He's got an endearing face, the energy and demeanor of a puppy, and the voice of a diva. When I got him at the pound, his name was given as "Huey," which I immediately associated with Huey Lewis and the News, a reference I could live without. I asked the handler, while the dog was running around in the fenced in area behind the shelter, if the dog was "stuck" on the name "Huey."

"Well, " she said, "I've been calling him Huey for over a month now and he couldn't care less."

I thought for a second, then called out in his general direction, "Hey...MAX!"

Without hesitation he turned toward me, cocked his head to one side, then came running to my feet. "Hmmm...," I thought, "I think his name must be 'Max'."

It was late on a Friday afternoon and, despite the notion that I had been chosen by Max, I wanted to prepare the house for his arrival and I asked if I could pick him up the next Monday.

"You'd better take him today...I don't think he'll be...uh...alive on Monday," said the handler.

So, Max and I went home that very day and we've become best buddies. Max is a friendly dog, but not overtly kissy-kissy like some canines. I get face licks when I come home from work, but rarely at other times. He seems to have a fairly short attention span, but I attribute that to his curiosity. Everything in the world is worthy of investigation. He does have some problems which might stem from his early life, of which I know next to nothing. He is terrified of fountains or the sound of falling water, air ducts and people on skateboards and in-line skates. He's not too fond of the sounds of cars starting or honking their horns, and he is skittish around anything that might have a motor that could start up automatically. Case in point: on more than one occasion I've seen him nearly jump out of his skin when the refrigerator motor kicks on.

Well, as I was saying, I believe that he would probably make a fine therapy dog, but I feel that I need to make sure that he's got the basic commands down before I think of moving forward with that plan. Oddly enough, it was Max who brought home the point with a clear and no-nonsense demonstration.

We were involved with Salute to Life, a fund raising gimmick for our local AIDS care organization (see below Walking, Cash and Life) and on the last leg of the hike when I felt Max pulling me to the side of the road. I assumed that he was merely trying to guide us to a lightpost which needed watering, when I realized that he was looking at a woman in a motorized wheelchair who seemed to have C.P.

Max walked straight up to her and began a soft whine. I could make out the word "puppy" and a general positive reaction to him.

"Well, it looks like he wanted to come over to see you! This is Max," I said as I picked him up with one hand on his chest between his two front legs and my other hand supporting his hind quarters. This made it easier for her to see Max and for him to react to her.

"Hi, Max..." I heard her say, then what sounded like praise on how cute he was. She put out her right hand and was able to pet him a bit before he raised a paw and placed it gently on her hand.

She said something like, "Good puppy," as she swung her other hand around and placed it on top of his paw. Then, without pulling his paw away, he reached his head over and ever so gently gave her a sweet lick of a puppy kiss on her cheek, then lowered his head so that his velvet chin was resting on her hand.

The woman squeeled with joy and lit up like a Christmas tree. Max pulled back gently and cocked his head to one side. He wiggled enough that I put him down then he sniffed at her feet for a moment before turning to a near by light post to give it a sprinkle. I figured that was a sign that he was ready to go. I waved to the woman and told her to have a good day. Max turned to her one more time and gave a wag of his tail and hind quarters before bounding back into the street to resume his walk.

Whether Max will ever make it as an official therapy dog, I don't know, but I am sure he has it in him. Maybe his calling is not to do it in an official manner, but to serve the same purpose when the opportunity presents itself. Needless to say I was very proud of Max and nearly brought to tears by his gentle and loving expression. Would that humans could be so open and giving of their emotions....