Me and the Doods.com

Here a Henry, There a Henry…

With COVID and the current outbreaks of leptospirosis and canine influenza, I’ve been very cautious about taking Henry out. Now that we’re vaccinated, I’m making up for lost time.

I’ve started taking him all over the neighborhood. It’s funny how some people will look at us strangely, as if something’s off.

ELBEE Could it be her 80’s hair?

Some don’t seem to recognize me without Gus and Stanley.. Others will kind of hesitate before asking, “Where are they?”

Socializing with a large, sometimes goofy, puppy can be very interesting, especially if that puppy likes to stop and stare at people.

HENRY Is she talking about me?

ELBEE Yes. Get used to it.

Thanks to Henry, I met some very nice neighbors around the corner. In the past we’ve just smiled and waved but the other morning Henry stopped in his tracks to watch them unloading groceries from their car. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to move until they paid attention to him, they started laughing and walked over.

As I introduced him, they immediately said, “That’s our grandson’s name.” That led to talk about families and then, of course, the conversation turned to dogs. They had lost theirs several months ago and were thinking it was almost time for a new one. Meeting Henry gave them a little more incentive.

And what’s the chance that the next day I’d meet someone else with a grandson named Henry? Up until now the only Henry in my life was one of my oldest and dearest friends (we go back to junior high) whose real name is Elliott but whom I call Henry. That’s a whole different story for another day

ELBEE I’m on the edge of my seat.

It was a woman I’ve known casually for years. I usually stop to chat when she’s outside gardening. As we walked by, she called out, “Who’s the new one?” I answered “This is Henry.” She smiled and said, “That’s my grandson’s name.”

She was curious as to what kind of dog he was. When I told her he was a mix of Poodle and Great Pyrenees, her smile grew even bigger. Coincidentally, her grandson Henry’s family had recently gotten two Great Pyrenees.

Her grandson was so happy with the dogs that he began his Bar Mitzvah speech talking about them. He felt that it was very special to have them together because they would always have companionship and love. When his speech turned to Noah’s ark, he said he believed that Noah led the animals two by two not just to reproduce, but to keep them from feeling alone.

As she was telling me the story, I thought how great it was that something as simple as the name Henry could lead to such meaningful conversations. His demeanor also helps. He’s a little calmer and more watchful like the Great Pyrenees who are often used to guard sheep.

HENRY What’s a sheep?

Happy Halloween Henry

ELBEE Hey, who doesn’t love a little alliteration.

This week, several of the PAC teams took part in the UCLA Medical Center Halloween festivities. The Doods have done this as far back as Charley and Elbee.

Last year, with COVID, the PAC dogs did a virtual celebration with several teams on Zoom. It was fun sharing the screen and interacting, but there’s nothing like actual contact.

This year was so special because we were back in person. It was time to bring out the pumpkin costumes!

ELBEE I thought those looked familiar.

When I decided that I was going to wear one of their multi-colored wigs, I had an issue. Does one put it on at home and drive all the way to UCLA or does one put it on right before walking in. I asked one of my daughters her opinion and she suggested that one not wear it at all.

ELBEE I’m with her.

I also had a wig for Stanley but since he wasn’t in the mood, “Aunt” Carol, who always helps at Halloween, had the pleasure of wearing it. We both looked fabulous.

From the moment we met in the lobby with our dogs dressed as lions, pumpkins and even a hot dog, there was so much laughter. As we posed for a group photo, people walking by forgot their problems and stopped to capture the moment on their phones.

When we went up to the floors, the response was even better. I had almost forgotten how special it is to see a child’s face light up when a dog walks into their room or to feel the relief of their families. One very sick young man had only a slight response but his dad was almost in tears.

The hospital staff has been incredibly happy about the dogs returning. Our Halloween visit was no exception. I lost count of how many nurses, in quiet asides, told me what a physical and emotional toll the past year has taken. The dogs were the best medicine.

In my usual spirit of honesty, I have something to get off my chest. It’s about my singing.

ELBEE Singing? That noise she makes is not singing and it has nothing to do with this post.

When a friend sent me photos of myself in the mask and wig, I realized that I was unrecognizable, just like the contestants on The Masked Singer, one of my guilty pleasures. I could have burst into song and no one would have known it was me! Maybe there’s still hope.

And Happy First Halloween Henry!

Me and My Shadow

ELBEE It’s ironic that someone who is such a bad singer has a propensity for using song titles.

This post was going to be about Henry following Stanley around like his shadow, the same way that Stanley shadowed Elbee. To be honest, I was surprised that he followed Elbee rather than Riley, our late, very patient Golden Retriever.

ELBEE I resent that. I was a mentor extraordinaire.

Henry runs laps, plays tug-of-war and has spirited wrestling matches with both Gus and Stanley. Still, he seems to take his cues from Stanley. Even his brief puppy time outs are usually lying next to or on top of Stanley.

It’s so helpful with his training. When I’m about to head out the door with the dogs and I tell them to wait, he looks to Stanley for guidance. When someone comes into the house, instead of getting carried away with puppy exuberance, he mimics Stanley’s attitude.

As I said, that’s what I was planning to write about. Then, instead, goaded by Elbee’s voice, I began going off in a different direction. It may also be due to the stress of watching the Dodgers play.

Actually, the title song of this post, aside from relating to the dogs, has very sentimental meaning for me. My dad used to sing it when I was a kid.

We spent summers at my grandparents’ resort in the Catskill Mountain. It was like Dirty Dancing without Patrick Swayze. On weekends, my dad would emcee the hotel shows. He would often sing when he was onstage. Goodnight Irene and Me and My Shadow were two of his favorites. I can still picture him.

For so many of us, special songs entertain and bring back memories. Music has been found to be very therapeutic. At UCLA, before COVID, there was sometimes a woman in the lobby playing a harp. Leaving the neuropsych units with the dogs I would often chat with another woman who was waiting to go in and play keyboards for the patients.

There is so much laughter whenever I have the kids sing while Gus is dancing or Stanley is dancing with me. I wonder if I could take it a step further. If I really practiced, maybe took lessons, could I improve my singing? After all, my father and brother could each carry a tune. Then I could integrate it into my hospital visits with the dogs. It would be a win/win situation.

ELBEE Only if the patients were hard of hearing.

A Therapeutic Morning

**Gus & his “cousins,” Finley & Tommy**
**Dec. 2019**

This week, Gus met up with his “cousins” Tommy and Finley for a special visit at UCLA. Their person Donna and I have often worked the three together with great success. Wednesday was no exception.

Recently the staff in one of the medical office suites experienced a traumatic event and called on the dogs for help. A co-worker had suddenly lost consciousness and collapsed at her desk. Despite great effort on their part, she was admitted to the ICU where she is still a patient.

Her friends and colleagues, having extreme difficulty coping, reached out to the People Animal Connection, hoping that the dogs could provide some much needed support.

Donna and I had no idea what to expect but as usual the dogs knew just what to do. From the moment that Tommy, Finley and Gus walked in they worked their magic. They were sweet and loving with no expectations.

Group after group gathered around them in corridors and at work stations. People were smiling, laughing and hugging the dogs. Everyone had their phones out for photos. Some were sharing pictures of their own dogs. For a brief time, they were able to escape from their grief and anxiety.

Someone knocked on a doctor’s office door to see if he might like a visit. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone’s face light up so quickly at the sight of the dogs. With a huge smile, he immediately lay down on the floor with them. He was the personification of the joy of pet therapy.

Sorry to break the mood but I have to be totally honest. The morning didn’t go without a slight hitch. When we were taking our three little heroes out for a potty break, Gus peed on Tommy.

GUS It was a complete accident. I can’t believe she shared that.

ELBEE Talk about taking a left turn into inappropriate.

If We Ever Needed Therapy Dogs…

A recent Los Times Angeles article spoke about how front line workers are currently reporting high levels of stress and anxiety. To cope with the emotional exhaustion, they are using everything from therapy to support groups to meditation. It was no surprise that many are turning to dogs for comfort. Some nurses are even certifying their own dogs to help each other out.

The article was reflective of what’s happening at UCLA. The patients, of course, are happy to have the dogs back. A boy in the neuropsych unit quietly shared that he had known all of the Doods since Charley and how much the visits meant to him. A man being wheeled to the elevator on a gurney smiled and waved. So did the orderly pushing him.

It’s that orderly and others on staff who need the support more than ever. Over the past few months, I’ve written about the warm welcome back to the dogs but the situation has intensified. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard nurses and doctors say, “Thank goodness the dogs are back.” People on staff have hugged Gus and Stanley as they’ve looked up and said, “I don’t know how I’d have gotten through the day without this.”

During my last visit to UCLA, I stopped in the volunteer office with Stanley. The reception was warm and loving. When I mentioned how touched I was by the reaction of the staff, one of the volunteers said she knew exactly what I meant.

She happened to be in the hall when someone from the People Animal Connection walked by with her dog. Immediately, a group in hospital uniforms gathered around simply to have a moment. The volunteer saw such emotion, such joy and relief, that it brought tears to her eyes.

Over the past fifteen years I’ve often shared the wonder I feel at being a part of what Charley, Elbee, Stanley and Gus have been able to accomplish. They have taught me about unconditional kindness. They have shown me miracles.

The pandemic has brought my appreciation of their abilities and my sense of responsibility to new levels. Knowing what the dogs can do and then seeing it taken away when it was most needed was so difficult.

Watching them help the healing process in this new, uncertain world, I feel a deeper sense of gratitude. I am also inspired to hang in there with Henry as he finds his place.

On a totally separate note, if the Dodgers had lost the series in San Francisco, there wouldn’t have been enough therapy dogs to comfort me!

Leader of the Pack?

ELBEE Somehow that title makes me want to sing.

There is cause for celebration on the sleeping front. Instead of barking at five a.m., Henry now waits for me to come downstairs with Gus and Stanley around seven and then greets us enthusiastically. Surprisingly, Gus, who can be a diva, seems especially happy to see Henry.

GUS I’ve actually grown quite fond of him, although I don’t understand how these SHORT dogs keep ending up taller than I am.

ELBEE Poor Gus is developing a Napoleon complex.

They’re getting along so well, it’s as if they’ve formed a three-pack.

ELBEE A three-pack? Seriously?

When a friend asked me who was the leader of the pack, I really had to think about it. There was no Elbee in charge.

ELBEE And there never will be another one quite like me.

In the house, Henry takes his lead from Gus and Stanley. Although I’d like to take the credit, it’s mostly due to them that he’s does commands like sit, down and stay. He likes to cuddle next to them for naps and waits with them when it’s time to eat.

When the plumber Pete was here the other day, instead of being goofy puppy, Henry greeted him calmly with the other two and relaxed with them while Pete worked.

ELBEE And that is interesting, why?

I think I would have to say that Stanley is the “indoor” pack leader. Henry is particularly attached to him, sometimes too attached. He follows him from room to room like a shadow. I have even caught Henry watching a Dodger game next to him.

The reason I said “indoor” is because once the dogs are out in the yard it’s a whole different ballgame. It’s Henry’s time to play and he wants the other two involved. He turns into everyone’s nightmare of a personal trainer.

He barks in Gus’s face until Gus finally gets up and runs with him. Barking won’t work with Stanley, so he sits on him or hangs from his hair.

GUS He is keeping me in fabulous shape.

STANLEY If he makes one more spit ball out of my hair I may lose it, but my hundred yard dash has really improved.

Henry won’t stop until they’re all chasing each other around, wrestling or playing tug-of-war. When they’re finally worn out, they collapse near each other on the grass.

When you bring a new puppy into the mix, it’s a lot of work and you never know quite what to expect. You just hope and try for the best. I am so happy for the way that Henry has fit in with Gus and Stanley. During these still uncertain times, watching them together has brought so much joy and laughter.

A Four Feathered Oops!

Have you ever done something illegal, having no idea that it was illegal? In the spirit of the new year I have a confession to make.

I was hiking up a narrow trail when I saw four beautiful feathers on the ground, with no injured bird or nest in sight. Totally forgetting one of my favorite sayings, “take nothing from the mountains except memories and leave nothing but footprints,” I got caught up in the moment and picked up the feathers. I thought they were some kind of a sign.

ELBEE That is total rationalization.

I was pretty sure they were from a red tailed hawk. I have always found such peace in watching the hawks soar overhead. I had an unforgettable experience when one flew so low, it’s talons brushed my hair. A man hiking behind me asked, “Did I just see what I thought I saw?

ELBEE I’m sure the hawk thought it was nesting material.

When I got home I took a photo of Gus wearing the feathers. Then I googled red tailed hawk to see if I was correct. The good news is that I was. The bad news is that it’s against the law to take those feathers.

GUS Oh no. I hope I don’t get charged as an accessory

Overcome with guilt, and afraid I might be arrested, I hiked up and returned the feathers to the mountains. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have taken Gus’s picture. Then, in the true spirit of atonement and also trying to clear my guilty conscience, I thought it would be a good idea to do some sort of community service.

As luck would have it, it was Gus’s turn to visit the adult day health center. The participants, ranging in age from their twenties up to their eighties, are dealing with issues such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and depression. Others have severe physical disabilities.

Due to COVID, the dogs have been unable to visit for most of the past year. From the moment I walked in with Gus, there was a ripple of joy. The regulars gave him a warm welcome back. Staff members walked over to tell me how much the dogs had been missed.

Especially touching was seeing the man in his sixties who only smiles when the dogs are there. Awhile back, before the pandemic, a therapist caught him smiling for the first time in months as he petted Stanley. He wrote me a letter sharing how much the dogs mean to him.

As Gus and I made our way around the large room, stopping to visit people sitting on scattered couches and at the lunch tables, he stayed with us. Even with a mask on, I could see that he had a constant smile on his face.

I have a very strange note to add. As Gus was sitting in the yard for his
“feather” photo, a red tailed hawk suddenly started circling overhead. When I went to take the feathers off of Gus, there were five! My husband, a man of science, was a witness.

Traditionally Nontraditional

In the past I’ve written about my exploits on Yom Kippur, a biggie in the Jewish religion, the holiest day of the year.

ELBEE I don’t think that “exploits” is the appropriate term here. And “biggie?”

It’s a day of atonement, reflection and remembrance. Traditionally observant people fast and spend most of the day in temple, some stream services on line. Nontraditional people watch Dodger games, hike and take their dogs to the vet. Perhaps I should explain.

GUS & STANLEY She really should.

The Dodgers are in a tight race with the Giants in their division so they need all the fan support they can get. It was the eve of Yom Kippur, barely dark out, so I was almost in the clear. And would they have won without me watching?

In the morning I hiked up to my favorite overlook in the Santa Monica Mountains, my sanctuary, my spiritual place. As I sat on a boulder, with hawks soaring over the canyon, memories washed over me of some very special people who left us way too soon.

My parents passed in their forties so I see them as young and vibrant. I can picture my dad emceeing shows at my grandparents’ Catskill resort. I can see my mother’s knowing smile when I was up to something. I think she realized that I was going to marry Doug before I did.

In the silence of the mountains, I can almost hear my brother Stan’s laughter. He could light up a room. A TV director, he put everyone in the studio at ease, from stars to stagehands. He passed away from cancer at forty seven.

My dearest friend Eileen is another person I celebrate on Yom Kippur. We loved, understood and supported each other. Since Eileen’s ashes are in the ocean along with my brother’s, her kids and I have made it a holiday tradition to drive to the beach and place flowers in the sand for them. It’s our way of saying Yizkor, the prayer for the deceased.

Since I am not going to lie about Yom Kippur, I have another confession.

ELBEE She’s probably hoping to get dispensation from a rabbi.

Instead of making the pilgrimage to the beach, I took all of the Doods for their vaccines. In my defense, with COVID and lots of people adopting pets, it’s very difficult to get an appointment, let alone three. I made them weeks ago and had no idea they fell on the holiday.

When my cousin Janet shared that she had watched services on line, I felt a slight twinge of guilt. When she admitted that while she was watching she was also texting, knitting and drinking coffee, I felt so much better.

Perspective

Henry, our newest addition, is a great puppy but he is still waking up before the sun. The other morning, while I was feeling like a sleep deprived zombie, I received a very important text.

At first I assumed it was from a relative or friend on the east coast because of the time difference. Instead it was from my dear friend and hairdresser extraordinaire, Brian, letting me know that he had an appointment available to color my hair.

ELBEE Shocker, she’s not a natural blonde!

I think I surprised Brian when I texted back a short time later to confirm. Hey, it’s my hair! I added that I thought we were both up way too early. Brian’s response was so positive it almost made me look at daybreak from a different perspective.

He wrote, “I love the mornings. God gives us the peace before the day unfolds, kinda like we ease into the chaos.” Could I possibly convince myself that it was fun to get up with Henry when it was still dark out?

ELBEE Probably not.

During a recent visit to UCLA, I had not so much a change in perspective as a greater awareness of what our dogs can accomplish. COVID has forced us to do countless Zoom calls over the past year and a half, and even to cancel planned visits, so it’s very special when we can actually go into the hospital.

As Stanley and I walked into our regular units in Resnick Neuropsych the joy was almost palpable. The kids under twelve and then the teens were so responsive. They shared stories about their pets. They sang when Stanley and I danced. They played along to “who wore it best” when I put silly sunglasses on me and Stanley. It was if they were just hanging out and having fun.

Then I noticed an older boy trying to help a younger one who seemed to have more severe problems. He was encouraging him to join in and to pet Stanley. It was a stark reminder that we were in a hospital and that the kids were dealing with serious issues.

That particular day, more than one therapist took me aside to tell me how grateful and relieved they were to have the dogs back. They said it was just not the same without them. The dogs relax the kids and bring out a much different energy… an energy they don’t usually see.

I have never taken the positive behavior of the kids for granted. When they chatter and laugh, it’s music to my ears. Still, hearing from the professionals who are treating them, puts it in a much larger perspective. It confirms how important the dogs are in the healing process. It fills me with a sense of gratitude and wonder.

Doug and Henry…Soulmates?

Anyone who has ever had a dog knows that there are certain ones who win your heart. Riley, our Golden Retriever who lived to be almost 16, was my husband Doug’s special dog. From the moment I carried him into the house as an adorable bundle of fur, he and Doug bonded.

As Riley matured, Doug liked his independent spirit and the kind of macho thing he had going on. Early on they took runs together and in Riley’s later years they walked every morning.

Not only was Riley our last dog without a job, he was also our last non-Doodle. Riley’s nephew Charley was our first Goldendoodle, followed by Charley’s half-brother Elbee. Then Gus, our Teddy Bear Doodle joined the pack.

I think the Doodles are a little quirky for Doug’s taste. They’re funny, attention seeking and kind of emotional. Let’s face it. They’re diva dogs.

ELBEE There’s a problem with that?

It’s not that Doug hasn’t loved all of them but Riley was his boy. The morning that Riley passed, Doug felt such a deep sense of loss. I don’t think he expected to have that connection ever again, especially with a Doodle. Then along came Henry.

The first time that Doug held eight week old Henry, a Pyredoodle, in his arms, he melted. We were both amazed at how calm Henry was on the long drive home. Almost two months later we’re grateful and, let’s be honest, totally surprised at the way he fits in with us and with Gus and Stanley.

It’s not that he doesn’t get into some typical puppy shenanigans and I’m sure he’ll have some crazy phases, but he seems to have the calm, gentle spirit of his mother who is a Great Pyrenees. He is independent yet loving. He will wrestle with the other two and make spitballs in their hair, but he is truly learning from them. And he loves Doug.

When Doug goes out to do some morning gardening, Henry is right at his heels. If he sits down to read the paper, Henry is under his feet. The other evening, after putting Henry is his crate, he said almost to himself “he’s such a cool dog and he’s so smart.”

Speaking of bonding, last weekend our seventeen year old grandson Ryan came over to meet Henry who immediately won him over. Even more touching than his delight with Henry, was Ryan’s interaction with Stanley.

Elbee was always Ryan’s favorite. When Elbee passed, he told me that Elbee was his favorite animal that ever lived. At the time, Stanley was a goofy puppy, so that didn’t help.

On Sunday things changed. Stanley, who is now mature and loving, kept giving Ryan the “lean.” Suddenly, Ryan said, “Grandma, Stanley reminds me of Elbee.” I asked if that made him happy or sad. He quietly answered, “It makes me very happy.”