When Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

There is a certain rhythm to working with the Doods but then, and always to my surprise, something extraordinary happens. A recent day at UCLA started out in the usual fashion. Gus bounced out of the car in front of the hospital, tail wagging, greeting everyone in his path.

After stops in the lobby, the volunteer center and administration, we made our way up to neuropsych on the fourth floor. The kids in our first unit were so exuberant, it was as if the circus had come to town. Barely containing their excitement, they gathered around Gus on the floor, laughing, petting him, hugging him. They couldn’t seem to get close enough. That is, except for one adolescent girl who sat off to the side, her face expressionless.

When we had seen her previously, she had remained that way, “isolative,” as the therapist explained to me, throughout out entire visit. She stayed on the periphery, not reacting or participating. I also learned that she doesn’t like to come out of her room except when the dogs are there.

This week I sensed something slightly different in her demeanor. She was sitting  in the same spot, removed from the group, but I saw a flicker of interest when Gus did his tricks. She even inched a bit closer while still keeping her distance from the other kids. When I asked her if she’d like one of his trading cards, she shook her head no. When I asked if she’d like me to bring Gus over to her, I got a barely audible “yes.”

Observing her behavior, the therapist asked if she’d like to take a walk with me and Gus as a special treat. That got a yes, and the trace of a smile. With both of us holding his leash, we started down the hallway together. As we walked side by side, I could feel the girl relax. With a little encouragement she began to pet Gus.

I’m not sure what it is, but there is something about his soft, fluffy coat that captivates and relaxes people. That young girl was no exception. Before I knew it, she was on the floor gently hugging him.

After a few minutes, we continued walking to the end of the hall. When we reached the door and it was time for us to leave, the therapist looked at her and asked if she knew the dog’s name. With no hesitation and with a big smile on her face, she said, “Gus.” Then the therapist asked her if she knew my name. With an even bigger grin, she turned to me and said, “Ellen.” At that moment, ordinary became extraordinary.