After the pet visit station at UCLA last week, Stanley and I were asked to do a room visit. Told that it was a “priority,” I felt a little concern. After all, you never know what you’re going to find when you knock on a patient’s door. It could be a child who smiles for the first time in days. It could be someone critically ill who is reaching out for a measure of comfort.
This time it turned out to be the best possible circumstances. “Priority” was a teenage girl who loved dogs, especially large ones, and had really been hoping for a visit. When I walked in with Stanley, the patient, her mom and a cousin got so excited you would have thought it was a surprise party, which, I guess in a way, it was.
Asking if she’d like Stanley on the bed, I got a resounding “yes.” I spread out a sheet and then helped Stanley step up gently. To the patient’s delight, he settled into her lap, well, the part of him that would fit in her lap.
What happened next was the highlight of the morning. Stanley has been taking a 
tricks class where some of the tricks are taught while a few are “caught” behaviors. This means if your dog sneezes or does something else regularly, you give it a name, reward it and it becomes a trick. For instance, Gus does an adorable little dance which, believe it or not, I didn’t teach him.
ELBEE Hello? If you’ve ever seen her moves you will absolutely know that Gus taught himself.
Stanley really doesn’t have a lot of caught behaviors but 
rolling onto his back for a belly rub is one of them. It’s his go to move if he wants attention, is in trouble or just relaxing. I whispered to the patient to ask Stanley if he’d like a belly rub.
That’s all it took. He sprawled out on his back, long legs in the air, just waiting for his belly to be rubbed. Everyone, including two nurses watching from the doorway, burst out laughing.
As happens on those very special visits, the hospital faded away. Thanks to a big, goofy dog, we were just a group of people, strangers moments before, putting problems aside and sharing a laugh. As a therapist at the hospital said to me recently, “the dogs do things that we simply can’t do.”
