Charley, my first therapy dog, passed away four years ago. After charming everyone at a UCLA student athlete event, he spent a restless night. In the morning he lay down under some purple flowering bushes and was gone in twenty minutes. He had such grace and dignity. 
Charley was my canine mentor. He was by my side when I began my therapy dog journey fifteen years ago. He really showed me the way. He was such a kind empathetic creature, the epitome of the gentle giant. No one who met Charley ever forgot him.
About to turn three, Stanley, has developed a strong resemblance to Charley, not only in appearance but in his demeanor. I’ve lost count of how many people have mistakenly called him Charley. It has struck such an emotional chord in me.
I took him to the bank recently and he stayed calmly by my side, walking a few steps at a time as we socially distanced. One of the tellers, who has known all of the Doods, forgot how many years have gone by and called out “Look it’s Charley.”
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of hiking with Stanley. It’s in the mountains that I truly appreciate his comforting presence. It reminds me of the sense of freedom that I had with Charley.
As another big shaggy dog, Stanley also draws a lot of attention. I have had so many conversations with people who would have said “hi” and walked on by if I’d been alone.
Two women, who were laughing because our hair looked the same blowing in the wind, stopped to chat. Of course I told them about being in I Love You Man with Charley because we looked so much alike.
ELBEE She just can’t help herself. I think she’s still hoping for a sequel with her blink and you missed it cameo.
What really impressed them was the way that Stanley calmly and protectively leaned against me as we were talking, something that Charley used to do. They fell in love with him and shared how much he had cheered them up. I have always treasured the “lean.”
In this time of uncertainty, not knowing what the new normal is going to bring, there is a change in mood. Following months of isolation, people are reaching out to each other. Stanley has become a bridge to reconnection.
This week he surprised me again by giving me a “hand shake,” something that I thought was unique to Charley. When I reached for his paw, he curled it around my hand and squeezed gently. It was as if it was a message from my first gentle giant.
