Thanks to my New Year’s semi-resolution to try and “get” football, I happened to be watching the Cincinnati-Buffalo game (my husband is from Buffalo) when 24 year old Bill’s player Damar Hamlin suffered a cardiac arrest. What struck me, as he was taken away by ambulance, was how everyone pulled together. Players and fans from each side hugged each other, united in their concern for that young man. There was even a spontaneous prayer circle on the field.
Lately, I have noticed a large number of television spots, and neighborhood signs, encouraging people to put aside their differences and reach out to each other. I’m not being naive and ignoring all of the divisiveness in the world, but that doesn’t preclude taking small steps in a positive direction. 
I am so grateful that the Doods lead me in that direction. Part of what I love about walking with them is the way they draw all sorts of people to us. I will often end up in deep conversation with someone I might never have spoken to if I’d been alone.
This is especially true when we go into the hospital. Somehow the presence of the dogs allows people to open up. When Gus was at Tarzana Hospital on Friday, an elderly woman, in tears, shared how she had lost her dog to coyotes but now was hoping to rescue a senior dog or maybe even two.
As we were heading for the parking garage, another woman stopped me. She wanted to tell me how much it had meant when Gus visited her friend who had been a patient a few months earlier. Then she scrolled through her phone to show me a video she’d taken. Seeing Gus do his little dance and then cuddle with the woman on her bed, made my day.
At UCLA on Wednesday, Stanley lit up the faces of everyone in the neuropsych units as soon as he walked in. The younger kids and the teens laughed at some of his antics, like rolling over for belly rubs, then hugged him for comfort. A little girl who was crying because she missed her dog, wrapped her arms around him.
But it was in the adult unit that we had a moment that took me by surprise. Like the opening of this post, it also involved prayers. To the delight of the patients, Stanley “says his prayers.” He sits in front of a chair, puts his paws up on the seat, then bows his head. As he was about to begin, a young man asked if it was okay if he said his prayers with Stanley. I answered, “of course.” He bowed his head by the next chair and said, “God, thank you for bringing Stanley the dog here today. Amen.”
I say thank you for the privilege of holding their leashes as they bring people together.
