It’s hard to believe that last week was my four hundredth post! A part of me thought it was time to wrap it up. Then, some very supportive friends encouraged me to keep going. I was touched when they told me that they enjoy my words with their Monday morning coffee.
ELBEE She’s like a doughnut.
Writing has allowed me to preserve so many precious memories. It’s almost overwhelming when I look back. It’s also what I need to write a book, something that others have suggested.
My journey began in 2006 but my first post was in September of 2015. It was at the urging of Barbara Valentine, a friend, who, after a special visit from Charley and Elbee, my first two therapy dogs, convinced me to start a blog. Gus had just begun his “career.”
ELBEE She had no idea what a blog was.
Charley and Elbee are gone but their legacy lives on with Stanley, Henry and Gus, who is now the senior pack member. They all continue to amaze me.
Thanks to the Doods, I have done parades, hospital galas and sadly, even a candlelight gala for a murdered professor. I’ve met six graders from Compton in an anti-bullying group, high schoolers interested in health care professions and campers with special needs.
Without the Doods I would never have had the chance to chat with Sully Sullenberger, the hero from the miracle on the Hudson. I would not have met Clayton Kershaw and Mookie Betts from the Dodgers nor told manager Dave Roberts that I was a “grandma groupie.”
ELBEE That was just embarrassing.
On a serious note, over the years, all of the dogs have shown me miracles. How do you explain a man who awoke from a months long coma and said that all he remembered was the presence of the dogs on his bed? More than once I have heard that a patient smiled for the first time in weeks. A young woman in neuropsych hugged Gus and whispered that he was the first thing that had made her want to live in a long time.
Friday, Gus had a special moment at Tarzana Hospital. On pediatrics, a nurse asked us to visit a patient with cerebral palsy. The boy’s reactions were hard to read but his mom’s face lit up as soon as we walked in the room.
I placed Gus on the bed where he relaxed and cuddled up next to the patient. When Gus gently placed his head on the boys chest, I saw the trace of a smile on his face. That glimpse of happiness truly speaks to the quiet power of therapy animals.
