Me and the Doods.com

Up Close and Personal at the Science Center

Gus and I have been doing monthly demos for “Dogs a Science Tail,” since the interactive exhibit opened at the California Science Center in March. The experience has been amazing. The crowds, which include people of all ages, are warm and enthusiastic.

What stuck me this week, as it often does in the hospital, is how many special individual moments we have. The interactions begin as soon as we leave the car. I may only chat with someone briefly as they pet Gus, but there is a connection and a sharing of stories.

This week we met a very friendly Taye Diggs look alike. I’ll be honest. I really thought it was him but he was pushing a stroller with two toddlers inside so the chances were slim.

ELBEE I happened to be looking down when she got home and saw her googling to see if he had small children. Gus and Stanley need to pick up the slack here.

Once we check in at the desk, we usually meet Courtney who is our official “escort.” She guides us around the museum and takes us up to the demo area. We’re like VIP’s.

ELBEE I hate to burst her bubble but it’s for insurance reasons.

People are incredibly patient as they line up to wait for a “meet and greet” with Gus after my talk. Not once have I seen anyone tap their foot or do the annoyed glance at the watch thing. It’s dog people (my favorite kind) at their absolute best.

A little girl was particularly happy as she sat and brushed Gus, grudgingly moving on when they told her that the next group was coming in to meet him. I had to laugh when ten minutes later she and her mom were back. With a big grin on her face, she asked “Do you remember me?”

One of my favorites of the day was an elderly Spanish speaking man who fell in love with Gus at first sight. I enjoy practicing my “Espanol” and this gentleman was so kind about it. He assured me that he could understand me and didn’t laugh at my accent.

When he asked me the dog’s name, I started to say “Gus.” Instead I told him it was “Gustavo.” At that point the man’s smile grew even bigger and he said, “Me llamo Gustavo.” He was so touched that they had the same name, that he immediately dropped down and gave Gus a huge hug.

We’ll Be Here All Week

I started this post before Elbee passed and then, in the pain of losing him, put it aside. I decided to share it this week including the last Elbee remarks from when he was next to me instead of keeping an eye on me from above.

After Stanley somehow made it through intermediate obedience (okay we took it twice), I signed him up for a beginning tricks class. The tricks, like shake, crawl and spin, are useful tools in the hospital. For instance, the dogs don’t go in to see patients who are in isolation so instead of just passing by, Gus can dance in the doorway and Elbee and Stanley can wave. You’d be amazed how that brings out the smiles and the laughter.

ELBEE There’s a little more to it than being a useful “tool.” Someone likes to get in on the act.

He may have a point. I’ve shared that my father and my brother Stanley were hams in the best sense of the word. At my grandparent’s Catskill Hotel, my dad was “that guy” like in the movie Dirty Dancing. He emceed the shows, told all the jokes and sang while he and my mother were on the dance floor, not easy to pull off.

He was so charming and charismatic that it sometimes got him into trouble. My aunt was getting married and my dad was part of the wedding party. As he sauntered down the aisle in tophat and tails, the guests at the wedding began applauding and shouting “It’s Lester the entertainer.” Not the best thing before Here Comes the Bride.

As a kid, I was incredibly shy and would cringe when my dad tried to have me come out on stage with him. It took years and my recovery from a near-fatal car crash to bring me out of my shell…way out. I guess I inherited the recessive ham gene. It just took a lot longer to show itself.

ELBEE Apparently she also inherited the flexing gene.

Stanley Who are these people? I’m so confused.

The other day Gus and I were entertaining a group of people in a waiting room at Providence Tarzana, milking the applause, when someone suddenly said “You should be on America’s Got Talent.” What a great idea. I can’t believe I’d never thought of that.

ELBEE And I’ve never peed on the carpet.

What I can’t believe is that she chose to use that as my last earthly comment.

Jack, Meet Stanley

Jack Barron was part of my therapy dog journey before we’d even met.When Charley was a puppy, I read a newspaper article about Jack and the UCLA People Animal Connection. Coincidentally, a short time later, a woman at the vet commented on Charley’s temperament and called me with the number of the program.

A few months later, I went to a Pet Partners workshop, and there was none other than Jack teaching. Listening to his stories and hearing his passion for therapy dogs, I was hooked. I doubled down my efforts on training and socializing Charley, getting him ready for testing. On the day that I finally walked into UCLA Medical Center with the gentle giant at my side, Jack was there to guide us.

When Elbee came along I had a virus and was housebound. Unfortunately, I couldn’t socialize him and desensitize him to different environments so he became a little fearful. At the times when I was about to give up, Jack was one of the people who wouldn’t let me quit.

ELBEE That would have been tragic.

He also brought Gus into my life. He called one evening to say that Gina, a trainer friend of his was looking for a home for a Doodle puppy with a therapy dog temperament. One meeting with Gus and I was in love.

The family who had to give him up, only asked that he have a good life. As Gus has gone on to do extraordinary and exciting things (I mean how many dogs meet two Dodger pitchers), I am grateful that Jack helped Gus find his way into my heart.

Jack and his wife moved out of state some time before Stanley had even arrived. Since he’d been so instrumental with the other two, I kind of wanted his seal of approval. He was in town on business recently so it was the perfect opportunity for them to get to know each other. I also thought the “puppy” might cheer Jack up because he’d been through a rough patch.

Several months ago, Jack had pulled out all the stops to help Shane, his magnificent Labrador Retriever, fight nasal cancer. After surgery to remove his nose, Shane was recovering so well that Jack was planning to take him into the hospital to help people with facial deformities. Sadly, before that could happen, Shane succumbed to another form of cancer.

The Jack and Stanley meeting could not have gone better. Stanley was showing off his best behavior. He was so good that people walking by didn’t notice that there was a huge dog sitting by our feet. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Stanley did the Charley “lean” against Jack. It sealed the deal.

In a sad twist of fate, we lost Elbee shortly after. How special that my mentor was able to say hello to the new generation as we said goodbye to the old.

A Gift of Remembrance

Friday morning the husband sent a cryptic text, “You need to come to the wound care center today.” Even for someone who sends short messages with no emojis, that was brief. When I asked which dog, he replied, “Either.”

I was taking Gus to Providence Tarzana to visit and figured, since the center is just next door, that he’d be the logical choice. Gus has still been mourning Elbee so I hoped that going to work would help to cheer him up just like it did Stanley.

From the moment we entered the lobby, he was on. His tail started wagging. The Gus “smile,” that we’ve seen very little of lately, was back. By then, the staff knew about Elbee so they all made a special effort for Gus. It was mutual therapy.

One patient visit really stood out. An adorable toddler, carrying her special stuffed animal, was in the Pediatrics hallway with her parents. Seeing the delighted look on her face at the sight of Gus, I had him dance for her, wave and play peek-a-boo. All of a sudden, giggling, she tried to give him her toy. The parents were amazed because she never shares it with anyone!

Of course there was the other patient who was happily petting Gus and taking pictures when suddenly she looked at me and asked if he was straight. I could only imagine what Elbee would have had to say about that one!

As we left the hospital and headed over to the wound care center, I assumed it must just be a hectic day when they needed a little dog love. Instead, after warm greetings and condolences about Elbee, the staff gathered around us as someone carried out a huge basket. At first I thought it must be a cake or maybe flowers, but when I saw what was inside, I started to cry.

There was a stone plaque with a poem that read:

“Missing your unconditional love and playful paws, we are now apart. You’re gone from our lives, but never from our heart.”

There were also three smaller stones. Each had paw prints and a date of passing. One said “Charley.” One said “Riley,” and one said Elbee. They were hoping we would put them in the yard near Charley’s bushes.

Charley burrowed under the purple flowering bushes on the morning that he left us. I knew the end was near for Elbee when he wanted to lay in the same place. As with the stones, there is beauty, peace and sadness in Charley’s bushes. There is also the immeasurable comfort of remembrance.

By the way, I just heard from Elbee informing me that the sentence above should have read “there are beauty, peace and sadness.”

The House Is Strangely Quiet

When I’m upset, I often go up into the mountains to work things through. Climbing the steep trails gives me a sense of peace, a sense of clarity. This week, however, was different. After losing Elbee, I found solace in the support of family, friends and countless people who had interacted with him at work. There was an outpouring of love. There was also a sharing of Elbee memories that made me happy and sad at the same time.

A therapist at UCLA commented that “he did things that none of us can do.” A friend who had seen him working in the ICU was amazed by his “understanding.” With tears in her eyes, a nurse said that she would miss the special moments when Elbee would come directly over to her as if to say hello.

Unfortunately, Gus and Stanley can’t share stories or express their feelings but it’s obvious that they’re both grieving. There are no games of tug or races around the yard.

The house is strangely quiet without Elbee. It’s not that the other two don’t bark, but Elbee was like the bark leader. He always had a lot to say. Gus and Stanley are moping around without him. They miss his voice and his presence.

Stanley is taking it particularly hard. He seems lost. Elbee, in a dog way, was his mentor. He taught him to heel and to do a perfect stay. He would tolerate the puppy behavior as Stanley pulled him around by his ear.

When I took Stanley to the groomer this week, everyone there said that they could feel his sadness. It was like an aura around him. We decided that taking him to the hospitals might help. He’d get lots of attention and would be distracted.

At UCLA most of the people we interact with were aware of what had happened. They were saddened by the loss but they’d had some time to process it. They were kind and caring. They showered Stanley with affection.

Going into Providence Tarzana was more difficult because many on the staff hadn’t heard about Elbee. They were learning about it from me. Several burst into tears. I was on the verge of losing it myself. Focusing on Stanley gave me room to breathe.

One of the other things that touched me this week was how many people were fans of the Elbee of my blog and how funny they thought he was. They didn’t want his voice to disappear. I suddenly asked myself, “Is it any stranger to hear him talking to me from above rather than from the couch in my office?” The oldest daughter does not need to answer that question.

Earlier in this post I was about to write that the past several days felt like an emotional cocktail. I immediately thought “Oh, Elbee would have had a field day with that one.” I promise he’ll be back when the time is right.

Goodbye Elbee and Thank You

On Sunday, Elbee was his usual, energetic, over the top barking self. Suddenly, on Monday, he was lethargic and not eating, usually one of his favorite activities. After visits back and forth to the vet, he had surgery on Thursday night and they found an inoperable tumor. Sadly we had to let him go.

I had a weird virus when he was a puppy and couldn’t start training him as early as I’d hoped. Missing some of the crucial stages, there were times I was about to give up but friends encouraged me to stick with it. I’m glad I did.

Elbee was that crazy, full of life character who seemed as if he’d live forever. His unique personality made him a favorite of so many. Once you met Elbee, you couldn’t forget him. My fifteen year old grandson said, “He’s my favorite animal to have ever lived.”

Elbee leaves a legacy of special moments. For instance, there was the little girl that he visited in the neuropsych unit. Within minutes she went from being out of control, smashing her head on the wall and crying, to sitting on the floor with Elbee, teaching him how to take a bow after he won her over with his tricks.

There was the teenage boy in another psych unit who was disruptive and yelling, not wanting to join the group gathered around Elbee. After some time, he actually lay down on the floor and hugged Elbee. Then I heard him whisper, “I love you.”

At an adult health center, a man with severe depression who only smiles when the dogs are there, fell in love with Elbee. When Elbee would put his paws on a chair and bend his head as if “saying his prayers,” the man always felt as if the prayers were just for him.

Somehow Elbee’s alter ego developed a life of its own in my blog. He inspired my writing. I could hear his voice and knew what he was going to say. In the strangest way I felt as if I was channeling him. It gave me such artistic freedom.

His sarcastic remarks kept me in check. His honesty was refreshing. His thoughts made me and other people laugh. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Elbee is so funny.”

Now I have to day goodbye to the real Elbee and the Elbee of my imagination. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Thank you Elbee for being a larger than life character, for inspiring me and others and for making us laugh. Thank you for all of the amazing work and the healing that you did so selflessly.

Stanley and Gus are lost without you and keep waiting for you to come home. I take comfort in knowing that you’re home with your brother Charley and with your dear buddy Riley.

Hospitals, Hiking and Birthdays!

Four of the things that matter the most to me are family, friends, the Doods and hiking.

THE DOODS Not necessarily in that order and we are not responsible for this photo.

For my birthday this week I wanted to do something special. Instead of lunch or a party, I brought Stanley into UCLA for the second time. It turned out to be the best present I could have given myself.

I lost count of our lobby visits. The big, white shaggy muppet was back and drawing people to him. Then he met some of the staff from the neuropsych units who had heard about him and seen endless photos. They gave him a warm welcome.

We even went into Maddie’s room, the family surgery waiting area, for the first time. Like I had with Charley so many years ago, I followed the smiles around the room. Driving home, I had such a sense of joy and fulfillment. I knew that I had made the right choice for the day. The huge bouquet of roses from the husband didn’t hurt either.

But I needed part two of my celebration. Often I have done the “butt burner” on my birthday. It’s a really challenging local trail which, by the way, is not fun in July. Instead I decided to hike from the valley to the sea, about 8 or 9 miles. I had done it lots of times before but not in quite awhile and not alone. Hey, some people go skydiving. This was very tame in comparison.

THE DOODS That’s a great consolation.

Some family members, who shall remain nameless, thought it was crazy. Friends said “way to go.” The husband offered to pick me up as a gift. It was also just a couple of days from the date that my brother, Stanley’s namesake, passed away years ago so I knew he’d be watching over me and laughing.

There was a feeling of freedom while I was hiking. I took in the breathtaking views. I set my own pace, had time to reflect. I scrambled up a couple of side trails and only had to ask for directions twice.

I stopped someone to take the photo on the left below as I was starting out. Then I asked someone else at the Hub Junction, a well known meeting place along the beach route, to take another one.

ELBEE I don’t know which is more disturbing, that she’s doing the walk or asking strangers to take her picture.

I had such a quiet sense of accomplishment as I hiked into the park at Temescal Canyon where my special “driver” was waiting. The hike had been a little longer than I had remembered and the weather had been a bit warmer than I expected but just like taking Stanley into the hospital, it had been perfect. Happy birthday to me.

ELBEE Aye, Dios Mio and I don’t even speak Spanish.

Expect the Unexpected

Going to UCLA with one of the dogs always brings the unexpected. As soon as we enter the lobby we have all sorts of interactions, some calm and low key, some emotional and others just light and fun. Sometimes I find out that a simple encounter had much more impact than I realized. Wednesday was no exception.

I walked into the hospital, Gus bouncing along by my side with the usual smile on his face. Once I tie on his blue PAC bandana, he’s ready to take on the world. I think that like Elbee and Stanley, he enjoys solo encounters, being the center of attention. It’s his time to shine.

Three women came over to see him, saying how adorable he was. One of them, who is now a dog trainer, told me that she had been involved with PAC in its early days before she moved out of state. She was a huge fan of pet therapy. Another one of the women, who was hugging Gus, commented on how much better he was making her feel. Then, to my shock, she looked at me and quietly shared, “My husband just passed away.”

I later leaned that she had been visibly distraught when she’d first come downstairs. Gus was somehow the support that she needed. He was providing a serene space in the midst of heartbreak.

Shortly after saying goodbye to the three women, Gus and I found ourselves surrounded by about ten people. Being a teaching hospital, UCLA often has groups of students or faculty passing through. When they first spied Gus I heard a collective chorus of, “OMG he’s so cute.”

With that kind of an audience how could I resist. Out came the tricks. Gus is so familiar with the routine that he started doing some of them on his own. I asked him to dance and before I knew it, he was waving and playing peekaboo. He finished to a round of applause.

As I took him outside for a short break before we headed up to our regular neuropsych units, I was struck by the difference in the two impromptu visits. The three women, especially the wife of the man who had just passed, needed a few quiet moments of comfort. For the upbeat group, it was an entertaining break in their day.

I was trying to put it all in perspective but Gus and his fellow therapy dogs, don’t have to think it through. It’s simply what they instinctively do. The only tell tale sign of how much they give is how tired they are at the end of a work day.

Someone recently sent me this photo of what therapy dogs may actually be feeling.

ELBEE Sorry to break the mood but I believe it’s called a meme and I only feel like that at home.

Okay, maybe I am guilty of oversharing with the Doods.

Stanley Is on Probation…the Good Kind

Stanley did his first official visit to UCLA Medical Center last week. It’s kind of a probationary period to be sure that he’s ready for the big time like patient visits and possibly the neuropsych units.

ELBEE Oh, it’s probation not parole. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong and kept trying to get my record expunged. I never thought that being funny was a misdemeanor.

Being able to practice in the lobby and other public areas of the hospital is such a gift. On the day that he passed his test, just for fun, I had taken him to meet a few people on staff. Now with his acceptance letter from Pet Partners, it was for real.

I was so proud but also a little nervous as we entered the front doors. With the high ceilings, the noise and the chaos it can be a bit overwhelming. Stanley immediately put my fears to rest. He strutted at my side like a pro.

ELBEE It’s amazing how often we have to do that. She is very high maintenance.

As one of his first tests, I walked him over to meet Virgil, the security guard who is a big fan of Gus’s. Not only did Stanley sit for Virgil to pet him but then he nudged against him. It was love at first “lean.”

With his size and fluffy muppet appearance, Stanley is hard to miss. One person after another approached. He interacted with people of all ages as if he’d been doing it for years. From toddlers to seniors in wheel chairs, Stanley was receptive and sweet, no jumping, no barking. I lost count of how many times I heard the words that are always music to my ears, “He just made me so happy.”

There was a moment right after we arrived when it truly became real. Erin, from the People Animal Connection, saw Stanley and asked why I hadn’t put on his hospital bandana. I guess part of me wondered if it was too soon. Fortunately I just happened to have Charley’s old scarf in my purse.

ELBEE What a surprise!

As I tied it around Stanley’s big shaggy neck, it struck me that he was really an official therapy dog. It was a simple gesture but as it had been with Charley, Elbee and Gus, it was a symbol of the journey ahead. And once again I was lucky enough to be holding the leash.

The Water Bottle

ELBEE “The Water Bottle” Is she serious?

The other morning, I was in the mountains taking advantage of June gloom. I love the cool weather before the heat sets in. I love seeing the last hurrah of the spring wildflowers through the mist.

ELBEE I actually agree with her on this one. I find it refreshing and I think it’s good for my already fabulous coat.

I had hiked up to one of my favorite overlooks above the main trails. It’s a peaceful spot that’s popular with the “regulars.” On clear days, there are spectacular ocean views. One man goes up there to practice tai chi. I sometimes get inspired to do push ups on the rocks. I’ve walked all the dogs up there and have even taken selfies with Elbee.

ELBEE Please don’t remind me. I was a mess from hiking. And do you like how she just happened to drop in the push ups. Although at her age, I guess I should say “way to go.”

STANLEY I wondered what she was doing.

I was enjoying the view when suddenly I saw a water bottle under the bushes. The curmudgeon in me was immediately annoyed that someone had littered. Littering, especially in the mountains, is one of my pet peeves. Years ago, when I used to take inner city high school students hiking, I was known for the “litter lecture.”

As I looked closer at the bottle, I noticed a white label on the side. In tiny printing it said, “Amber (German Shepherd) May Her Soul Rest In Peace. June 13, 2019.” The owner went on to write that this was one of her favorite spots.

Over the years, I’ve seen all sorts of memorials on the trails. There are man made rock formations, small wooden signs and strategically placed benches. At a mountain park that was a military installation during the Cold War, there is even a faded water bowl with the name Bosco on it.

But I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as simple and as heartfelt as the bottle. The water was left there for other dogs who, like Amber, were enjoying the mountains with their owners. It wasn’t litter. It was remembrance.

When I went back a few days later, the bottle was gone. Okay, I admit that the anti-litterbug in me was a tiny bit relieved. Still, I thought of Amber. I feel as if her soul, like those of so many other dogs who loved the mountains, is running free up there. It’s the place that I feel closest to Charley.