MY NURSING HOME VISITS 
By Lori Steadman as told by Dolphie the Doberman
“Hey, Little Man, let’s go Therapy Doggin’!” I hear my Mom calling me. It must be time to go to work! I get excited as I run to where my uniform hangs and wait to be strapped in. My uniform is a bright red harness and when my Mom buckles it on me, I’m ready to go.
I can remember the first time we visited The Place. It was new to me and I was so excited and wanted to rush through the doors. Mom kept yelling at me to stop pulling but I couldn’t help it! I was so wiggly; I wanted to get in there! After all, this was our very first day. As soon as we got in the building, it looked like a kennel full of people but Mom told me it was a nursing home. I just knew I was going to be meeting all kinds of new friends. The smells were new to me. I could smell “old and sick,” pungent odors, strange foods, and I heard lots of new noises. I knew there were people who needed my attentions.
Since that day, we visit The Place several times a month. I take my job seriously and enjoy nose-nudging the people to let them know I have arrived. One of my favorites is John. I know he can’t see me because his touch is so searching. The first time I saw him, I knew he was upset about something. As I stood next to him, he held on to my harness and rubbed me with his finger. All of his tension went away and I knew he felt better. Mom makes sure I visit John often. Last time, he was in bed and I sensed he was very sad. As I looked around his small den, I saw pictures of him and some big dogs. He looked very happy in those pictures so I know he misses his friends.
Last weekend, I met some new friends there. I could feel that they didn’t know I was there. The Place Lady put their hands on me and they petted me. One lady felt befuddled. When I felt wetness on my head, I looked up and saw tears falling from her eyes. One man started to tell me about the dog he once had. I was the only one who could understand him. He told me of the fun games they used to play. One woman opened her eyes and patted me roughly on the side. I could sense that this was a familiar habit for her. I bet she used to do that to her own dog. Later my Mom told me that these new friends had been sleeping for a long time and woke up just because I was there. I could tell that I was doing a good job that day. I got lots of treats and hugs from Mom.
They called me a “miracle worker on four legs.” I don’t quite know
what that means. I do know that I love my job even though it’s uncomfortable sometimes. I get poked and pulled and run over by those big sitting things with wheels on them. Sometimes I have to put my head between the bars on their beds because I know that’s what I need to do so that they can reach me but it’s a scary thing for me to do. The bar places are tight and sometimes my Mom has to help me pull my head back out. I’d prefer to lie down next to them so that they could feel the warmth of my body and the love I have for them but I’m not able to…something my Mom says about Rules. The stories they whisper in my ear make me sad but I listen. It’s my job. I am a Therapy Dog…
You can click on any of the titles below to read the essay:
The Doberman and Cowboy ·
September 11 ·
Max the Rescue
· Paws Claws Scales and Tails
· Winter of 2006
· Mesu
· The Eggnog Doberman
· Dolphie