What is a therapy dog?



Horatio’s first therapy dog visit

(Photo: Phil Balko)

Somerset Magazine, April 2015

by REBECCA S. LINDEMAN

Olive with Pups at Pitt founder, Ellory Dabbs

(Photo: Phil Balko)

 

Have you ever wondered what the difference is between a service dog, an emotional support dog, and a therapy dog?  Well, according to the American’s with Disabilities Act, “Service animals are defined as dogs that are individually trained to do work or perform tasks for people with disabilities” and “the work or task a dog has been trained to provide must be directly related to the person’s disability.”  The organization Heeling Allies defines an emotional support dog (sometimes referred to as a mental health assistance dog) as one that provides therapeutic, physiological, and psychological benefits to an individual with special needs.  While the first two dogs work to the benefit of their individual owners, the American Kennel Club states that “therapy dogs and their owners work together as a team to improve the lives of other people.”

My Calley (An Act of Love) was a self-appointed therapy dog to any person she saw in a wheelchair.  She completely blew our chances of winning at one conformation trial when she spied an older lady sitting in a wheelchair outside the ring.  She wanted nothing to do with the task at hand and leaned from one side to the other, peeking around the judge during his exam to keep an eye on her new found friend.  Afterward, she spent the rest of the afternoon at the woman’s side, her giant head resting in her lap, a frail hand stroking her ears.  This was not a one-time event.  Calley would pull me across streets to meet people and once, when a family member was recuperating at a nursing home, it took us over half an hour to walk a 100 yard hallway because she stopped to greet each and every occupied wheelchair. 

           
Those are treasured memories.  Though, I’m not sure who enjoyed those visits most, Calley, the friends she made, or me.  As I write, I am looking at a set of paws that are growing in an attempt to fill Calley’s proverbial shoes.  This week, my youngest “child,” Horatio, embarked on his first therapy dog adventure, a most atypical one to my mind.

When I think of therapy dog work, I generally envision a nursing home setting, visiting with the elderly or people with intellectual challenges.  Or, I think of the Tales with Tails program, created by my friend Jaimie.  She and her dog, Shaylee, visit area libraries to encourage children to read.  Children who are self-conscious about reading aloud in a classroom setting often find themselves more at ease reading to a dog.  The dogs in her program are anything but intimidating and, in their non-judgmental company, shy children begin to blossom.  Without judgment, these kids can forget their limitations and this is often the key to improved reading skills.

Horatio’s first therapy dog visit was not to a hospital, care home, or library; his social call was to the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown to visit with young, healthy college students.  Nearly 100 students came to spend time with a group of seven dogs.  The students varied in age, race, and majors but what they all had in common was a love of and stories about dogs.  Each dog was fawned over while the students shared stories of family pets left at home or their wish to have a dog of their own after graduation. 

It’s tough to be away from home and family, including the four legged members.  Embarking on a new life, studying, and test taking are hard work for these young adults.  I’d never thought about it, but I am certainly glad that our friend, Ellory, did.  Visiting with those students, watching them smile, and seeing the look of contentment on the faces of the dogs was a heartwarming experience.  Most certainly, this was only the first of many therapy dog visits for Horatio and me.

Rebecca is the President & Executive Director of The Ethel Fund Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization dedicated to changing animals' lives by providing assistance in times of catastrophic veterinary need.  To learn more, please visit http://www.ethelfund.org or https://www.facebook.com/TheEthelFund.  You may contact Rebecca at rslindeman@ethelfund.org.

Phil Balko is the proprietor of Photography by Balko and donates his talents to the Ethel Fund Inc. as well as other community organizations.  To see more of his work, visit http://philipbalko.com/. You may contact Phil at inquiry@philipbalko.com.



Josiah is a veteran therapy dog (Photo: Phil Balko)

Fantasy

How many times have you walked with me

the earth carpeted with moldering leaves

that break where we tread and release the scent

of life in tune with itself

How many times have I held your hand

as we stepped across stones in a stream

felt the calluses of an honest day’s work

and ribs born to the strings of guitars

 How many times have you brushed snow from my hair

and I from your shoulders and beard

oblivious to cold in a warm embrace

in the shelter of hemlock trees

 

How many times have we made love in the rain

water running off of your back

limbs cushioned in a deep bed of moss

welcoming thunder that muffles our cries

 

of course it hasn’t happened yet and perhaps it never will

yet  I carry these images when I go for a walk

in hopes that, someday, you'll be able to love

and when that day comes you will walk at my side and trade fantasy for memories

 

 

Waiting

Driving sleet or gentle snow,

thrashing wind or tender rain,

dreary fog or warming sun,

not so silent I walk with you

waiting for the perfect moment

when you choose to take my hand

 

 

Migraine

Rolling hillsides gently overcome

pull the blazing sun down

blunt the sharp, jagged rays

and I can open my eyes

demons sleep and I breathe

tender evening, sweet release

Two Sides of Ethel - Somerset Magazine, March 2015

a peculiar shape at the edge of the field

silent, unmoving, but for a lift of its hand

the scent unfamiliar, a danger alert

a nip at my heel, then the leash in her teeth

a punch in the chest and a bite on the chin

pushing me onward, away from this fear

until safe once again under cover of wood,

she falls into step at my side.

she is my shepherd and I am her sheep

 

 

 

                The relationship I have with Ethel is vastly different than what I’ve had with any other dog.  Maybe some of this is because she is the only herding breed I’ve ever lived with, but I suspect her medical issues as a pup also shaped our connection.  Ethel was just over three weeks old when she came to live with me and she probably doesn’t remember a time before we were…whatever we are. 

As an empty nester, I like to think of myself as her mother.  As a trainer, I like to think of myself as her benevolent leader.  As the recipient of more than a few out of control herding dog bites, I tend to think of myself as her victim (and the emergency room doctors who stitched me together and glued a certain part of my anatomy back in place would certainly agree).  As a realist, I think of myself her owner.  After all, I buy her food, clean up her poop, and am responsible for her veterinary bills.  In Ethel’s mind, I’m sure things are different. 

Now that she has four good legs and I am progressing in my physical therapy, we like to go walking.  One of our favorite sites is Kimberly Run Natural Area, where well behaved dogs are allowed to walk off leash.  It’s a great place for exercise, both physical and cerebral.  Recently, I’ve committed to writing outside my comfort zone and have been trying my hand at poetry.  Virtually all of my poems have been born while walking through forest and field with my dogs.  This one came about when I tried to imagine one of our walks from Ethel’s perspective.

It was during archery season, so Ethel and I were both wearing blaze orange.  During deer season, I choose to walk at midday when fewer hunters are about and only when there are no vehicles in the parking area.  Since the coast was clear that day, Ethel was off leash.  Besides having a reliable recall, my girl never wanders far enough to lose sight of me, and basically trots along at heel or a few paces ahead.  We had reached the top of the trails and were walking the loop through the field where the bluebird houses are when I was surprised to see a hunter in the tree line at the far edge of the field.  We raised our hands to acknowledge one another and I moved on.  Ethel raised her head to scent the air, stopped just a moment to stare in the direction of the orange and camouflage figure, and then went into full-fledged herding dog mode. 

At first, she just bounced out in front of me and nipped at my feet but, when I continued forward instead of back, she began to jump and gave me a few punches to the chest.  Still, I refused her direction so she grabbed the leash that I had looped around my shoulders and pulled it tight against my throat.  Needless to say, I was not pleased and gave her a stern verbal reprimand.  She returned the gesture in a warbling whine followed by a yap and a bite on the chin.  We must have made quite the show for the hunter as we battled to see whose will was stronger. 

I’d like to think I won because we left the field in the direction I chose.  Ethel probably thought she was the victor because we left the field, period.  Either way, once we were under the cover of trees, Ethel relaxed her hackles and fell back into heel position, I wiped the blood from my chin, and the mêlée came to an end just as quickly as it had begun.  Living with this dog is always an adventure.