Therapy Dogs

What is a Therapy Dog?

One of the best dogs I ever knew was our first Samoyed, Bobby Blue. He was called Bobby in memory of one of our friends, and Blue because he was rescued by two New York City cops who found him wandering around Long Island City and took him to a non-destroy shelter. At the time NYPD Blue was a popular television series, so we added Blue to his name in their honor.

He was our first therapy dog. This came about as a result of going to obedience training classes. We lived in New York City at the time and believed that for city dogs this kind of training is a must. The trainer asked us if we had ever considered therapy work with him because he was so calm, gentle, friendly and – very important – fluffy! We decided to give it a try and put him through a rigorous program to qualify him. This included walking him around a room with a hamburger, hot dogs and pizza on the floor and making sure that he didn’t try to eat any of them. He also had to have metal chairs dropped near him without reacting to the noise by growling or barking, and to stay calm if he heard two people arguing. The final test was to take a treat out of someone’s hand without snatching at it. It’s not easy to be a therapy dog!

He graduated, proudly wearing his bandana and vest that told the world he was now a professional therapy dog. What therapy dogs do is to go into hospitals, clinics, nursing homes, orphanages, and even prisons, and use their friendly and calm dispositions to help humans get through difficult times. Bobby started working with Cerebral Palsy patients, but then we changed to being with children suffering from cancer. He worked for over ten years, up until four months before his death at the ripe old age, for a dog, of fourteen and a half. We had many amazing things happen during those ten years. The first time a child with several Cerebral Palsy took notice of anything was Bobby’s smiling face, and another raised herself up on her arms for the first time to look at him; a child who had just had a long surgery regained consciousness and was prevented from slipping into a coma because she saw his head next to hers. Each week he made it a little easier for patients to get over the pain of surgery or the discomfort of chemotherapy.

After Bobby died we started to train Rocco, who at the time was just a puppy, to do the same work as his adored older brother. He proved to be just as good as Bobby, and was the youngest dog ever to graduate from the Good Dog Foundation’s training program. He works in the same clinic at New York University Medial Center as Bobby did, on the same day of the week and at the same time. The clinic is called the Stephen D. Hassenfeld Children’s Center for Cancer and Blood Disorders, and Rocco even has his own page on their website. Once a week we drive from our home in Connecticut to 32nd Street in Manhattan. We put on his uniform, make sure that we are both wearing our ID badges, and go and visit with our young friends.

We’ve recently been working with a young lady that I’ll call Hope. She is five years old, and this is her second three-month course of treatment at Hassenfeld. She doesn’t live in New York, but a long way away, so she and her mother, father and brother all move to the nearby Ronald McDonald House where they stay while she comes to the clinic. Before she met Rocco she was scared of dogs, and yet now she throws her arms around his neck whenever she sees him. Her mom or dad will bring her into the room where we work, and kneel on the floor with Hope sitting on their legs. Without me saying anything Rocco will go over to her, turn around two or three times, and then lie down with his head in her lap, and he’ll stay there for ten or fifteen minutes while she strokes him behind the ears and under his chin, two places she has discovered he really likes. Hope and Rocco are the best of friends, and I know that he is helping her get better in ways that even doctors can’t.

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