Snow dogs

We had nine inches of snow that day in 2009, a rare occurrence in central Virginia. Murphy and Cody had a blast. Cody, as always, was in charge. What a pair. 💖

Murphy and Olivia

It started with an email. "I would like to expand our volunteer programs to include therapy dogs. If you would consider creating a therapy dog program at our domestic violence shelter, please let me know."

What an amazing opportunity! 

First, I took 30 hours of mandatory volunteer training. Next, Murphy and I gave a presentation to the shelter staff about the difference dogs can make in people's lives using animal assisted therapy. It didn't take much convincing. I took Murphy's leash off and he proceeded to charm the room. The atmosphere changed immediately. People smiled, some laughed and nearly everyone sat up from their business meeting slouch and leaned forward, reaching out for Murphy. Their body language was clear. "When do I get to pet the big brown dog?"

With approval from the higher ups we were ready to begin. We sat down with the director of client services to come up with a plan. We talked through the possibilities and decided to start with visits when group counseling was offered. When Moms brought their kids along, there was a playroom for them, overseen by a volunteer. Those kids would soon meet the shelter's first canine volunteer.

We arrived for the first visit and headed to the playroom where Murphy was introduced to the kids. One little girl, 5-year-old Olivia, walked right up to 90-pound Murphy and hugged him. He turned to look at her, wagged his tail, and she giggled. 

In those days, I carried a special backpack when Murphy visited folks. It had his favorite toys and games, extra gear, his water bottle and treats. Olivia was a regular and liked to pull everything out of the pack. She played the muffin pan game with Murphy. She played tug. She brushed him. She played with his tail. She watered him. She gave him dog cookies. And she wanted to walk him. When Olivia reached for my leash, I asked her to wait a moment - that I had one just for her. It was a short leash, easily managed by a child. I clipped it to Murphy's collar and off we went, me on one side with his regular leash attached to his harness, Olivia on the other with her leash attached to his collar. She led Murphy all around the offices, talking a mile a minute. She showed him every room, chair, wastebasket, and picture. And Murphy, as always, did his job, walking and wagging, happy hanging out with his new friend.

One moment in particular was a wow: Olivia leaned over Murphy, hugged him tight, laid her head on him, and said "I love you, Murphy." Then she let him win at Chutes & Ladders.

Murphy & the veterans

Murphy and I paid a visit to the VA hospital that day in 2010. We were a certified therapy dog team, regularly visiting the polytrauma and spinal cord injury units.

We walked through the automatic doors, exiting after the day's visits. Several men had gathered just past the "no smoking beyond this point" sign. Some were in wheelchairs or using walkers or canes. Spotting Murph, smiles erupted on those men's faces. We stopped to say hello. Murphy was a big lovable chocolate Lab, who, at five years still had the joy of a puppy in him. When he looked up and smiled at you, it was all over. As we moved closer, hands reached out to pet him. They talked to him: "How you doin', fella?" "Thanks for coming here today." "I had a Lab once ..." There was laughter and high fives (with Murph) and stories about dogs past and present. 

Someone asked who we had visited that day. "Guys in polytrauma," I answered. "What's that?" one of them asked. "Head injury," another answered. Sadness swept over the group - all of whom had been injured in combat in one war or another. "So young. Just kids," one of them said. Silence. Then Murphy nudged one of them with his nose. Private thoughts were washed away when they once again focused on my dog. 

After a few minutes, we reluctantly said our goodbyes. I thanked them for their service to our country. They thanked me and Murphy for our visit. In the car, Murphy slept, while my thoughts ran to sacrifice and broken bodies and lives cut short. And heroes.