Therapy Dog

For many, many years I had a beloved therapist, Linda, (now retired) who saw me through some of the most challenging times of my life. She was accompanied daily by her Welsh sheep dog and being Welsh myself, despite not particularly being an animal lover, I approved of her choice of canine. My mother loves dogs, and growing up she would regale us with stories of her favorite dog of all time, also a Welsh sheep dog, Akeila. For this and other more patriotic reasons I hold the breed in high esteem.

Linda's office was on the second floor of the building she shared with three other therapists, and she would always come down to the waiting room to welcome me, with her dog (whose name unfortunately escapes me) at heel next to her. Linda would lead the way up the stairs, followed closely by me. Her faithful companion would herd us both up the stairs and into our respective chairs. His work done, he would quietly lie on his bed next to Linda's desk for the remainder of the session, getting up only when I arose in order to herd me to the door. He didn't take part in the sessions; he didn't attempt to comfort me when I cried, he didn't respond when I or Linda laughed. His job was clear cut...protect his mistress and herd the clients. He did his job well. Other than the occasional head pat, the dog and I did not interact. We were mutually disinterested in each other beyond our assigned roles as herder and client.

My own dog is a designer mutt, half Maltese and half Shi Tzu. He has hair, not fur, and is therefore not likely to cause allergic reactions in folks. He doesn’t shed, which is a huge relief to me – self-confessed neatnik that I am. Standing approximately 14 inches tall and weighing 12.8 pounds, he is a crotch-sniffing, human toe-slurping, tail-wagging bundle of white and beige fluff. He is no Welsh sheep dog. To put it mildly, he is not a working dog. Rather than herd folks to the couch, he invariably jumps on them, prancing around on his back legs like a circus poodle, impeding their route to the couch by employing various disgusting antics, such as the aforementioned crotch sniffing, along with butt snuffling, heel tweaking and occasional, but annoyingly insistent, pawing. He has bad manners to say the least. But he does eventually calm down and will sit on the couch or lie on the floor in his bed.

I am not a dog-lover. I am, however, a lover of Ziggy and therefore I put up with these disgusting annoyances. I am also careful which of my clients I inflict Ziggy on, and carefully select the days on which he accompanies me to my office.

I have clients who are cat lovers and find Ziggy’s canine mannerisms annoying. I have clients who find his presence distracting, and don’t like it when he is there. I have clients who don’t mind him being there, and after the initial “Ziggy welcome” just ignore him and he settles down. Sparring couples upset Ziggy, and he has been known to stand in front of the couch, howling sadly as they shout at each other. This is not clinically helpful to them, and it's distracting for me, so I usually leave him home on days when I have these couples attending sessions.

But there are people for whom Ziggy’s presence is a therapeutic plus. I have a young boy who comes to therapy with his mother, and won’t talk unless Ziggy is in the room. Without Ziggy in the room, he is morose and quiet. With Ziggy there, he will talk haltingly about the things he feels and fears, in between his romps with Ziggy. Ziggy revels in the young boy’s presence, plays with him as if he was another puppy and licks and slurps the boy’s face with gay abandon. The little boy shrieks and squeals happily, reveling in Ziggy’s puppy play.

I meet with a lonely young woman who can barely keep her hands off Ziggy when he is there, who snuggles him lovingly, and who giggles happily when he is present. She currently has few places to feel loved and welcomed and Ziggy’s enthusiastic antics are delightful to her. He reminds her of her lovability and she relaxes in session as he lies on the couch next to her. Another client who is single after the break-up of a long term relationship and very much misses her partner strokes Ziggy’s soft hair as she talks about her longing for intimate connection with the person she lost. Another client who finds it hard to trust anybody and whose memories of her abusive childhood are hazy and scary, is reminded of her love of her childhood puppy by Ziggy’s happy company. Depressed clients often become more responsive and less withdrawn when Ziggy is there. Clients with high blood pressure report feeling calmer when they get to play with and stroke him.

Everybody needs something to hold and to love, and sometimes just for an hour a week, my rambunctious little dog helps some people reconnect with the loving optimistic place inside themselves.