Thinking back on Red’s first day as a therapy dog at the Vermont Veterans Home in Bennington, I wanted to write something about the staff. In hospice and other therapy work, volunteers are trained to pay attention to the patients, and to keep an eye on the dog with the patients. There is no room for mistakes in good dog therapy work, it is unthinkable to upset or frighten or harm someone at the edge of life, there is no room for error in a dementia word where people behave unpredictably.

Today, though, I was especially affected not only by how the patients reacted to Red, but also to how the staff reacted, the nurses and social workers who work under the most intense and challenging circumstances and who strike me as almost unfathomably dedicated, cheerful and conscientious. It is very difficult work, it pays little money, it requires unending commitment. Watching the nurses and staff in the dementia and other words, they were thrilled when Red drew a smile or a hug, but I also noticed how pleased they were to see a dog themselves.

Every staffer we passed stop to see Red, to talk to him, to ask about him. I can see how important a dog can be to a patient confined in medical or nursing facility, but I also saw how important he was to the staff. The feeling today was like walking with a bundle of light, everywhere we went we drew smiles and laughter and connection. I am drawn to dementia work myself, and so, I see already is Red, there was an innocence and appreciation in those faces that cut deep. The nurses fight to get to work in that unit, they are very focused on caring for the people there, they brought patient after patient to us, and led us to others in their rooms and in the hallways.

I want to focus on the staff as well as the patients, the therapy dog has more impact than I might even have imagined. Hospice work was different,  find, it was quieter, more restrained understandably. Red had a good time today, and so did the very hard-working people at the home.