I suppose there comes a point in many of our lives when we know we will never have another dog. It is not something I have thought a lot about it, although as I grow older, it is a factor in my thinking about what kind of dog to get. Jean brought this home to me this morning at the Mansion.

She is one of the sweetest people I know, and she loves Red dearly. She practically melts when she sees him, and she always bends over to him to touch him and kiss him on the forehead. He is very attached to her, this morning, we went to the Mansion early to drop off 100 copies of the Mansion short stories book, “Tales Of The Mansion.”

I knocked on Jeans’ room and she told me to come in, she was making her bed. I saw a dog bed on the floor next to the bed, with a stuffed dog lying in. Jean and Red talked to one another for a few moments – I usually try to be silent during those times – and then Jean stood up and said.

“I so want to have a dog.” She sounded so uncharacteristically sad. Then she paused, and said with resignation and considerable dignity, “I guess it’s just too late. I know it’s too late for me…”

I see that sometimes the reality of their lives is close, sometimes it fades, and is jarred to consciousness. Red can bring happiness, but also sadness sometimes. Because he always goes away. The Mansion is a happy and loving place, the residents are very grateful to be there, but of course there is a sense of loss that sometimes appears like a dark cloud, and then drifts away.

I did not have a response for that, her pain and sadness were palpable, and I wondered if that day would come for me, and how I would react to it. Jean and I talked about it for a few minutes, she said it was the end of a kind of life, a part of life when you could not have a dog.

In this therapy work, you learn or are taught to never try to cheer anybody up or tell them things will be fine, you can’t promise that and it isn’t your job. I just nodded and let her hold Red for a while.

I see more and more of the bravery of the Mansion residents, they have given up almost all of the things they love in the world to come to a safe place and relieve their families of increasingly intolerable burdens. But I can see in the longing way they look at Red their sorrow at finding themselves too late in life to have a dog, and their joy at seeing a dog like Red. You can write Jean c/o The Mansion 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

I have a new and updated list of Mansion residents who wish to receive your letters and photos and messages. A reminder that I can’t and shouldn’t update people on when letters and gifts have been received, or how and when they are being used. Asking is a kind of pressure, and privacy is important there.

When we give to the residents, it is of course a selfless thing, we let go. Sometimes they can respond, sometimes they can’t.  I can tell you that your letters and messages are the most precious gifts these people ever  receive, and they are grateful. 

I cannot list birthdays, that’s private information I am not authorized to write about unless told, nor can I publish photos with the residents name. I only take photos when people agree to it, and I always ask permission. The list changes all the time.  And such a chore would be very burdensome.

The new list is as follows, you can write to them c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, William, Brother Peter, Helen, Connie, Robert, Shirley, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Art, Guerda, Brenda, Bruce, John Z.