Bideawee Tails from a Volunteer
This month we are introducing a new column written by one of our long-time volunteers Florence Scarinci. The column is called Bideawee Tails from a Volunteer and this month Florence is writing about fitness with your dog.
Therapy Benefits: What's In It for Me? by Florence Scarinci
It is Monday, 8:35 a.m. at Melvin Elementary School. Coach, my rescue Corgi, and I are led into the back room of the school library. Ms. Gilmartin, the Reading Specialist, and Timothy, the first of three third-grade "reluctant readers," are waiting for us.
We sit down, Coach on my lap, at eye level with Timothy's chosen book, Play Ball, Amelia Bedelia. Timothy begins to read, hesitating over the word "shortstop." Ms. Gilmartin helps him "tap it out." Coach has his eyes fixed on the page. Soon Amelia Bedelia saves the day and Timothy leaves, but not before giving Coach the heart-shaped treat that is Coach's reward for paying attention.
Next, Stephanie enters. Stephanie can read well but is painfully shy. Today she makes eye contact with me for the first time and greets Coach with a smile and a pat on the head. She breezes through a book about careers for women in law enforcement. Then she raises her head and tells Coach that her dad is a police officer and she wants to be one, too.
This is another first: Stephanie has volunteered information. After giving Coach a biscuit, she returns to the classroom. The last one in is Christopher, to read to Coach. Christopher has a book about dinosaurs. While he sounds out "Apatosaurus" with difficulty, he has no trouble explaining the dinosaur's dietary preferences to Coach and telling Coach the difference between an herbivore and a carnivore. Fifteen minutes and another treat later, it is time for us to go. Coach's work of encouraging literacy is over for the week.
It is Tuesday, 10 a.m. at the Belle Floral Nursing Home and Rehabilitation Center. With Penni, my 12-year-old Corgi, in tow, I sign in at the reception desk and walk down the hall to the physical therapy room.
"Look everyone, the dog is here!" one of the physical therapists announces.
Everyone, whether on stationary bikes or sitting in wheelchairs or dozing in a seat, looks up and smiles. They gather in a circle and we begin our regular game of fetch and catch. One resident throws the ball. Penni fetches it and brings it to the next person in the circle.
"I was her favorite last week," Mrs. Carlson announces. "She kept bringing the ball back to me."
"You were not. I was," argues Mr. Raymond.
Very soon we decide to play "Monkey in the Middle" with Penni. Mr. Raymond throws the ball to Mr. Hudson, who lets it drop. Penni scoops it up. We try again. This time, Mr. Hudson catches it. Penni runs furiously between chairs. They do it again. Penni is not easily tricked. She plants herself in the middle of the room, waiting to see if someone will throw it to her. Everyone laughs. Mrs. Carlson throws the ball down the hall. Penni races after it.
"See I am a better pitcher than you. That's why I am her favorite," Mrs. Carlson says.
Today Mrs. Hernandez is scheduled to walk down the hall without her walker. Mrs. Hernandez is hesitant. As a motivation, the physical therapist suggests that Mrs. Hernandez, a professed dog lover, take Penni for a walk. I attach two leashes to Penni's collar. Mrs. Hernandez holds one; I hold the other, and the therapist holds Mrs. Hernandez. We slowly walk up and down the hall twice. Mrs. Hernandez is so confident now that she asks the physical therapist just to walk at her side the next time.
After 40 minutes of fetching and catching and trotting, Penni, who in human years is probably as old as some of the residents, is tired. We wave good-bye until next week. Penni snores in her crate on the way home.
It is Friday, 8 a.m. at the Charter School for the Deaf. Crystal is waiting for us at the entrance to the school. I hand her Penni's leash.
"How are you?" I sign.
"Fine," she signs back.
"What's new?" I sign.
Rapidly she signs to me and I cannot understand what she is trying to tell me.
"Wait," I sign.
She grimaces. She knows my American Sign Language skills are rudimentary. I have to wait until we reach the classroom for the teacher to interpret the news.
In the classroom I have a sense of what Crystal was trying to tell me. It is not a good day. Michael and John are angry with each other about something that happened on the bus and are hurling epithets at each other in sign (which, fortunately, I cannot interpret). Joe is sad because his cat has just died. Alexa has just broken up with her boyfriend and is telling the teacher the sorry saga. Peter's mom is sick. Jose is berating Dan because he missed the basket in last night's game and cost the team their chance at the playoffs. The students are not ready to turn their attention to learning. Lessons about the electoral process, compound verbs, or quadratic equations will have to wait until they can focus.
Penni's job is to help them settle down. So we begin a game of fetch with Penni and while we play, we talk about the trip the class wants to take to a local dog show. We talk about how the dogs have to be groomed before a show. I produce a brush, comb, nail clipper, cotton balls, ear cleaner, tear stain remover and the students proceed to groom Penni as if she were about to enter the show ring.
Penni submits to their ministrations with equanimity. Forty-five minutes pass. The angst of adolescent life has been put aside. The students are ready for class work.
Crystal walks Penni to the car.
"See you soon," I sign.
"Next week," she signs back. This time I understand what she is telling me.
Why do I do this -- take time, use gas, put miles on the car, to do "pet therapy?" I could say that I do it because I want to make a difference. And to some extent that would be true. All of us want to say we left the world a little better than we found it. But I am no Mother Teresa.
There is an old adage that says, "The giver receives a greater gift than the one being gifted." In doing pet therapy, I have found that saying to be abundantly true. I receive far more than I give.
When people smile at us when we enter a room, I feel like a celebrity. When I see people grasping a ball with arthritic fingers or throwing a ball with an arm whose movement has been compromised by a stroke, I am very gratified. When I hear the physical therapist say that it is not until Penni shows up that Mr. Hudson will participate in any form of therapy, I know that I have touched a life. When I learn that Timothy has passed a state exam or that Stephanie has a speaking part in the class play, I have a reward better than money. When the students at Charter School invite me to graduation and tell me that if I don't come, it won't be as special, I am humbled.
Several more selfish reasons come to mind. No matter what my mood when entering the school, rehab center or nursing home, I always leave happy and smiling. Now that I am semi-retired, I need to feel that I am still useful. Who is this pet therapy for, anyway? And who would have thought that doing pet therapy would cause me to learn another language, American Sign Language? Research shows that learning a new language helps keep the brain functioning. The benefits to this program come in many forms and never seem to end.
But there are other canine reasons to do pet therapy. My dogs need to do it. I have two Corgis, herding dogs that were bred to work in tandem with humans moving livestock many times their size. They have a surfeit of energy, cooperativeness, and intelligence. To let them vegetate on the couch would be to do them a disservice.
The breed's personality is such that they are programmed to be both working dogs and the family pet. Since on suburban Long Island there are no herds of cattle or sheep to tend, Penni and Coach must be occupied with other meaningful work. Fetching and catching and walking back and forth down nursing home hallways help Penni expend her boundless energy which, though she's 12, she still has in abundance.
My two dogs are not just "good with kids:" They adore them. Coach's tailless behind waggles so furiously when he greets the children at Melvin School that I wonder when he will need a chiropractic adjustment. Penni will let the students at Charter School do just about anything to her as long as she is the center of their attention. Furthermore, although I bond with my dogs when I train them in obedience and agility, doing pet therapy is a relaxed way to deepen that bond.
Bideawee has an extensive Pet Therapy program. Bideawee has now partnered with the Delta Society and Bideawee's pet therapy dogs may now be trained, tested and registered with this international pet therapy association. If you have a dog of any size that you think might enjoy pet therapy, contact the Outreach office to find out about training and registration (Wantagh 516 785-4199, Manhattan 212 532-4986, Westhampton 631 288-0591).
Your dog does not have to be a purebred. Many of the "all-American" mixed breeds adopted from Bideawee are therapy dogs. In fact, you don't even have to have a dog. Bideawee boasts of cats, rabbits, and even a potbelly pig as effective members of its therapy animal contingent.
I have no outstanding talents which I can share. I cannot sing, dance, or paint. I am not athletic or dramatic. But I have two wonderful gifts: two dogs that I share with people in nursing homes, a rehab center, and schools. Do you have such a companion animal? Do you have a little time to spare? Do you want to make a difference in people's lives? You just might find that doing pet therapy is the most enjoyable and satisfying thing you have ever done.
No matter what facility I visit, when I leave the staff always says, "Thank you for coming." In my mind I say, "No, it is I who should be thanking you."
