Going to the Dogs

The following piece is a guest submission by Claudia Ruptier

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Ron liked dogs.   He just didn’t want one-even after he’d been diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment with likely progression to dementia.

I was thinking of a service dog to help care for my husband, perhaps even to keep him from wandering off.   However, my research revealed that dementia was one disease that a dog couldn’t help with.   Unlike horses, dogs can’t just take you home.   Also, dementia patients most frequently lose empathy and become self-absorbed.   Dogs need to be able to form a bond with the person they are to look after, and that person has to be responsible.

Never one to give up, I formed a new plan when I stopped by the library to look for books on Alzheimer’s.   At the checkout desk I noticed a poster encouraging children to sign up for a time on Tuesday afternoons when they would come and read to the dogs.   Apparently Douglas and Lamar loved to hear the children read.   Photos of children reading to two beautiful labs were attached. What a great idea!   A dog wouldn’t care if the child chose a book below her reading level or stumbled over a word.

I was always looking for things to do with Ron since the doctor revoked his driver’s license, so I talked him into going to the library with me the very next Tuesday (saying nothing about the dogs).   When we got there, I poked him in the side and said, “Look! Dogs in the library!” and started steering him in that direction.   His face lit up.   Then I heard, “Claudia! Ron!” and I looked at the handler.   It was Amanda’s mom!   Amanda had been one of the best English students in my teaching career and, coincidentally, she was also one of Ron’s star distance runners when he was coaching cross-country and track and field.

We caught up on Amanda’s college pursuits and also learned that Kim was the leader of the local puppy raisers for Guide Dogs for the Blind and the offshoot of the group, Paws for a Cause, for “career-changed” puppies who were now therapy dogs.   Ron was soon petting Douglas and Lamar, and I quietly explained to Kim that I was hoping to find some sort of dog connection for Ron.   I asked if we could tag along on convalescent home visits.   She assured me that she could do better than that, and took my phone number.

The next day, Monika called, explaining that she had been referred by Kim and had a black lab named Nicki who was training to be a therapy dog.   Could she come for a visit? I asked about a fee or a contribution to her group, but she assured me that this was simply service, her turn to give back.   She would come Monday at 4:00.

When they came, Monika sat down and took Nicki off leash.   Nicki sniffed around the floor and ended up at Ron’s feet.   I knew we had a match by the huge smile on Ron’s face.   Animation that I had not seen in months continued for the next hour.   For the last thirteen months of Ron’s life, Monika and Nicki came every Monday at 4:00.

Ron had given up his daily walks, but since Nicki needed to walk, he went.   Monika double leashed Nicki so Ron could hold a leash.   She taught him basic commands and he loved calling Nicki to come or telling her to sit.   Sometimes we would go to the tennis court and have her run between the three of us.   He thought she was the smartest dog in the world.

As the weather turned rainy, we invented games in the house.   Our favorite was hide-and-seek.   Nicki was smart about so many things, but she sometimes had a hard time finding us in our condo.   She would go from room to room looking for us.   When she figured it out, she would get so excited she would take several stairs at a time and skid on the hardwood floor.     It was quite a sight.

We were all in a better mood by the time her visit was over.   Ron loved to tell people about how excited Nicki was to see him and about her games and tricks.   Talking about her could always put him “in his happy place.”   I carried around Nicki’s picture in case we had to wait at the doctor’s or dentist’s office.   I would pull it out and ask him to tell me Nicki stories.   The complaining would stop instantly as he remembered his furry friend.

Monika tuned in to Ron’s sense of humor and learned how to tease him.   As much as he loved Nicki, he was not wild about doggy kisses.   Monika would talk Ron into sitting on the floor to pet Nicki, then tell the dog, “Oh, look, Nicki!   Ron wants a kiss!   Can you give him a kiss?”   Of course, Nicki was only too happy to oblige, and would begin her labor of love, licking Ron’s face and neck over and over until he howled with laughter.   Soon Monika and I were laughing too.   In a moment of complete clarity, Ron exclaimed, “Reminds me of a girlfriend I used to have.”   I snapped a picture, and Monika and I would show him the picture and retell that story often.

As the months wore on, Monika would have to whisper the commands in Ron’s ear as we played our games, and some visits were spent doing simple jigsaw puzzles with Nicki curled up under the table.

When caring for Ron became too difficult at home, I moved him to a wonderful facility with aides who knew him when he was their P.E. teacher in high school.   I could tell that visiting Ron at his new home was difficult for Monika.   Watching Ron decline so rapidly brought tears to her eyes.

On their last visit, Ron was in bed, but managed a smile for Nicki who just couldn’t understand why her friend wasn’t playing with her.   As his pain increased, Monika checked on Ron by phone or email.   The visits ended.

Monika was too overcome to attend Ron’s memorial, and I missed her so much.   As we filed out of the chapel, tears turned to smiles as we all saw the wall-to-wall dogs Kim had brought to honor Ron.   Snoozing quietly on Kim’s lap was a tiny, soft, golden lab puppy.   After a few minutes I tentatively asked if I could hold it.   She replied, “I thought you’d never ask.”

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