Chapter 5
Our second supervised visit was uneventful, but the third would end up sticking with me. Martina met me at the veteran’s hospital, in the parking lot, the same as the other two times.
“Some of these patients aren’t going to want to talk to us,” she warned. “If that’s the case, we just thank them for their time and move on to the next patient. Remember, we’re here to make their day a little better. If spending time with a dog won’t improve their day, then we move on without judgment.”
“I understand.”
We walked inside, checked in with the volunteer coordinator, and began our rounds. Just like with the last two visits, Galaxy was in absolute heaven. She loved spending time with people, and all the patients were happy to see her. Some shared their pit bull stories; others just complimented her and gave her love and kisses. She was happy as a clam. But then, we reached one room where the lights were off, with a nurse helping an amputee into his wheelchair.
“Would you like a therapy dog visit?” Martina asked from the doorway.
The man didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at us.
I thought, “Oh, this must be one of the patients she was talking about.”
You didn’t have to be a body language expert to see that he was angry. Even from where I stood in the doorway, I could practically feel the rage rolling off of him like he was one heartbeat away from throwing a table at us. I was sure he’d want nothing to do with us. I’d already started moving out, not wanting to intrude or make him feel guilty for saying no.
“What about it, Kev?” the nurse asked. “You want to hang out with a couple of dogs for a minute?”
He hesitated, then muttered, “Fine.”
Oh, this is a bad idea.
I followed Martina into the room. Like usual, she stood off to the side with Shelby so I could approach with Galaxy. But I felt nervous. Unsure. This man was missing both legs and fingers from one of his hands. He had horrific burns all over his face that seemed to reach below the neckline of his hospital gown.
He’d experienced true horror, unlike anything the average civilian could even imagine. This man had survived a war, leaving him angry, bitter, and closed off. He couldn’t have been any older than 25. My heart went out to him, but I was hesitant. I’m not easily intimidated, but the fury rolled off of him in waves, thickening the air in the room. Galaxy, however, was immune to the tension pulsing out from him. She walked right up to him, sat down on the side of his wheelchair, and just plopped her huge head on his thigh.
Plop—no hesitation, no checking to see if he was receptive, and no concern. Just plop. And that was it. She didn’t move.
She didn’t even mind that he wouldn’t touch her. With other patients, whenever they stop petting her she’ll either shove her nose under their hand or impatiently scoot closer so they’ll start petting her again. This time, with Kevin, she seemed content to just sit there, just as still as he was. The only movement she made was occasionally tilting her head just enough to look up at him. It was the most painfully awkward moment of my life. I stood in a corner of the room, hardly breathing, as man and dog stared at each other for what felt like a long time—but was not long at all. I couldn’t help but breathe a quiet sigh of relief when Martina called my name.
“Time to move on. Thank you for your time, sir,” Martina said. I awkwardly thanked him as well and turned to leave the room. And as soon as I left, I felt so ashamed. He hadn’t wanted us there. He’d only done it to make us and the nurse feel better. To accommodate us. I felt so ashamed for intruding on him like that. I felt horrible for it and couldn’t escape his room quickly enough. Luckily, the rest of the patients were thrilled to see her, and by the end of the visit, I had completely forgotten about him. I was enjoying myself too much and enjoying seeing how happy Galaxy was. I was all smiles and giddiness when Martina handed me the completed test forms, all signed and dated and official.
“Congratulations,” she said, smiling for the first time since I’d met her. “You have a wonderful dog. You’ll do great.” I could barely wait until she left to call Alan with the good news.
“That’s amazing!” he said. “We’ve got to celebrate.”
We had dinner at our favorite dog-friendly restaurant in town, where we got to show off her forms.
We’d been there many times before, and most of the wait staff recognized us. “Miss Galaxy!” the waiter greeted cheerfully once we were seated at a table on the dog patio. “Welcome back.”
“We’re celebrating!” Aaron announced. “She just passed all her tests to be a therapy dog.”
The waiter’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing, congratulations! What a wonderful thing to celebrate!”
He took our order and hurried away. Within minutes, a manager stopped by. “Did I hear correctly, that Galaxy just passed her therapy dog tests?”
I blushed just a little, surprised that the waiter had told the other staff. “Yes, just this afternoon.”
“You ordered food for Galaxy, correct?”
“Yes.” The restaurant offered a handful of dog-safe meals for their canine patrons, and every time we went, we always made sure Galaxy got some food, too.
“May I please cover the cost of Galaxy’s food? May I send out a little after-dinner treat when your meal is finished?”
I was surprised. “Sure. Thank you so much!”
“No, thank you,” the manager said brightly. She gave Galaxy a warm smile. “You’re helping people, and Galaxy is a wonderful dog.”
“It was my idea to get her,” Aaron declared. “She’s my little sister.”
The manager chuckled. “Well, you had a fantastic idea.”
As we ate the wait staff all came by to congratulate us. While the staff isn’t allowed to touch the dogs, that didn’t stop them from talking to her and showering her with praise.
When the meal was over, suddenly the manager and a group of waiters walked out, holding a small dog-safe birthday cake on a platter. They all walked over to our table, and the manager turned to address the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” she said loudly to the other patrons on the patio. “Please join us in congratulating Galaxy, who just passed her test to become a therapy dog!”
There were claps and cheers as one waitress set the platter down on the floor in front of Galaxy. Our waiter also held a separate plate with a regular birthday cake, which he set in front of Aaron.
“And this is for being the best big brother in the world,” he said. Aaron’s face just lit up, completely delighted.
Alan took my hand under the table and grinned at me. “You did a great job,” he said quietly. It was a perfect end to a perfect day.
The following day, I sent off the forms and started waiting for them to be processed. I couldn’t wait to go back and do more therapy work again. But I knew that processing the forms could take a while, so I was surprised a week later when I got a call, and heard Martina’s voice on the line.
“Martina? Is everything okay? Is there something wrong with Galaxy’s forms?”
“No, it’s fine. I got a call from the veteran’s hospital. There’s a patient that’s requesting you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Well, he’s requesting Galaxy.”
“Am I allowed to go yet?”
“No, but we’ll call it an unofficial supervised visit. As long as I’m there with you, it’ll be alright. Are you free tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great. Meet me in the parking lot at 10 am. See you then.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
I hung up and looked at Alan.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. One of the patients requested to see Galaxy this week.”
He shrugged. “That’s not surprising.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You showed me pictures of what Martina’s dog looks like. Something tells me some veterans might be more comfortable hugging a dog that looks like Galaxy than one who looks like Martina’s dog.”
“Yeah, but to specifically request her?”
He shrugged again. “I guess you’ll have to wait and find out tomorrow.”
The following day I was curious as I pulled into the parking lot. As usual, Martina and Shelby were there early, waiting for me.
“Good morning,” Martina greeted. “You ready?”
“Sure. So who requested Galaxy?”
“They’re not exactly in the habit of giving out patient names over the phone. The volunteer coordinator will tell us which room requested us.” I nodded and followed Martina into the coordinator’s office.
“Hello!” the coordinator greeted. “You two are right on time. Here are your passes.”
She looked at me as she handed me my sticker. “Please make sure you hit Room 218. The patient requested a visit from your dog.”
I thanked her, silently wishing I’d paid more attention to the previous week’s room numbers. I had no idea who would’ve requested her. All of the patients were happy to see her. Which of them could have requested another visit? But I put that from my mind as we began our rounds. Martina suggested we do 218 last to ensure we had some extra time to spend. All the other patients would be happy to see the dogs and deserve our attention and focus first.
The visit went well, but as we turned the hallway to head to Room 218, I suddenly remembered where we were and which patient must have requested her. But no, that couldn’t be. Kevin had been so angry, so full of rage and bitterness, and we’d forced him to accommodate us when he hadn’t wanted us there. No, I had to be misremembering. There was no way he’d been the one to request Galaxy. We walked up to the room to find that, like last week, the lights were off. And sure enough, Kevin sat in his wheelchair, absently watching TV.
“Good morning,” Martina greeted him from the doorway. “Would you like a therapy dog visit?”
He glanced over at us, saw Galaxy standing outside the room in the hallway, and then silently beckoned us into the room with a short wave of his good hand. Martina stood beside me, giving me room to go through the door. “I’ll get the rest of the patients in this row, then come back and meet you here,” she said.
I let Galaxy lead me into the dim room. Just like last week, Kevin didn’t speak and didn’t acknowledge us at all as we approached him. Also, like last week, Galaxy sat down next to his chair and plopped her big blocky head on his lap. But then, after a moment, he lifted a single hand and rested it on her head. That was it. He didn’t pet her and didn’t move; he just stared absently, unthinkingly, up at the TV. It felt no less awkward this time, even knowing he wanted us there.
And again, Galaxy didn’t mind that he wasn’t petting her. She stayed right there, right at his side, her head in his lap, for the whole time. Both of them remained in complete silence. The only sound in the room was the quiet drone of the TV.
I see you. I’m here. You’re not alone.
I felt uncomfortable as hell. But whatever comfort he was taking in Galaxy’s presence, it was important to him. Important enough that he specifically asked to see her again. Important enough that Martina, who takes this therapy work very seriously, bent the rules to allow us to come to see him. At the end of the day, it wasn’t about me. It was about Galaxy and the companionship she can give to the patients. So I accepted the awkward, uncomfortable silence and stayed there, off to the side, just out of his peripheral vision, just as still and quiet as the two of them. When Martina returned and called my name, it startled me. I stepped forward.
“Thank you for your time, sir,” I said as Galaxy rose to her feet and started following me out of the room. I’d almost reached the door, where Martina stood waiting when he spoke.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
Unsure, I looked to Martina. My certification wouldn’t be processed by then. But Martina nodded, and I turned back to Kev with a smile.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter 6
“Holy crap, that was intense,” I confessed as we left the building and headed back out to the parking lot.
Martina nodded. “It can be draining. Especially with veterans.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ve been through hell, and they’re constantly surrounded by well-meaning people who expect them to be okay. They have to spend so much of their recovery pretending to be alright to make their friends, family, and staff feel more comfortable around them.”
“That sounds… lonely.”
“It is. And that’s why dogs are important. The dogs don’t expect them to be okay. They don’t have to pretend that they’re alright. They can just be, and the dogs accept them just as they are.” Well, damn. That sounded awful. “Do we have to wait a full week before coming back?”
She hesitated. “Not necessarily, but you probably should. This work may not be physically taxing, but it can be extremely mentally and emotionally draining for you and Galaxy. You need to pace yourself if you want to keep doing it long-term. That’s why we limit all working sessions to no more than an hour. It’s easier than you think for one or both of you to get burned out, and then you won’t be able to help anyone.”
I hesitated, considering her words. I had to admit I found some truth in them.
Galaxy loved this work. That much was obvious. She enjoyed helping people. She enjoyed being with people, giving them another soul to connect to. But she always fell asleep on the car ride home and slept extremely well after her visits.
I supposed Martina’s words made sense. We had to both pace ourselves, because if it were up to Galaxy she’d just keep going, on and on, from patient to patient, until she collapsed from exhaustion, or until her bad knees gave out from overuse.
“That’s a fair point,” I admitted, somewhat grudgingly.
Martina chuckled. “It’s addicting, isn’t it?”
“Just a little.”
“Discipline is important. Helping others means helping yourself first. If you burn out, or wear yourself out too much, no one benefits.”
“That’s true.”
She opened her car door. “Same time next week?”
I smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The same time next week couldn’t come fast enough. I found myself thinking about that veteran, Kev, quite a lot. I wondered how many of his friends and family members came to visit him, forcing their small talk on him, expecting him to participate in their conversations as if nothing was wrong. How often did he have to spend time pretending he was okay? I couldn’t even imagine the pain he must have been in, the loneliness he must have felt, to reach out to a stranger and her dog for a connection that didn’t require him to pretend he wasn’t dying inside.
And who was I being to judge him for not pretending to be okay? I felt like a terrible person. What kind of self-centered, clueless idiot expects a severely injured veteran to cater to her comfort level?
Thankfully Galaxy was nothing but comfortable with him. Without needing to be told, she knew exactly how to be, how to connect with him, even through the intense fog of his anger and loneliness. I wondered again what it is about her that makes her so good at connecting with people. Was this a product of her trauma?
She was probably one of the few souls alive who could relate, at least a little, to the kind of pain in which Kev was lost. She had endured a hell beyond most people’s imagining. For a long time that pain and that fear had ruled her. We had to teach her how to work through it. She couldn’t do it on her own. We had to guide her out of that darkness. Now that she was out, she seemed drawn to people lost in their darkness. With the woman at the store, the old man at the nursing home, and Kev, she seemed so confident, so sure of herself and what she needed to do.
With most patients, she was expected to sit there and do her silly pit bull grin while everyone spoiled her with attention, which she was always happy to do. Human affection is one of her favorite things in the world. She prefers it to toys, other dogs, playing outside, or anything. Food is the only thing that outranks human attention in her mind, so she is never disappointed to just sit there with her silly pit bull grin while people spoil her with attention.
But people who were wrestling with demons, people who were lost in their pain or fear or anger or loneliness, those were the people she was most attracted to. As we saw with that old man, those were the people she sought out, even in a crowded room. Maybe she felt like she had a more defined purpose, a more explicit goal. And she did that on her own, without any input from me.
Finally, the day came. I met Martina once again in the parking lot, and once again we saved that room for last. She dropped me off there while she went to see other patients. Again, I was taken aback by the angry energy emanating from him, even when I was standing in the doorway.
“Feel like some company?” I asked.
He nodded, and we walked in.
I assumed it would be the same as the last two weeks. At first, it was the same. I gave Galaxy her full leash and let her walk up to him and rest her head on his thigh while I stood off to the side. Again, he put his hand silently on her head.
For a few moments, everything in the room was still, but I refused to allow myself to be uncomfortable. I wasn’t there for my benefit, after all, but for his. This was helping him. Galaxy was helping him. It didn’t matter that the silence was awkward to me because it wasn’t awkward for either of them. And once I allowed myself to relax I found the silence kind of peaceful. I found myself very okay with him not being okay. I was grateful that he’d pushed himself far enough out of his comfort zone to ask for something that helped him, even though I didn’t quite understand why. It was nice. Just calm, and quiet, and still. I let my mind wander. So when Kev moved it took me by surprise.
It happened suddenly. One moment, he was sitting there, stiff and rigid, full of that anger. In the next, it was as if his entire body just deflated. He leaned far over in his chair, hugging Galaxy. Just sobbing. My breath caught in my throat. It happened so fast, so suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. For a split second, I was worried that he was falling out of his chair. But Galaxy wasn’t surprised at all. The move didn’t startle her. She didn’t pull away. She just sat there, quiet and steady, as he clung to her and cried openly into her fur. He clung to her so hard the knuckles of the one hand I could see were ghost-white. Galaxy didn’t mind. She didn’t move, cringe, or even look over at me. Because I wasn’t there with them. I didn’t exist to them right then. It was just him, just her, just this amazing, pure connection they made together. She sat there, letting him cry, letting him sob, letting him scream. She stayed still as he started rocking back and forth as if she were the anchor keeping him from being swept away by the pain he was lost in. She was the rock he could hold on to when he felt like he was losing control.
I see you. I’m here. You’re not alone.
Nothing else existed. The room, the people walking down the hallway, the light outside the window, everything else melted away, just like with that woman in the store. Time slowed down, and they created their world where it didn’t matter that they were both broken, tortured souls. Where they didn’t have to be anything for anyone else—they could just be. It was the most heartbreaking thing I’d ever seen.
Both of them had been hurt in ways I couldn’t imagine. Both would carry scars with them for the rest of their lives. Both of them had seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer. Galaxy’s trauma, pain, and scars gave her the tools she needed to help heal this lonely, suffering man. She was right there, in that darkness with him, giving him something real, something true, that he could hold on to.
It was such a private, intimate moment that I felt like I was intruding on them just by being in the room. I stayed still, standing to the side, making sure not to make a single sound. I didn’t want to risk interrupting this moment that he needed and that Galaxy needed to give him. Her focus, her strength, and her quiet steadiness were incredible. I found myself truly in awe of it, and of her. I never trained her to do that. I never taught her that. The heeling and the sitting and the staying I taught her, but not that. She did that on her own, for no other reason than because that’s just who she is.
And this, this, was what she was trying to communicate to me with that woman in the store. This was what she wanted to do. This was what she wanted her life, her pain, her trauma, and her healing to mean. This was the purpose she’d been trying to show me. I was in absolute awe of her.
Kevin cried for a good long while. Galaxy never moved, never faltered. Somehow I knew, I just knew, that no matter how long he cried, no matter how long he needed her, she was going to stay there. She was never going to move, not until he pulled away. Finally, he did pull away. It took him a moment, but he managed to put himself back together and straightened up, wiping his eyes. That’s when he noticed me. No doubt he’d forgotten I was even there.
“Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed, the color rising even more in his already-red face.
“For what?” I asked innocently, looking pointedly up at the TV. “Hey man, I’m just hanging out, watching Golden Girls. Blanche is an icon—I don’t care what anybody says.” He gave a soft chuckle and a subtle nod, understanding what I was trying to tell him.
I’m not a therapist. I wasn’t there to try and “fix” him or make him pretend he was okay when he wasn’t. What he’d just experienced, the emotions that had overwhelmed him undoubtedly made him feel raw and vulnerable. A random stranger wasn’t the right person to have seen that from such a reserved man, and I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to talk about it or acknowledge it if he didn’t want to.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. He sniffled and then looked down at Galaxy. “And thank you, you giant ugly tank of a dog.”
I gasped with mock outrage. “How dare you! The only descriptors suitable for her are a stunningly beautiful princess, thank you.”
He laughed. “I’m so sorry, forgive me.” He looked back to Galaxy and put his hands on either side of her face, bending over, so his face was a fraction of an inch away from hers. “Please forgive me, your highness. I’m not worthy.”
She wagged her tail and licked his face. Without even waiting for him to finish speaking she just interrupted him with persistent, enthusiastic kisses.
He shot back up, groaning. “Ugh! She licked inside my mouth!”
“Therapy visit with a happy ending. Can’t ask for anything more than that.”
Suddenly I heard Martina calling me from in the hall. I looked back at him. “We’ve got to go. See you around.”
“Same time next week?”
I turned to grin at him. “I could never stand in the way of puppy love. It’s a date.”
Outside, Martina stood to the side, out of sight of the doorway, leaning against the wall with Shelby. I got the impression that she’d been standing there for some time.
“Ready?” she asked simply.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
We waited until we got back outside to talk. I leaned heavily against a big pillar in front of the building.
“Oh, holy shit,” I murmured. “Holy… fucking… shit.”
“I saw the tail end of that. How long had it been going on? Since I left you?”
“Not quite,” I answered. “But close. How long were we in there?”
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter, though, does it?”
I sighed, bending down to rest my hands on my knees. “Holy shit, man.”
“Good job handling it.”
I looked up at her, incredulous. “Handling it? Look at me! I’m shaking. What handling?”
“I heard the Golden Girls comment.”
“Yeah, Blanche is an icon.” I bent back down, trying to catch my breath. Maybe I’d been more overwhelmed than I was willing to acknowledge.
“That was the right thing to say. Anything else would’ve just embarrassed him. Making jokes was the right thing to do. It pulled his focus off of the potentially embarrassing thing that had just happened. You ended a draining and emotionally intense visit on a positive note. You did everything perfectly.”
“You’d better be careful,” I told her, still a little breathless, straightening up and leaning back against the pillar. “Or you’re going to make me start liking you.”
“Oh, the horror.”
“He asked to see us again next week.”
“I heard.”
“Will my certification be in by then?”
“Probably not. If it isn’t, I’ll meet you here again, and we’ll do the same thing we did today.”
“Galaxy isn’t the only natural one on your team, you know,” she said, giving me the warmest, most genuine smile I’d ever seen from her. “Come on. The session isn’t over until the dogs are in the cars and we leave. Go home. I’ll see you next week.”
In the car, Galaxy fell into a deep, and as always certainly well-deserved sleep.
As I drove home I found myself thinking back on Galaxy’s first visit with Kevin. Even though I doubted the situation at first, doubted myself, and even doubted her, she knew what she needed to do. She never let my doubt stop her from giving Kevin what he needed. She knew something I didn’t, and trusted herself, even when I was hesitant and unsure. Galaxy’s world was simple. She saw someone hurting and knew how to help.
When we first brought Galaxy home, she was the most anxious, insecure dog I’d ever seen. But in that dark room with Kev, there was no trace of her past insecurity or fear. She had trusted herself with a man who wouldn’t even speak to us at first. She had trusted herself and gave an injured veteran a brief reprieve from the bitter loneliness he felt.
Maybe I could take a lesson from her ability to trust herself so implicitly. I thought back on my life to times when I doubted my knowledge and experience because I let the doubt of others influence me. I realized I didn’t have to let their doubt impact my choices. I could trust myself the way Galaxy trusted herself with Kev.
Maybe we all could take a lesson from Galaxy’s ability to do that. There will always be people doubting us. Sometimes even people who love us and trust us, who have nothing but the best intentions, might doubt us, just as I had doubted Galaxy. But just as Galaxy didn’t let that doubt influence her ability to do what she knew she could, we don’t have to let the mistrust of others limit us.
galaxythehealerdog.com 