I had barely taken off my coat and tossed it onto a nearby table, when the group of teenagers started swarming. They were petting my dog, Sadie, hands running up and down her back as her eyes glanced around at all of their faces. They were smiling at her, not paying any attention to me. Some of them were joking with their friends, yelling out half-hearted insults, or complaining about a past-due library book, even while their fingers absent-mindedly fondled Sadie’s ear. One girl was squealing loudly, hunched over Sadie, yelling about how she wanted to keep her all to herself and take her home.
And then suddenly, she turned and hugged me.
It was so unexpected and the most awkward hug I’ve probably ever gotten. But it was pure. It was unbridled joy at seeing a calm, sweet therapy dog. Her hug was unrestrained emotion.
Despite being completely caught off guard, I knew that was why Sadie and I do this.
Sadie is a therapy dog, and together, we visit facilities where they request a therapy animal to come and provide some stress relief or emotional support. We have visited a few different places, but most recently, we’ve been regular visitors at the local Job Corps. When we visit, we set up camp in the small library for an hour on Monday evenings. The students, mostly older teens and young adults, come and go as they please. There are some students who love seeing the dogs and hang out with us the whole time and others who would rather not come too close. Sadie and I don’t judge.
Some of these kids like to act tough. They rip on each other, they think they dress “cool,” they walk with the swagger of someone whose body language can hide how they really feel. I don’t know their stories, but I’m sure they have a reason to act this way.
But when they see my dog, they are changed. They look into her big, brown, soulful eyes and they melt. They hold their palms out to let her sniff before they slowly pat her head or rub her back.
The change is visible and contagious. They immediately smile, their shoulders relax, they exhale. They tilt their heads, they reach their arms out. They open themselves up.
Most of them turn away and go back to their teasing and their act. But just for a moment, I am witness to their bared vulnerability.
Sadie is a very calm, very quiet greyhound. She stands still, not even a tail wag, and her back is the perfect height for a hand to rest on when you’re standing or sitting. Perhaps it’s this gentle, stillness about her that encourages the students to mirror her demeanor.
They instinctively don’t want to upset her or scare her. They think she looks afraid or timid (I always promise them, that’s just how she acts), and they want to comfort her. They are curious; they ask questions about what greyhound racing is like, why she’s so skinny, how fast she runs, why her ears lay back on her head. They ask whether she is my own dog, how long I’ve had her, how old she is.
I love the effect that dogs can have on all people. They strip away our carefully-built armor. They pull on the strings of our raw emotions. They inspire us to ask questions and connect. I’m sure you know, it doesn’t take a therapy dog or a visit to the Job Corps to see this.
I love watching the students interact with Sadie. I love watching the big guys with tattoos up their arms whisper her name in a high pitched voice, before subtly glancing at me, embarrassed, to see if I’d noticed. I love watching the stylish fashionistas of the group get Sadie’s dog hair all over their tight black pants and laugh it off, because petting a dog is more important. I love hearing their stories about their own dogs back home, the dogs they grew up with, the dogs they’ve left behind.
I like to think that I am making their day brighter by bringing Sadie to see them. Maybe she’s relieved some of their anxiety. Maybe they’ll have a more positive start to their week. Maybe they’ll remember that it’s okay to relax and let your guard down a little bit.
At the very least, I’ll know that at least one person was so overcome that she needed to give someone a hug. That’s enough for me.