Pet Therapy Dog: How You and Your Pet Can Help in the Hospital

It started as an assignment in the final course of my graduate program. My instructor prompted us to create a meaningful, measurable goal for our lives, to be complted and documented during our last class. We would have to show proof that we completed our goal in a presentation to our peers.

A life goal? C'mon, teach. Most of my professors had merely asked me to memorize and regurgitate throughout my entire college career! So I thought and thought and thought. And I couldn't come up with anything. My friends and classmates had goals like getting a promotion at work or learning to fly or skydiving for the first time. Skydive? No, thank you. I want something to challenge myself and my beliefs, but I don't have a death wish.

And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. I was talking to a friend about my dog, Bailey, a 5-year-old junkyard dog. (He's part Chow Chow, but other than that, it's anyone's guess.) My grandmother refers to Bailey as "the most polite dog you will ever meet." I was telling the story of when my grandmother dog-sat for me during vacation, and she had a visitor ring the doorbell.

Contrary to many dogs, Bailey didn't jump and lick the visitor; he simply sniffed at her and wagged his tail while politely keeping his distance. Then, when the guest had settled herself on the living room sofa, Bailey sat in front of her and stuck out a friendly paw to shake hands.

Such a dog should not be kept hidden away from the world, I thought to myself. And that is where my goal of becoming a certified Pet Visitation Program (PVP) team was born.

PVP is the pet therapy program of the Orlando SPCA. Its goal is to bring joy, education, companionship and stimulation to people in need. PVP teams routinely visit sick children and brain-injured patients in a hospital setting, as well as senior citizens in adult day care and long-term care facilities.

To become certified, Bailey had to pass both physical and behavioral examinations. I knew Bailey was a well-behaved dog, but we'd never done much in the way of formal training, so I was a bit concerned. But my concern was without merit, as he passed the test with flying colors.

Now, more than a year later, Bailey and I visit the Florida Hospital Orlando pediatrics unit every other Saturday. When I ask him if he's ready to "go see the kids," his ears perk up and his tail begins to thump the floor. When I get out his harness with his PVP team badge (yes, he has his own ID badge), the thumping tail turns into a full-fledged body wiggle.

It's amazing to watch him with the children. He just seems to know how to approach them -- if they are very sick, he will gently jump on the bed next to them, careful not to step on anything. He will lay down just by their legs so they can pet his head.

And while the patients are supposed to be the main benefactors of this program, I find more and more that I am taking away more than I ever thought possible. Recently, a young man in the hospital was so sick that he couldn't even sit up in his bed. Wires and tubes seemed to come in and out from every direction. He was weak and pale and could barely eek out a small smile when we came in to visit.

He said he'd like if Bailey would sit next to him on the bed, and so Bailey carefully jumped up next to him. He laid down right next to the boy's tiny leg, and rested his head on the boy's thigh. The boy just lay there, content and quiet, softly rubbing Bailey's muzzle and head. I talked to him for a few minutes, but then realized he was happier just being quiet and enjoying Bailey's companionship. After awhile, I noticed a small tear fall from the corner of his eye.

He said he was alright and was glad we had visited. A quote I later read summed up this experience: "One reason a dog can be such a comfort when you're feeling blue is that he doesn't try to find out why."

I was told later by a hospital worker that many of the kids we visit have terminal illnesses. Pet visitation gives them something to look forward to -- a visit with someone who doesn't know -- or care -- if they have a life-threatening illness. People struggle for words around the sick and the elderly. Dogs don't know that the sick or the elderly are any different. All Bailey knows is that these kids love him.

Bailey and I enjoy each and every two-hour visit, and the hospital staff benefit, as well. They love greeting Bailey, and he's become widely recognized by the nurses. It cheers up the patients and their families, and also brings a bright spot to the employees' days.

Some weekends, it's hard to get up at 8:30 a.m. when most people sleep in, but knowing that there are kids counting on us keeps me going. Bailey, on the other hand, is just happy there's so many people who want to meet him.