Therapy Training

Deciding to be a Therapy Dog and doing so are two different animals, so to speak, and Mr. Wilson is finding out just how different. Ideas are easy; carrying out the ideas that pop into our head, especially after acting like a wild animal at the birthday party not so much. After an exhausting weekend of drills we took Monday off. Tuesday is maintenance day; groomer at 0830 hrs., Dr. Brewer at 1300 hrs., forced march to the beach at 1430 hrs then off to work for 1600 hrs.

Saturday is coming fast, sit/stay and down/stay are done, work continues on the right and left turns off leash, walking past tempting food and greeting strangers. The obstacle course training will begin on Thursday, I have set up my yard with distractions which Mr. Wilson must navigate without hesitation or he will surely fail the tests.

"This is hard, Dad," said a tired Mr. Wilson after an exhausting ten minute drill without a break.

"Anything worthwhile is hard, old pal."

"Do you think I'll pass?"

"It doesn't matter if you do or don't, you found a goal and you did your damnedest, can't expect more than that."

"Thanks Dad."

"It's okay, Mr. Wilson. Lets take a snooze."

There is no better therapy than dozing with your pals close by.

Mother's Day

"Hey Mom, I know you're my mom now, but what of my other mom?

"That's a sad story Mr. Wilson."

"It's okay, I want to know."

"She lives on a farm with lots of other moms."

"Is she okay?"

"We really don't know."

"Can we visit the farm? I bet it's nice there, with rivers and fields and birds and squirrells."

"Kind of like that old pal."

"I hope she's happy."

"Me too."

She's not happy. She lives in a puppy mill, churning out litter after litter so that people can buy her pups. Nobody touches her, nobody talks to her, nobody takes her for walks, nobody loves her, nobody is wishing her a Happy Mother's Day.

Words

"Wilson, sit."

and he sits

"Wilson, stay."

and he stays

"Wilson come,"

and he comes.


Sit, stay, come.

Three words, three answers.

And a world of opportunity awaits.


When he jumps, I say "down."

Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't

but I don't mind.


Big test next Saturday; Therapy Dogs International

to them, down means lie flat.

to Wilson it means stop jumping

Random Rescue Friday, Tails of Hope Dog Rescue

http://www.tailsofhopedogrescue.com/

This is Mika, and she is available for adoption through Petfinder and Tails of Hope Rescue out of Memphis, Tennessee. I loved a Siberian Husky for 12 years, and still do. She was a character; somebody tied her up at a local city run shelter on a Sunday with no information, just a sad little dog sitting in the rain, chained to a post. Chance, luck or divine intervention led us to her, and she was a giant part of our family for over a decade until she left us.
I cannot thank these animal rescue organizations enough; taking the loneliness and neglect out of the picture for so many abandoned or surrendered dogs is beyond valuable. Giving them temporary shelter, care and love at foster homes throughout the area is good for the foster families, great for the families about to adopt and simply fantastic for the pets who don't have to be chained to a post hoping that somebody comes along to save them!

Citizen Wilson

We had a party and Mr. Wilson went wild. Minutes after arriving at our destination; Brittany and Eric's house the guest of honor, one Mr. Wilson, Birthday Boy disappeared into the upstairs. It wasn't until much later that we discovered an empty bag, a hoard of missing cat food, a disgruntled cat and pee on the rug. But the wily two-year old wasn't done, nosiree Bob. He ran into the backyard, climbed onto the pool cover, rolled in the slimy water that accumulated there, ate some worms, chased a pair of chipmunks up a tree, shit in the begonias, dug a hole next to the fire pit then covered himself in mulch before demanding we let him back in.

"I don't know, Dad," he confessed much later after vomiting on the bed and collapsing in a heap, "I think I need purpose."

Purpose we shall have. On Saturday, May 17th we are taking the Canine Good Citizen test, along with The Therapy Dog International exam.http://www.tdi-dog.org/Default.aspx . No more Wild Man Wilson. With a whole new outlook on life and meaning, he has become the perfect gentleman. Training has begun in earnest. If all goes well we will be visiting people in nursing homes and maybe even some kids in the hospital. Being an old firefighter, I have a few places in mind in need of a little cheer, and the perfect little pooch to bring it.

That is, if he survives the "terrible two's."

Say a prayer for us, we're going to need it!

Even Now

"Dad, how come Mom never comes with us on our walks?"

"She doesn't walk that well, Mr. Wilson."
"I know, but doesn't she want to?"
"More than anything in the world, my little friend."
"Then why doesn't she?"
"Sometimes good people get sick, little buddy. And when they do they lose things, things that are precious to them, things like the ability to move freely and think clearly."
"That's not fair."
"No, it's not. It's just the way it is."
"Then why do we walk when Mom can't, that doesn't seem fair to her. I say we stop walking and go home and stay with her, that way we can all be together."

"Because if we didn't go for our walks, she'd feel even worse."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Multiple Sclerosis doesn't make any sense."
"Do dogs get Multiple Sclerosis?"
"I guess they do, or something like it that dogs get."
"Promise me something?"
"What's that Mr. Wilson?"
"If I get sick, keep on walking, but don't forget me."
"I'll never forget you."
"And Mom?"
"She's with me every second."
"Even now?"

Random Rescue Friday, PAWS New England

http://www.pawsnewengland.com/

When we picked Mr. Wilson up at the highway rest stop a lot of people were picking up other dogs, and a lot of them wore PAWS sweatshirts and jackets. We had never been involved in any animal rescue activities but had heard about people picking up their adopted pets at highway rest stops. It sounded mysterious and kind of cool; strangers meeting at a darkened roadway, exchanging manilla envelopes and cargo then driving their separate ways.

From the book, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home
http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Wilson-Makes-Home-Happiness/dp/1629145734

     A guy about my age was next in line, rugged, dressed in jeans and a work shirt. He didn’t seem to be the type to rescue homeless dogs. When Jeff appeared with a brown, hairy mixed breed thing, and Kevin handed over the manila envelope with all of the dogs medical records and as much history as they could find, I saw a different person altogether. He was one of us, and the look of exultation on his face was priceless. He walked away from the crowd, just him and his dog, looking into his new puppy’s eyes, getting his face licked, hypnotized by the living creature in his arms that gave unconditionally to a person who he had never met. A bond was instantly established between the two, one that would last the entire length of the dog’s life, and though in all likelihood the man would outlive the dog, would remain there as well.

     One of the people who fostered dogs was next, identified by her jacket which was emblazoned with giant letters, P A W S on the back.

     “What’s PAWS mean?” I asked Cheryl, assuming that she would know. After all, she did find out about all of this, had it not been for her exit 89 off of 395 would have been just one of the million and one places that I have never been.

     “People helping animals. They hook people up with abandoned dogs and cats.”

     “Yeah, but what’s PAWS stand for?”

     “I just told you, people helping animals.”

     “That would be PHA.”

     “You can’t say PHA. Nobody would remember it.

     “So what’s PAWS stand for?”

     “Does it matter?”

     “I guess not…I just wish I knew.”

     “Google it.”

     “I don’t have a Googler with me.”

     “What’s a Googler?”

     “It’s a thing that lets you google stuff.”

     “Like an I-phone?”

     “Yeah, exactly! So what does PAWS stand for.”

     “I told you, People Helping Animals.”

     “That would be PHA.”

     “Forget it.”

     “Ok, it’s not that important.”

     There’s nothing like meaningful conversation on a beautiful day.

     The dog that the lady from PAWS took from Jeff and Kevin was an older dog, maybe seven years old. She was terrified, and her tail was between her legs, and her ears were flat on her head, and she refused to make eye contact with anybody, just tried to melt into the pavement. She simply did not want to be noticed, being invisible much safer than being seen. She hid behind her foster mother’s legs, and the mom’s assistant, also wearing a PAWS jacket knelt next to the abused dog, then sat on the ground, and held her in her arms. I was mesmerized, unable to tear my teary eyes away from the drama that was happening so close to me I could smell the scent of fear coming from the dog.

     “Pets are worth saving.”

     “They sure are,” I said, watching as the two women showered the poor dog with patience and affection.

     “That’s what PAWS means.”

     It took me a minute, but eventually it all became clear.

     PAWS means a lot of things to a lot of different people. There are numerous organizations named PAWS, most exist for the sole reason of helping animals. It doesn’t really matter what each organization’s letters stand for, what matters is that there are people who volunteer their time helping those who have no voice. For me, PAWS means “People are worthy souls.”

     The people at PAWS do a great job, and they have our most sincere thanks.