Dogs of Peace

Graduation Day! The assembly room at Children’s Village, a New York residential center for at-risk teens, was crowded with spectators.

All eyes were on the graduates: four large dogs—two yellow Labs, a black Lab, and a golden retriever—and four wounded veterans who’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan. My own gaze kept shifting, though, to the 12 teenage boys from the Village who, for the past year, had been training the dogs for this moment.

Actually, the preparation for this day began 14 years ago, when my widowed 67-year-old dad suffered a stroke. No longer able to live alone, Dad moved in with my husband, Dale, and me, our two daughters and Juliet (“Jules” for short), a wheaten terrier/Portuguese water dog mix.

It was wrenching to see my vigorous father sitting on the sofa, unable to stand without help, hating to have to keep asking. “What use am I?” he’d say. “The stroke should’ve killed me!”

Dale, our girls and I did our best to cheer him up, but Jules was the only one who seemed to bring him any comfort. She would lay her shaggy head on Dad’s lap as though she sensed his isolation.

That gave me an idea. Once he was standing, Dad could get around fairly well with his walker. Jules was a sturdy dog. Maybe if I rigged up a harness, she could pull Dad up. I fitted one end of a leather strap under her chest, the other beneath her stomach and fastened it to her leash. Sitting down behind her, I pulled on the leash. And Jules, as dogs will when pulled, tugged the other way—lifting me effortlessly to my feet!

I repeated the routine over and over, running through a whole box of dog biscuits and adding commands. “Stay!” when I stood. “Slow!” as I took a step with the walker. After a week of practice, I went to where Dad slumped, withdrawn and morose, on the sofa, handed him the leash and told him to pull on it. Jules pulled the other way and suddenly, marvelously, Dad was standing.

They were inseparable, man and dog, from that moment on. Jules learned other skills—picking up a dropped pencil, bringing a magazine from a tabletop. And Dad! The simple ability to rise without calling on one of us restored his self-respect. Jules was company for Dad too in our busy household. He’d chat away to her, and she’d listen, rapt, her brown eyes alert, her tail wagging.

I believe that our best ideas come from God and that they’re not meant for our own benefit alone. Seeing the difference Jules made in Dad’s life, I began training dogs to help other physically challenged people.