Therapy work with my collie, Scout, taught me that dogs speak a language beyond words. Never was this clearer than with Mr. Ellis, a withdrawn patient who hadn’t engaged with anyone in months.
Scout approached differently that day – no cheerful barking, just quiet presence. He rested his head on Mr. Ellis’ lap with a soft sigh. Then the impossible happened. The silent man began to speak. “Jenny had a collie,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Smart as a whip, that dog.”
Like a dam breaking, memories poured out – how his late wife’s collie would herd their children, how the dog had been her constant companion during her final illness. “That dog knew before any of us,” he recalled. “Wouldn’t leave her side those last weeks.”
Scout listened intently, as if honoring the story. When Mr. Ellis described Jenny’s final days, Scout licked away his tears with gentle swipes of his tongue. “She’d have loved you,” Mr. Ellis told him, hugging the dog close.
By visit’s end, Mr. Ellis asked to see the hospital’s therapy dog program brochure. “Think I might volunteer,” he said, scratching Scout’s ears. “Jenny would’ve wanted me to.” Sometimes the right dog doesn’t just bring comfort – they help us find our way back to living.
