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Excerpt
Exerpted from Dogs and the Women Who Love Them: Extraordinary True Stories of Loyalty, Healing, and Inspiration by Allen and Linda Anderson.
Published by New World Library, November 2010. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.
Mary's Cissy
Finding
a Keeper Named Cissy
Mary
Haack, Arvada,
Colorado
A
littlewhite paw timidly poked through the bars on the cage. Looking
down to find out what was attached to this little paw, I saw a
white foxlike face with a big smile and huge mahogany eyes. The
dog wagged her tail as fast as she could. She had almost no hair,
and her belly was still distended from recently birthing pups.
I
knelt down, holding the little paw, and was rewarded with kisses
from this beautiful dog. She looked to be no more than a puppy
herself. “American Eskimo — Female,” read the tag over the
cage at Denver Municipal Animal Shelter. Her age was estimated
at
one year, and she needed a loving home.
“Ken,”
I called out to my husband who was a few cages away, “I think
I
found a keeper.”
My
recently widowed mom was looking for a companion to fill
her lonely nights. Her daytime hours were tolerable, but the long
evenings and nights without my dad had left her feeling alone
and even more despondent. We thought a small, loving dog would
bring her comfort. She’d asked for an older dog who didn’t have
to be housebroken and would lie on her lap or at her feet at
night while she watched television.
Ken
brought Mom over to the American Eskimo’s cage, and the
dog was ecstatic to have so many people paying attention to her.
She did two little circles, bowed, and tapped her front paws on
the floor of the cage. Then she rubbed sideways against the gate,
so we would pet her. Mom took an immediate liking to the dog.
Ken and I were relieved. We had been visiting shelters in the
Denver
area for weeks now, and Mom hadn’t seen any dogs she cared
for.
I
wondered if it was my imagination, but this pup seemed to have
eyes only for me. I was surprised at myself for thinking that
way.
After all, the dog was for Mom. I had no interest in adding a
dog
to my already busy life of working full-time, parenting a teenager,
and being Mom’s support system. And yet it wasn’t only me
who noticed. “The dog acts like she wants to be Mary’s more than
mine,” Mom said. My heart dropped. I did my best to act nonchalant.
“She’s happy, Mom, with a lot of love to share, and she’s
just what you need.”
 We
discovered then that the little white dog had given birth to a
litter of puppies shortly before being picked up while wandering
the
streets of Denver. The shelter staff had no idea where the
pups were. In the two weeks since she’d arrived, no one had come
forward to claim this lovely, nearly hairless dog. Spaying her
was
an absolute must, and then she would be available for adoption
two
days later. The staff assured Mom that the dog’s hair would
eventually grow back. They explained that it was normal for
this breed to drop its fur during the final stages of pregnancy
and
while birthing pups.
After
she had been spayed, Ken picked up the dog from the clinic.
Because she was still woozy from the effects of the anesthesia,
Ken
carried her into Mom’s house. The dog’s sleepy eyes found
mine immediately, and her tail gave a small wag. Ken put her
in my lap, and she fell asleep with a soft sigh.
While
gently petting her, we tossed around ideas for her new name.
Since she was white, we went through names like Cotton, Snowball,
Snowie, Cloud—all the obvious ones. Then Mom told us
that, as a child, she had had a puppy named Cissy, whom she adored.
The dog was hit by a car, and Mom had been devastated.
Even
though we chuckled and said it was a rather “sissy” name, our
family duly approved it. Because I happen to think all living
creatures
deserve a middle name, I tacked Ann
onto
the name Cissy. My
Mom was a devout Catholic, and at confirmation Ceremonies
people of that faith often add the names of patron saints to
their birth names. To take this naming process a step further,
and
to tease my mom, I chose the additional name Marie because
it
went well with Ann. The
family laughed at what we could now call
“Mom’s Catholic dog.” Even Cissy woke up long enough to wag
her tail at the happiness and laughter she had already created.
Now
Cissy Ann Marie had a new home, and Mom had a new companion.
Life
with Cissy Ann MarieWasn’t Heavenly
Unfortunately,
this new relationship wasn’t made in heaven after all.Mom
wasn’t as ready for a dog as she thought. Cissy kept escaping
through
the front door. She peed on the floor. She chewed up
tissues, climbed on the furniture, and generally turned out to
be
more work than Mom had expected. After two short weeks Mom
announced that she was giving poor little Cissy back to the shelter.
We
were distraught at the news. Mom maintained that she was
simply too old to chase after a rambunctious puppy. My husband
and
daughter wanted to keep Cissy and train her properly. I
felt torn, not only because taking on the responsibility of a dog
is a
lot of work, but also because we had recently lost our elderly
beagle.
Molly Brown was a sweet little dog who had wandered into
our backyard one day and ended up staying. We’d had her for
years when her hearing and vision began to diminish, as happens
with
older dogs. Our new house had a swimming pool and, unfortunately,
one day Molly fell in the pool and drowned. It was a
tragic accident and difficult for us to recover from. We never
knew
if she’d had a seizure and fell in or cut a corner during her
walk
along the deck. Molly Brown’s accident made me wonder if we
even deserved another dog.
Taking
up myusual pondering position, I sat on the kitchen floor
to consider all possibilities. Cissy quietly climbed into my lap,
gave my chin a couple of kisses, and settled in while softly sighing.
I was hooked. There was no way I could allow this wonderful dog
to be returned to the shelter. We told Mom that we would care
for
Cissy, train her, and then give her back when she knew how to
behave
for a senior citizen. Once it was made, I felt good about the
decision.
Sure, this would be more work for me, but I had a hunch Cissy
would be worth it, and her love overpowered and apprehension I
might have had. Besides that, I thought, training Cissy shouldn’t
take
too long. In no time at all, Mom would have an obedient, loyal
dog.
For
the rest of that spring and into early summer, Cissy managed to
terrorize our house and backyard too. She pulled the cover off
of our pool and chewed it, along with the pool hoses and spa cover.
She chewed the corners off her doghouse and anything left on
the floor. Then she would cuddle up to us, her large brown eyes
begging for understanding but still full of joy and mischief.
We
registered Cissy for dog training classes. She played, barked,
pulled at her leash, sniffed everything in the room, and kept
smiling with delight. We were certain she would flunk puppy class,
given her reputation as the class clown. The all-important device
of giving treats to train a dog didn’t do a thing for her; she
ignored
them and did whatever she wanted.
One
day, she spontaneously reacted to a hand signal for the stay
command, and we praised her verbally with excitement in our
voices. Cissy looked at us with pure pleasure and proceeded to
complete the course while we continued to offer only verbal praise,
not treats, as positive reinforcement. She graduated and, from
that day forward, was an extremely obedient dog, always willing
to please. Although Mom began to comment on what a good
dog Cissy was turning into, we said nothing about returning her.
Cissy had wormed her way into my heart and filled a void I
hadn’t even known I had. However, our success with Cissy would
soon
pave the way for Mom’s own happiness with a dog.
Cissy’s
New Mission
One
cold February morning a few years ago, I awoke with a horrible
headache,
extreme vertigo, a thick tongue, a foggy mind, and numbness
on the left side of my face. These symptoms continued for
weeks. Doctor after doctor failed to find an answer to my problem.
With Cissy by my side, I would lie in bed with the curtains drawn
and the doors closed to keep out the noise. I slept and cried
while
my dear pup licked tears off my cheeks as fast as they ran
down.
When
my husband entered the dark, gloomy room, Cissy would let out
a
small growl and move even closer to me until he spoke gently and
assured
her that he had no intention of harming me. When I could walk,
she followed, and wouldn’t even let me go into the bathroom alone.
She
began going to doctor appointments with me and attending my
physical therapy sessions. Because Cissy became upset when people
touched me, I did the sessions each time in a room where there
were no other patients and always with the same gentle therapist
that Cissy had learned to trust.
I had
frequent panic attacks and stuttered uncontrollably without Cissy
nearby. But when she was with me, and I had physical contact
with her, I was able to talk to strangers. It became apparent
that
I could speak relatively well when the attention was not on me.
With
people focusing on my dog, I didn’t feel that others were judging
me, and so I could simply talk about my favorite subject, Cissy.
Incredibly, she instinctively knew when I was about to have a
panic attack. She would guide me away from the source of my
anxiety,
whether it was noise or a crowd of people, or climb into into
my lap and lean gently against me.
I was
finally diagnosed with multiple cranial neuritis. For the rest
of my life I would have migraines, vertigo, memory problems, and
panic attacks. This meant I needed to learn to live with my condition.
After observing Cissy and me together, one of my doctors wrote
a prescription making Cissy my official service dog.
Now,
with Cissy’s assistance, I could begin to venture into society.
As it
turns out, having Cissy is one of the main reasons I’ve been
able to move on with my life. Her comforting ways have reduced
my
stress levels. I acquire a gentle strength from her when I rest my
hand
on her soft fur. Similar to the little pink blanket I had as a child,
Cissy
provides me with a feeling of security that has been sorely lacking
since my illness began.
Expanding
Cissy’s Service
One
day when I was at our local library, I saw a brochure for the
Exempla
Lutheran Medical Center Pet Therapy program. I just knew
that Cissy would be great at animal-assisted therapy. I made a
little promise that, if I could be on my own for a few hours at a
time,
I would share the love of my angel dog with other sick people.
After
all, Cissy was the reason I had progressed so well with my
recovery.
I was
enthusiastic about the program and really wanted to participate
in it, but the brochure sat on top of my dresser for about
two weeks before I gathered enough courage to call the number
listed on it for more information. Wrestling with my own self-doubts,
I kept asking myself if the hospital would be willing to
take on and train a person with disabilities, even though I have
a dog
with so much love to share.
On
the day I called the pet therapy program number, I spoke to
the volunteer services coordinator, Debbie, who was so very nice.
She made it easy for me to explain my situation and convey my
desire to be a pet therapy volunteer. Debbie assured me that the
volunteer trainers would be delighted to work with me. She talked
about the qualities they were looking for in a pet therapy team
and explained that the teams were carefully screened to satisfy
the
hospital’s liability insurance requirements.
I
began to feel apprehensive because of my social anxieties and
was anxious about making this big step. Would I remember everything?
Would people like us? The most obedient dog still has a
mind of her own—would I be able to make sure that Cissy followed
all
the rules? Since barking and licking were at the top of the list
of no-nos, I wondered if I could stop Cissy from barking when
she
was happy or from kissing people when she felt they needed it.
As I mulled over my decision, Cissy’s gentle, confident eyes reassured
me. Wordlessly, she conveyed to me that we could do this together,
as a team.
The
volunteers in the pet therapy program were wonderfully caring
with me, and they adored Cissy. The three leaders of the program
helped us with every step in the application and training process.
It usually takes about four months for a dog and handler to be
trained for pet therapy. It took us a lot longer, but we were
diligent,
and I wanted desperately to volunteer. My various disabilities
had
left me with feelings of inadequacy—I needed this chance to give
back to the community and to prove my worth.
I was
trained in hospital codes, procedures, and protocol. Cissy Cissy
had to pass two screenings by at least two volunteer veterinarians,
who assessed her health and emotional and physical abilities.
She took various tests that judged her reaction to loud noises,
slamming doors, having her ears and tail pulled, and encountering
equipment such as wheelchairs and IV poles—anything she
could possibly experience in a hospital environment. Pet therapy
dogs
must remain calm and not nip, bark, or overreact to
situations.
On
our first therapy visit, a volunteer trainer shadowed us. I ended
up having a panic attack, but Cissy was marvelous. She passed
with flying colors, and the patients loved her. My next supervised
visit went more smoothly. As long as I petted Cissy, I was
able to knock on doors and enter patient rooms and converse
with the occupants, mostly about Cissy. One woman wanted
to see Cissy close up, but I didn’t have the physical strength
to hold my dog over the bed. As if she knew what we wanted,
Cissy jumped up on the visitor’s chair. I pushed the chair over
to the bed so that the patient could pet and love Cissy. We were
becoming good at creative teamwork. From that point on, when
we visited the hospital, Cissy jumped on every chair she was
allowed on so that the patient could gain access to her soft,
silky
fur.
The
leaders of the pet therapy program are thrilled with our progress.
They marvel at how well Cissy shares her love with sick people
and the stressed-out medical staff. Nurses and doctors love the
therapy dogs as much as the patients do. As soon as I take the
purple
uniforms that we wear for pet therapy out of the closet, Cissy
becomes animated because she knows she is going to work for a
couple of hours. As she enters the hospital, her tail curves tightly
over her back, and she holds her head high. She is ready to
perform her duty. When we leave the hospital, we are exhausted,
and
naps are in order for both of us. Cissy and I are extremely proud
of our joint effort to give back to the community and help people
deal with sickness.
Cissy
Stays Home
Because
of the incredible bond that Cissy and I have and Mom’s loving
acceptance, we never did give her back. Mom ended up adopting
another American Eskimo dog of her own, whom she named
Missy. She enjoyed her for many years, and after Mom passed
away, Missy, by
then thirteen years of age, came to live with us.
Missy is losing her eyesight, and Cissy walks with her, side by
side,
fur to fur, directing the blind dog wherever she needs to go.
Even
though Cissy sometimes steals Missy’s food, they are the best
of
friends.
Last
summer Cissy developed a reaction to one of her vaccinations,
and
we almost lost her. Suddenly our roles were reversed as I spent
every
second by her side, taking care of her and loving her and praying
for her recovery. She had begun bleeding internally, and to save
her life she was given immediate blood transfusions. Even in her
weakened state, with all she had to endure, her eyes still sought
me
out. Her flowing tail struggled to wave back and forth and showed
me
she was fighting to stay alive. It took a full year for her to return to
good
health.
We
are now back to work in pet therapy on a part-time basis working
in what are called “special units.” This consists of Cissy and
me visiting larger groups of patients and their families in the
chemotherapy
infusion, outpatient surgery, and medical imaging areas.
We don’t have to walk as far and are able to sit down while visiting.
Cissy
will soon be on another leave of absence because the back
left part of her body is not working well. I have been giving
her
supplements, prescriptions, hot baths, and acupuncture and am
hoping things will get right with her again soon.
I
just know that, from heaven, Mom had a hand in Cissy’s earlier
miraculous recovery. From the beginning, Mom always knew
that Cissy was attached to me. As she watched our relationship
grow,
she saw that I loved Cissy with all my heart and instinctively
must
have known that Cissy and I would need each other to survive.
MEDITATION
Cissy
seemed to know intuitively that becoming a therapy dog
would bring joy to both her and Mary. What have similarly
inspired dogs shown you about new directions in
life?
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"This compelling book of true stories about women and their dogs
underscores what many of us have experienced with our own pups, that a special
dog can led to a revelation or shift in perception, setting one on a path of
adventure and self-discovery. In one story, the dog acted as a catalyst for a
complete and much needed change in lifestyle and career, while in another, a
dog’s personality so closely mirrored his humans that she finally saw herself
through her dog and realized her type-A personality kept her inflexible, overly
busy, and grumpy. Her “Aha” epiphany forced her to relax, slow down, and enjoy
the moment, and, amazingly, once she did, so did her dog. Each of the
inspirational stories is followed by a thought-provoking meditation that poses a
question for reflection such as “What dog has been your loyal partner and
spurred you to greatness?” or “Has a special dog left a legacy for you and
others to remember?” Overall, this book is a wonderful reminder that the bond
your forge with your dog is often the catalyst for positive change.
"
