Robotic pets offer comfort for seniors
At 91, Emma Cantu has found a new reason to love — a little butterscotch-colored pup named Daisy.
In the skilled-nursing center of Longwood’s Village on the Green retirement community, Daisy curls up with her “mom” as they nap. She rides in Cantu’s lap as the two roll down the hall in a wheelchair. And she lets out a chirping bark or wags her tail whenever she is petted.
“She needs a haircut,” Cantu says, stroking Daisy’s fur. “I just adore her.”
But Daisy isn’t real. She’s a battery-powered, sensor-equipped, head-swiveling, heart-vibrating robot.
Cantu and other residents of the center suffer cognitive impairment — including Alzheimer’s disease — that affects their
memory and ability to communicate. Yet the robotic pets, introduced six months ago, seem to have sparked a level of emotional connection that few other things do, observers say.
“It has made a world of difference in their lives,” says Susan Singer, the center’s director of social work. “For the residents who experience sun-downing — which is agitation in the late afternoon or evening — the pets soothe them. They talk to them. They give them a name … and it kind of gives them somebody to take care of so they have a sense of purpose.”
By most accounts, robotic pets date to 1999 with Sony’s introduction of AIBO, the Artificial Intelligence (ro)Bot, but early models were strictly for entertainment and only vaguely dog-like. Since then, increasingly sophisticated robotic pets have been used in New Zealand, Japan, parts of Europe and, most recently, the United States, where they are slowly gaining acceptance among caregivers for elderly dementia patients.
Brookdale Senior Living Solutions, which has facilities throughout Central Florida, has embraced the concept for residents in some of its memory-care programs. Other providers use a robotic — and fuzzy — harp seal pup, which looks around and makes small noises.
Though still toy-like in appearance, the robotic pets sound and move accurately enough to give a sense of familiarity and companionship to people whose own reality has ebbed away. Many of the dementia patients interact with the robotic pets as if they were real.
“Their lives are only about what is happening in the moment,” says Y. Gail Wattley, the health center administrator at Village on the Green. “One of the [robotic pets] had its battery run out, and the resident thought her dog was sick. So we said, ‘Oh, let us take him to the vet,’ and we took him and exchanged the batteries, and then when he came back he was well. And she was very happy about that.”
Lifespace Communities, which owns and operates Village on the Green and 11 other senior living communities, has become a “big believer” in the benefits of the artificial pets, says Ann Walsh, senior vice president of operations. The company’s charitable foundation has spent tens of thousands of dollars to buy them for residents in the company’s memory-care programs.
“It has just been amazing,” Walsh says. “You see the residents calm down, you see them light up, you see them interact and you listen to them talk about memories of past pets. It just makes them feel good.”
Melissa Gale Da Costa, the director of nursing at Village on the Green, puts it more succinctly. “It’s love,” she says. “They just honestly love them.”
Even residents who realize the pets are inanimate mostly find them entertaining. But the biggest appeal is to those who once had real pets of their own.
“I think it’s brilliant,” says Marsha Lorenz, president and CEO of Seniors First, an Orange County nonprofit agency that helps the elderly. “It’s a very creative solution that helps ease agitation and connects to positive memories. It’s better than medication — and there’s no litter box.”
The model Lifespace uses is Hasbro’s Joy for All Companion Pet, which the company says is designed for ages 5 to 105. The cats retail for $99.99, the dogs for $119.99 — though the cats come with a choice of fur color and have more complex motions, including rolling on their backs and appearing to lick their paws.
“The movements and the sound actually mimic reallife cats, with the purring and meowing and even grooming,” says Walsh, a cat owner herself.
Both dogs and cats become dormant when they sense no touch, sound or movement.
The residents can choose which version they want — canine or feline — and are given grooming brushes, collars and tags.
Kathleen “Kitty” Alexander, 91, naturally chose a cat. “You’re so pretty. You are so pretty. Yes, you are,” she says, stroking the robotic cat she named Puss-Kitten. The cat rolls over on its back, purring. “Yeah, that was a pretty belly.”
The facility once had three actual dogs — Labrador retrievers — that were there most weekdays, and it still allows relatives to bring in the family dog or cat for a few hours at a time. There are also occasional visits from a miniature horse and various therapy pets. But staff members say the real thing wasn’t as captivating to the residents as the robots — and the robots come without veterinary bills, pet allergens or cat fights.
Research on the subject is still scant. The few studies to date seem to confirm only that robotic pets tend to ease loneliness and depression on a scale roughly equivalent to real animals.
But for Esther Vassar, the 72-year-old chairwoman of the community’s Foundation Advisory Committee, no scientific inquiry is necessary. After 48 years in academia, business and ultimately the Obama administration, Vassar retired to Village on the Green and was one of the first supporters of pairing memory-impaired residents with the robotic pets.
“We did a test of how people would react … and I think it has really made a difference,” she says. “And if someday I come over here [to the memory care center], I just want them to give me an animal… and remind me what I named it.”