Dogs On Duty

An opportunity is spotted in this upbeat short story by Elizabeth Meyer.

Walking Roxy had been Jan’s salvation. Maybe there was a way for her to help other people, too . . .

place in this grand house, Roxy panting gently in the heat.

After quite some time, the girl reappeared, followed by an older woman with blonde bobbed hair.

“I’m sorry, we can’t allow dogs in here unless they’re registered therapy dogs,” she told Jan.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jan said. “The lady in the end room upstairs has been enjoying seeing my dog on

She knew Roxy could be a comfort to others

her walk. I was just a bit concerned as she’s stopped waving at me.

“If she’s still here I thought she might like a visit. Has she been moved, or has anything happened to her?”

“I’m sorry but I can’t possibly give you that information,” the matron said firmly. “Patient confidentiality.”

“Oh, I see. Well, thank you.”

Jan turned and walked Roxy back down the driveway, feeling rather foolish.

She went home and made herself a cup of tea, and gave Roxy her dinner.

She flicked through a magazine and turned on the television, but couldn’t settle.

She kept seeing that arm waving vigorously at her and wishing she had been able to meet its owner.

She thought back to what the matron had said.

“Therapy dogs only.”

Well, how did a dog become a therapy dog?

Jan switched on her computer.

Therapy dogs must be at

she least nine months old,

read. They must be vaccinated, wormed and flea-treated. So far, so good.

They must pass a temperament assessment.

Jan read on to see what this entailed.

She concluded that Roxy would pass every aspect of the assessment apart from walking calmly on a loose lead and taking food treats gently.

Roxy pulled like mad on a lead and snatched at food greedily.

Jan sighed and stroked Roxy’s velvety head. Roxy put her head gently on

Jan’s lap and gave a contented sigh.

Jan smiled.

She was such a comfort to her, and she knew that Roxy could be a comfort to others as well. And Roxy loved meeting people.

Jan turned to the computer again and tapped in dog-training classes.

“You’re going to school, girl,” she told Roxy.

A week later, Jan, Roxy and a handful of other dogs and their owners were running around the village hall.

There was a couple in their thirties with a wildhaired Labradoodle who pulled even more than

Roxy did.

There was a girl in her early twenties with a

French bulldog which was happier in her owner’s arms than on the floor.

There was a brisk woman in a brightly coloured fleece and woolly hat, with a springer spaniel whizzing round in circles.

There was also a man looking embarrassed by his large, exuberant Irish setter who wanted to say hello to everybody.

Jan had forgotten how enjoyable dog training classes were.

She had taken Roxy to puppy classes for the first few months to learn the basics, but then Michael’s illness had taken over everything.

Now, she bonded with the other owners over their dogs’ antics – their inability to walk around a set of cones, or the way they scoffed all the sausages when being led through what was called

“temptation alley“.

And they all joined forces to cheer the little successes, like getting all the dogs to sit and stay at the same time for five long minutes.

It took two terms of fun and increasing friendships until Roxy would finally walk reliably at her side on a slack lead and demonstrate the ability to wait patiently while a treat was placed in front of her and only take it when given permission.

“I think it’s time for your therapy dog assessment,” Jan told Roxy, as they proudly accepted their Kennel Club Good Citizen silver award.

A few weeks later Jan answered her front door to Moira, a smiling woman of a similar age who was wearing a therapy dog sweatshirt.

Roxy politely greeted her with all four paws on the ground.

She gently accepted a treat when it was offered and passed her assessment with flying colours.

Afterwards, Jan made

Moira a cup of tea and they sat down for a chat.

“So what made you want to work Roxy as a therapy dog?” Moira asked.

“Well, we pass a nursing home every day on our walk.

“A while ago, somebody started knocking on their window and waving to us each day.

“I guessed maybe they were lonely and loved dogs, but she disappeared after a couple of weeks.

“It just made me think about being stuck in a place like that and how I would love to have a dog visitor if I was in the same situation . . .” She tailed off as Moira clapped her hand over her mouth in amazement.

“So it was you!” she exclaimed. “My aunt Kath raved to me about the Dalmatian she saw from her window every day when she was staying in the nursing home.

“She had to spend a couple of weeks being looked after when she had a knee replacement.

“She had Dalmatians in her younger days and she enjoyed seeing you and Roxy so much. It just shows how therapeutic pets can be.”

“Your aunt waving prompted me back into training Roxy and meeting some wonderful friends,” Jan said. “She’s the reason I wanted Roxy to be a therapy dog.”

“Well, I think I know who your first visit will be.” Moira smiled. “Aunt Kath will be thrilled to bits to see Roxy again.

“And I can’t think of a more fitting start to Roxy’s new career.”

The End.