K-9 THERAPIST Remarkable Story of a Dog Who Reached out
	DECEMBER 2004

by Marie St. Pierre (Belgian Malinois)

Ginger, a cute little Doxie, was dying and we couldn’t tell why. A mysterious blood disease was making her lethargic and anemic. She couldn’t walk straight and stumbled a lot. We had to take steps to replace the blood that the little doggy had lost through what turned out to be an autoimmune disease that was dropping her blood count to a dangerously low level.

The situation was made even more tragic by the grim reality that her owner’s husband was also dying. The woman was distraught by the prospect of losing her husband at the same time that she seemed to be losing her little Ginger. She didn’t want the dog to suffer, of course, but she was anxious for us to make any intervention that might lead to Ginger’s recovery. It was a pitiful situation.

I’ve been interested in pets and children for as long as I can remember. We lived in the country so we had pets that found us. I’ve apparently always been happy to play the role of speaking for creatures, animals, and children, who have no voice of their own. My mom told me that from the beginning I was continually dragging around behind me some pet or one of a succession of toddler-size cousins and neighbors.

I’m still loving babies and animals. My cat, Gabby, is a loudmouth, constantly mewling: “Let me out!”
“Let me go here!”
“Let me go there!”
“Feed me!”
“Pay attention to me!”

Gabby can drive me crazy, and has been doing so for the past 14 years since she adopted my children and moved in with us to help me take care of them.

Rescued Becomes Rescuer
My professional life centers on the rescue and care of pets. I rescued my own dog, a big black loving bundle of energy named Mik. He is a five year old 80-pound Labrador hulk that has never yet outgrown his puppy enthusiasms. An unwillingness to act their age is typical of the breed, which is known for behaving like puppies right up to the time that they begin to prepare for death.

Mik has the soul of a physical therapist. Since coming to live with us, he has responded in amazingly appropriate ways to the suffering of other animals I’ve rescued. For example, I once brought home a big yellow Lab named Jake. The dog had come into the veterinary hospital, where I work as a Vet Tech, with a torn rotator cuff. The owners had delayed bringing him in for a month and then finally brought him in to be put down.

Dr. Head-Boutilier, the veterinarian, came into the surgery room and said, “I have a young dog that shouldn’t be destroyed.” We are a learning hospital and Dr. Head-Boutilier had never performed an amputation. We made the decision to go ahead with the rescue. The owners signed the dog over to us, Dr. Head-Boutilier amputated the leg, I paid for the medication, and the dog was turned over to me to bring home for recovery.

When I brought Jake home, Mik, greeted him with guarded interest, sniffing around him with careful curiosity, and examining the suture site with what appeared to be an intelligent interest. Mik could tell that Jake needed rest and so he completely restrained his usual enthusiasms, laid down quietly by Jake’s side in an obvious effort to comfort Jake with his presence, and obviously did his best to provide the patient a quiet environment in which to begin his recovery.

When Jake later walked over to Mik’s bowl, Mik just let him eat, displaying none of the defensive behavior that he would normally have shown.

During the subsequent days Mik always watched us carefully whenever we were anywhere near Jake clearly trying to ensure that we weren’t about to do anything clumsy that would harm his vulnerable patient.

After three days Mik prompted Jake to get up and to begin moving around. He would walk slowly and carefully by Jake’s side, but after a day or two began to encourage his charge to walk a little more quickly. He would drop his ball in front of Jake’s nose, for example, encouraging him to get up and begin exercising.

I watched in amazement as my dog demonstrated that he knew exactly what Jake needed at every point in his recovery. He knew when Jake needed to pick up the pace a little. He encouraged him back to health.

It was an awesome thing to observe! I felt during those days that I was in the presence of something beyond my ability to understand.

Eighteen months after Jake left, I brought home another yellow lab, named Max, also with an amputation. As soon as Mik saw the new patient, he started right back in on the routine — lying close to him to comfort him with his presence, sharing his bowl, helping him on walks, and encouraging him to keep trying to increase his strength and mobility.

Speechless, but not Dumb
Some people call them “dumb animals,” but I won’t use that term. My daughter, Jennifer, came to live near us during her pregnancy and to take long daily walks with Mik and me. She and Mik became close friends. Twenty-four hours before she went into labor, that dog began acting in a strange way, walking before Jennifer wherever she went, and circling her. Mik knew what was going on; he knew that Jennifer’s time had come.

So, when little Ginger, the Doxie I spoke of at the beginning of the article, was dying, the doctor asked me if I could pick up my dog for a blood transfusion. I brought Mik to the hospital. We took 250 milliliters of mixed blood from Mik and put it through an IV into Ginger’s foreleg in a slow drip. Ginger was still lethargic but after two hours her blood count had increased and the following day the count continued to climb.

I saw Ginger a few weeks ago. Her blood count was normal and her body is now producing its own red blood cells. Just about the time we knew that Ginger was going to recover, her owner’s husband passed away. Ginger’s owner was able to resign herself to the fact that the two important companions in her life did not leave her at the same time.

Of course, Mik never knew why we were taking blood from him that day, but I can’t help believing absolutely that if he had known what we were doing, he would have wholeheartedly agreed to the procedure.

Animals aren’t human, but they certainly have personalities with likes, dislikes, and a bewildering variety of behaviors and skills.

Mik is a loving, selfless, joy-filled creature whose example I sometimes would do good to follow. He loves me and the other beings in his life without reservation or condition.

I’m happy to spend my professional life in the service of these four-legged friends who seem to find many ways of serving us and even, as with Mik and the needy dogs who come into his life, sometimes finding ways of serving one another.