The Warrior Healer

(Don't miss the update at the bottom of this page!)

Soft Fur for Hard Times: A Sheltie Serves Her Country

by Chris

“I’d like to pet her,” the young soldier said quietly.  His father, keeping vigil by his son’s hospital bed, winced slightly.  The hand that reached out was missing several fingers; those that remained were held in place by dark stitches and several large metal pins.  “Would that be ok?”  “Sure,” I replied, holding my Shetland Sheepdog Layla closer.  “She’d love it.  Layla doesn’t care how many fingers you have as long as the ones you have are petting her.”  As he stroked the gleaming sable coat, he smiled.  “She’s soft,” he murmured.  There hadn’t much softness in his life, not since an improvised explosive device left him shattered on an Iraqi highway.  And I thought for the fiftieth time how privileged Layla and I were to be a therapy team at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, something we’d worked toward for more than a year.  My thoughts returned to the very first time I saw my furry partner…

“This is the puppy I’ve selected for you.  We call her Boo Boo because of these two white spots; they disqualify her from the show ring.”  With those words, veteran breeder Alexandra Luhrs placed a curious ball of fur into my arms.  During the four hours it took to drive to Norwood Kennels in Benton, Pennsylvania – indeed, for days leading up to the trip – I had been picturing this meeting.  Now my face was buried in the mouse-colored fuzz that would someday be showy sable-and-white Sheltie.  “Her name is Layla now,” I murmured, inhaling that intoxicating scent of six-week old puppy.  “She’s going to be a therapy dog.” 

That was in January of 2006.  Now, almost two years later, I watch with pride and respect as Layla follows the career path I chose for her that snowy winter day.  Rain or shine, sleet or hail, Layla and I wend our way through the zany Washington D.C. traffic to Walter Reed, where she serves as a therapy dog to wounded warriors and their families.  We’re part of People, Animals, Love, a D.C.-based therapy dog organization whose 300-plus members serve 19 venues in the greater metropolitan area.  Along with 20 other PAL teams, we visit every ward that needs us: Ortho, Neuro, Pedes, Cardio and Psych.  We stop in at Physical Therapy, where Layla hops up on the low mat tables where remaining limbs grow stronger, and stop by Occupational Therapy, where the very act of petting a dog is another step toward healing. 

Many of the soldiers’ families are there – dads and moms, wives and husbands, children playing beside the bed: “Daddy, look, the doggie’s here to see you!”  I recall one gallant Soldier who’d lost her right leg below the knee.  She propelled her wheelchair right over and asked to hold Layla.  “I’ve got dogs at home – I really miss ‘em,” she explained as she snuggled Layla.  “But I’ll see ‘em soon.  And after I’ve been home for a while, I’ll be going back to duty – takes more than a grenade to stop me!”

Saturdays we visit Mologne House, a hotel where outpatient wounded can live with their families.  The lobby fills with folks playing with the therapy dogs, as Layla is joined by her pals Cordymay the Bernese Mountain dog, Hank the German Shepherd, Astro the sleek black Lab mix, and many other equally wonderful dogs.  Here Layla and I met Brian and Emily Florence from Louisville, Kentucky, a gallant young couple facing Brian’s devastating wounds with great fortitude and courage.  Hugging Layla closely, Brian whispered confidentially, “She my favorite!”

Layla will tell you that therapy work is incredibly demanding on the dog.  Each patient she meets needs her warmth and energy, and Layla simply doesn’t know how to hold back.  Quiet and reserved by nature, she nevertheless curls up beside them, often choosing to lie beside the stump of an arm or leg.  When four or five toddlers – children of Soldiers -- mob her in the lobby, she stands perfectly still so as not to frighten the shy ones.  Little hands ruffle her fur backwards, tug at her ears and pat her with varying degrees of gentleness.  She never licks or jumps, but stands serenely amidst all that giggling love.

But it’s in the Psychiatric Ward where she shines.  From the moment the PAL dogs trundle in, somber faces start to smile again, and in a few minutes, those warriors who have been wounded in mind are just kids again, playing with dogs.  Layla’s specialty is curling up in a lap to be snuggled; she knows these young people need somebody safe to hug.

By the time we reach home, Layla is exhausted, as are most of the PAL dogs.  For two hours, they’ve given everything they have to make one day just a little bit brighter for those who serve America and have paid so high a price.  I gaze at her as she sleeps, thanking the Heavens for the honor of helping one little Sheltie serve her country.

(Chris L. teaches at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces, National Defense University in Washington DC.  She has a Doctor of Education and is a Professor of Behavioral Science and teaches Strategic Leadership.  Layla and Chris live in Northern Virginia.)

UPDATE: Recently Chris sent me an email. I just had to let you know a little of what she said:

Layla continues with her work at Walter Reed.  A few weeks back, we went to their new rehab center.  A young man was learning to walk with his new prosthetic leg.  He was in a harness attached to an overhead track.  As he walked the big oval, if he fell, the harness would catch him and he could pull himself straight by pulling on the harness ropes.  Well, he was trudging along, and I handed him Layla's leash, saying, "Here -- try walking a dog!"  He was delighted, and because he was focusing on the dog, the walking became much more natural.