A Special Gift
 

     As I write this, my special golden is warming my feet. Her registered name is Pekay’s Just Perfect but to all of her friends she is known simply as Murphy.  
     Murphy has a gift for knowing when someone needs her. She will kiss away a child’s tear, become a clown to make you laugh, or let you know of impending danger. Through the years she has continually demonstrated her gift and has had a dramatic impact on many lives.
     One night a few years ago Murphy woke me from a sound sleep by jumping on the bed and pushing her muzzle into my neck. This was very unusual behavior for her. Thinking she needed to go outside, we headed downstairs. As we descended she became more agitated and clearly was trying to communicate something. It did not take me long to find out what she was saying. I had left a candle burning in the dining room. The entire dining room table was ablaze and flames were reaching to the ceiling. I quickly doused the fire and sat down to collect myself. Within seconds, in typical golden fashion, Murphy’s head was on my lap with that “I love you” look in her eyes. Thanks to Murphy, what could have been a devastating loss was only cosmetic damage.
     Murphy has many friends at the school where I am the Administrator. She comes to work with me each day and it is unusual to see without my sidekick. In fact, if I am ever seen without her, the typical greeting of, “Hi Ms. Jo!” is replaced with, “Where is Murphy?” She joins me in the classrooms as we teach the children about proper dog care and carries the bag of AKC Best Friends coloring books to hand out. She is a willing model for the children to practice dog grooming and endures with a smile the indignation of being dressed as “Super Dog” for Halloween.
     If a child enters the main office while Murphy is sleeping beside me, she seems to sense it and will awaken to quietly greet them. On one occasion a young child was laying on the floor crying. Without any hesitation Murphy entered the room and proceeded to lay beside him with her face in line with his. Only the tip of her tail was wagging as if to say, “Come on, it will be alright, lets get up and play.” On another occasion I was meeting with a parent of a child who was blind. The child was sitting on her mother’s lap. Murphy walked to them, sat down, and laid her head in the child’s lap. As the child began to feel Murphy’s face, Murphy raised her face up with her eyes closed. She remained in that position the entire time the child “looked” at Murphy with her hands.
     Murphy and I are a pet therapy team through the Delta Society and although all of our interactions have been rewarding one stands out as particularly special. A child attending our after school program had become a discipline problem. His actions were causing difficulties for the other children and teachers and it appeared he would soon be facing dismissal.
     Murphy and I began visiting the classroom without making it obvious we were focusing our therapy efforts on a particular child. When we arrived it was clear a change had occurred. This child, who was once friendly and happy, was now sullen and angry. He would not look at us and kept his eyes on his shoes. After a couple of visits it did not appear we were making any headway but we continued. As we were leaving our third visit I heard a small voice behind me, “Ms. Jo. May I say goodbye to Murphy?” He then walked to the door, kneeled beside Murphy, put his arms around her neck and began whispering intently into her ear for quite a long time. Murphy sat quietly with a look of concentration on her face as if she were taking in every word. He then stood up, looked me in the eye and said, “I love Murphy. I am going to bring her a bone for her next visit.” I felt tears brimming at my eyes as I told him a bone would be a very nice idea.
     Our subsequent visits included private walks around campus—just Murphy, the child, and myself. He would hold Murphy’s leash or we would sit on a park bench while he brushed her. Our conversations about dogs were interspersed with his insights about his life. I learned that in the last month his mother had moved out of the house, his grandmother had died, and he had moved to a new school. It was no wonder he was feeling angry and sad.
     The therapy sessions soon ended as he adjusted to the changes in his life but months later he would still drag his father into my office on a regular basis to say hello to Murphy—and oh yes, to Ms. Jo also.