My Therapy Dog, Taylor

I remember most of my life wanting a dog.  Unfortunately, it just didn't happen within my family, mainly because my mother ended up being the only one taking care of it, the one or two times we tried having a dog.  I now understand, but at the time I thought is was the most unfair thing in the world.

I recovered from that atrocity and, within one year of owning a house with a fenced yard, I was the proud caregiver to my black Labrador, Taylor.  I could hardly contain the excitement and wanted to be with him every moment of his day.  Notice how big his paws are and, yes, his body did grow into those massive paws.

Taylor enjoyed many years being a therapy dog and we learned that therapy dogs can influence lives in many different ways.  Taylor had an aversion to textured floors, which limited where we could go to do therapy.  He refused to step on tiled floors, which created true comedic moments when tile appeared in front of us.  Our friend, Jen, was a Recreational Therapist at a local center and figured out that we could work with her residents outside, away from the evil tile.  Her residents would line up along the patio and take turns throwing Taylor's ball onto the grassy lawn.  He would joyfully retrieve his ball and bring it back for more.  There was a funny moment when Taylor noticed a ball, just like his, on one of the resident's walkers.  He was adamant about rescuing that ball and making it one of his own.  We spent many, many happy times with those residents. 

One resident in particular, Helen, loved Taylor so much that, when Helen passed, both Taylor and I were asked to go to her funeral.  It was great to meet Helen's family and learn that Taylor had made a difference in Helen's life.  This is a photo from one of those days when Helen didn't want to let anyone else throw the ball to Taylor.  We missed her after she was gone.