Paws and Effect

A quick search on Google shows over 2.8 million hits for the term 'dogs heal.' Dogs can detect impending epileptic seizures, lead the blind, help soldiers with PTSD, lower blood pressure, give some a reason to live. A Japanese study found pet owners made 30 percent fewer visits to doctors.

As a chiropractor, I am not terribly enthusiastic about that last statement. However, I know my dogs have helped people heal. People come to be treated, and often carry terrible stress or immense anger. Their faces will be drawn and pinched, tense with worry. Or they'll be hunched over in pain.

The dogs will hurry out to greet the latest arrival, ears up, tails wagging, and smiling. The person will immediately bend over or squat down to say hello, ruffling the pups' fur and scratching them behind the ears. Within 30 seconds, the tenseness of their faces and posture will begin to relax. Within two or three minutes, their entire demeanor changes. It is as if each person has shed tremendous weight. I always watch for the internal, relaxing sigh.

Dogs are as capable of healing as the very best of doctors.

One practice member in particular adores the dogs. She's an agoraphobic. J had health problems, and her middle-aged daughter had found out about a chiropractor in town who does house calls. That would be me.

The daughter called, and hinted at J's 'retiring character.' J is so retiring she hadn't left her Cayuga Heights home in over 15 years. She has groceries and supplies delivered, does all of her shopping on-line, and has a mint vintage Mercedes in the garage. The car, over 20 years old, barely has 10K miles on the odo.

"J has to call me herself. If she needs help, she has to actually buy into being treated, and the first step to that is to speak with me directly."

A month goes by. J calls; we schedule an appointment.

A day later, J calls, & leaves a message. "I'll have to reschedule."

Another month passes. J calls; we schedule an appointment.

A day later... yep, she calls. Yep, same message.

This pattern repeated itself two or three more times. The last time, I lay down the law. "If you cancel this time, please do not call to reschedule. I'll refer you to another doctor."

The Day arrives. I am prompt. J takes a long time to open the door, but she does, indeed, open the door. Her house is immaculate. Everything is just so. Obsessively, compulsively so.

The first visit is brief. J was clearly uncomfortable, and I opt for discretion. I take a short history, and we arrange another appointment.

The second appointment: we discuss her issues, and somehow I twig onto the fact she loves animals. Not just 'loves animals' but LOVES animals. "They're so giving! They're so majestic! They're so genuine! They're so loyal! They're so beautiful! They're so trustworthy!" That's the Cliff Notes version of her effusiveness.

Well, thinks I, good thing I have dogs!

So I talk about my dogs. Tell her how they were rescued, and what they're like now. She wanted details, details, and more details. J will not get a pet of her own. Animals need vet care, dogs need walks. She'd have to go out, or have strangers in. Both are concepts that are located with Pluto-like distance relative to her comfort zone.

I treated J several times at her house before she asked: 'Will you bring your dogs with you?'

I agree.

The next 'appointment' was all about the dogs. She'd ordered special treats, had asked me to bring brushes, and was clearly over the moon about my polite, well mannered, friendly pooches. As we left, she begged me to bring them back.

Making house calls with dogs, however, is difficult. It can't be too hot, it can't be too cold, there has to be shade, they have to have water. I have to stop to let them out to stretch their legs. I've got equipment that I have to schlep in and out of the station wagon, and after the dogs are settled, there's not much room for it.

So I offer her the ability to come to me. "Oh! I couldn't do that!" was her knee-jerk response.

'Sure you can! The dogs will love to see you again!' And so, the seed was planted.

Each time I treated her, she asked about The Big Guy and The Little Princess. 'Will you pu-leeeeze bring them next time?'

'Come to us! They'll be thrilled to see you.'

She schedules an appointment -- she's coming to us!

A day later: she calls. 'I'll have to reschedule.'

Same pattern. After 3 postponements, I again play the ogre. 'If you reschedule again, I'll have to refer you to another doctor.'

She commits. We have an elaborate plan. She'll come, but only if she's the only one there 'with the dogs.' I agree. I'll call her when the last patient leaves.

I do. 'Everyone's gone. It's just me and the dogs.'

'I know! I'm parked around the corner. I can see your place, and I just saw a car leave! I'll be right there!'

The dogs were happy to see her. Or perhaps they were just happy to see the amazing variety of treats she had brought for them. Whatever it was, my two wonderful, affectionate rescued Akitas inspired this lonely woman to leave her house for the first time in 15 years.

My dogs -- all dogs -- heal.