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TwitThisA Simple Act of Kindness
We spent the rest of our hour at Country Villa meeting residents like Dahlia, who accepted Ella's kisses on her hands as though they were a magic arthritis balm. We met Leonard, who was so overjoyed by the visit that he broke into silent sobs. Finally we met Johnny, a man in his 40s who, a nurse confided, was "not doing very well." He had cirrhosis of the liver, she said. His entire body, tucked into the bed, was not much larger than Ella's.I looked to Ella to steel my nerves. "Hello, Johnny," I said. "This is my dog, Ella. Would you like to meet her?"
He screwed up his brow, apparently in great pain.
"Johnny loves dogs," said the nurse, stroking his bony shoulders.
I positioned Ella beside the bed. "Would you like to pet her, Johnny?" I said. "She loves being petted."
Johnny nodded slowly. He said something I couldn't understand.
"He has some trouble moving his hands," the nurse explained.
I remembered a technique employed by highly experienced animal-assisted therapy teams. Though it was still our first day, I knew Ella could do it and that somehow she'd be happy to meet the challenge.
"If you like," I said to Johnny and his nurse, "Ella can get in bed."
"Oh, well!" the nurse exclaimed. "Would you like that, Johnny?"
He nodded slowly.
"Okay, sure," the nurse told me.
I traced my hands over the sheets, feeling the outline of Johnny's thin frame underneath the fabric, clearly delineating where his legs and torso stopped and where open space began. I led Ella to the foot of the bed, keeping one of my arms between her and Johnny. "Okay, Ella," I said, tapping the mattress. "Up!"
In one powerful bound, she leaped onto the bed.
At home, when Ella comes onto my bed, she normally circles herself two or three times, making a nest among the comforter and blanket. On this day, somehow sensing the delicacy of the circumstances, she reclined immediately, directly at Johnny's side.
"What a good girl," I told her.
And then, without my bidding, Ella gently placed her muzzle across Johnny's torso, beside his hands. His brow unfurled momentarily and he stroked her neck with his knuckles and wrists. Ella sighed.
"Do you like that, Johnny?" the nurse said. Johnny nodded and closed his eyes, resting his hands on Ella's warm fur. A certain peace enveloped him, and his breath seemed to slow.
The nurse and I watched them rest together. At that moment, I felt like a very proud papa.
When it was time to go, I asked Ella to stand straight up, and then, cradling her, I carefully lifted her to the ground, where she gave a prodigious full-body waggle. "Goodbye, Johnny," I said, knowing this would probably be the last time I saw him. "I'm very glad we got to visit with you."
Johnny took a few labored breaths and said, "Thank you."
After we'd said our farewells to the residents of Country Villa and gotten back to the parking lot, I threw my arms around Ella. I let myself cry. I removed Ella's vest and collar and told her, "You were great today, old lady."
She licked my chin and wagged her tail. I think she knew she'd done what my Jewish grandmother used to call a mitzvah, a simple act of kindness -- even if Ella couldn't define in human language just what the word meant.
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