The Critter Lady

2009-10-21

Today, I met the Critter Lady. She was not what her e-mail moniker might imply. Tall, rugged, embracing, convincing, the critter lady is Kathy Wilson. By all accounts, she is the physical education teacher at Locust Corner Elementary School in Clermont County. But to the students, the faculty and the principal, she is the critter lady, or, as noted when one signs in to the school visitor list, the dog lady.

The juxtaposition of the word dog next lady seems ironic and yet, for the past five years, she has nurtured the reading habits and raised the reading level of the very young within her school, all because of a dog named Gator. Kathy first learned of reading dogs (R.E.A.D.) through her work in agility circles. Though Furby, her papillon, was nationally ranked in agility, it was Gator who was Kathy’s first therapy dog in the school.

Locust Corner in eastern Cincnnati was originally known as Pleasant Hill because of the peacefulness of this hilly point in Pierce Township. The community was laid out from the farm of Benjamin Ricker, who settled here shortly after 1830. The still unincorporated community received its present name when the local post office was established in June 1846. The name might have referred to numerous locust trees in the area. Most children in this area have dogs, as evidenced by their constant comparisons of Kathy’s dogs to their own.

But Kathy’s dogs were different. Not because of breed, but because they were certified as therapy dogs, designed to support certain environments to which individuals might alter their behavior because of the presence of the dogs. The dogs would help those learning to read or needing to focus.
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She kicked off a reading program with six first-graders kids in an after school format. “Six kids,” she tells me, “who never would have stayed after school for anything.” Being with the dogs became a means of reward throughout the day for the children, and still is. It is similar to my young neighbor girls who come and walk my dog, just for the fun it. (I think it’s because he is cuter than the rest!). And when I return the favor by paying them 50 cents, they insist they do not want payment. (They accept the coins anyhow).

As we stride down the hall, Kathy continues on, “When we first started the program the kids were all reading below their grade level. After a year and half, they all were reading at or above their level.”

The program works like this: kids love dogs for their warm heartedness and soft fur. Dogs love kids for the food always left under nails or between fingers (or in the case of my son when in preschool, on his sleeve). Put the two together in a room, ensuring that one of them is trained (the dog) and you will have the magic formula to encourage children to read aloud, regardless of the overprotective eye of an adult, without worries over stumbling while reading in front of their peers.

Kathy escorted two children – “Jack” and “Hally” into a small room, off the open library area. She also carried along Furby, the pappilion, and walked alongside Betsy (part mutt, part retriever) and Gator – part lab. As we walked, she discussed her passion and joy for this program.

“We now have ten dogs who are therapy dogs that come in an read with the children. All are certified at some level through the Delta pilot program or therapy dog international certification.”

I was there because my puppy Enzo, who last chewed on a bra and barks at the wind, had me thinking he might make a good therapy dog, in that he loves to be in someone’s lap. He will soak luxuriously in your affection, and you will forget about your troubles for the day.

Gator, Betsy and Furby are celebrities in this school and when they trot down the hall, or prance into the administrative office looking for treats, it is as if the Jonas Brothers, Jay-Z and Miley Cyrus have stepped out of a limo and into the limelight of Locust Elementary. The children all vie for the attention of the dogs and the adults vie for adoration they may not get from their students that day.

After we enter into a small reading room, Kathy lays down a blue blanket and Gator and Betsy instantly know to recline on it. Furby gets to sit on her owner’s lap on a soft fluffy pad. Furby’s ears pop up at the mention of her name, raised like furry wedge-like antennas, alert to names, treats and even to the voice of Hally. Jack reads first. He reads upside down, like a teacher might. He intersperses his actual reading with a commentary on Gator. “Gator is laying his head in my lap.” When Jack reads a story about a skunk, Gator moves his snout into the belly of black Betsy. And we all joke, “Gator must not like the smell of skunk.” Throughout his reading, Jack appears content to show Gator the pictures from his story books. And when he is engaged in the reading of the words, Jack’s one hand is still conveniently placed on Gator, rubbing his belly, petting Gator’s fur down her back.

When it is Hally’s turn to read, she takes a more simplified approach. But her intentions are no less pure. She too turns the book around to show the pictures to Furby in the lap of her owner. And Furby’s eyes are responsive. Furby, of the spaniel family, reminds me a lot of Enzo in how curious she appears. And when Hally reads the story, “Who can go for a ride,” ears on all three dogs raise up in anticipation of a real ride. They immediately settle back down when they realize it is only a story. They are tired but still alert, having spent the previous hour with another adult, acting as therapy vessel to another room full of children. “We all love being read to,” a wise writing sister of mine once wrote. Dogs are no different.

Kathy and I chat after the children leave. “When kids with ADD come into this room and spot the dog, boom, they immediately calm down.” This focus, this singular focus is astounding when one considers the meaning behind the acronym ADD.

She lets me lead Gator (who really leads me) as we pass down the hallway and enter into Kathy’s other realm, her Phys. Ed. office. Inside, each dog has its pad, water, and even a window, for daylight. Food supplies are ample. Fresh air and the sounds of children on the playground stream in on this balmy October day. The dogs often spend their entire day here in service to the many children whose only desire is to read.

Kathy is proud of this program in a way that is not boastful. She puts down the leashes, leaves the dogs behind closed doors. We reenter the main hallway to peruse the large bulletin board outside the office, looking at the other dogs. A beautiful black lab. A springer spaniel – too many dogs and faces for me to recall their names all in one visit.

I tell Kathy, “My son, as with my stepdaughters were quick studies in reading.” I cannot imagine the burden on the parent with a child who refuses to read, regardless of whether they are being pushed or not. I used to be a reading tutor in the classrooms, when my son was much younger. And I enjoyed a child’s satisfaction that came from a book well read. Perhaps school funders should look more closely at this innovative way to educate children that are on the edge.

In two nights, Locust Elementary will host the first of three literacy nights for the school, each at a different grade level. Parents and children will come into school together. Parents will hear all about the types of reading learning that is taking place within the school walls. Children will get to show off their new friends in Gator, Betsy and Furby and pals. And the dogs, well, they will simply be happy to be back at school, for that is where they feel most at home.

A List

A teenager’s tattered bra, polka dot on the inside, pink on the out.

Also, her underwear

because she leaves it on the floor, and says, it’s a long walk

to the washer, out her room, down two flights, and into

the Chinese lantern orange laundry room.

Blue crocs, pock-marked, invaluable to the part-time gardener.

Used often in place of running shoes for young boy’s football games

despite mother’s protestations about twisted ankles.

Indestructible, plastic, yet still palatable.

Golden fringe torn away from the ten-year-old Oriental rug,

First purchased for the new house, kept feet warm when answering the front door,

faded by summer sun and cool winter light.

Once a place to play and rest for toddlers,

Now His instead.

Heliobores, planted only last fall

because the nurseryman in the paper said so.

One of three plants took a hit. Tattered leaves litter the patio tile.

Deer-resistant is not the same as dog-resistant.

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Spaghetti strands, not yet cooked, that never made it to the boiling pot

crunch underfoot. He springs on the fragments of dried wheat.

It is pasta and he is

named after an Italian, how bad can it be?

Feces of geese, green goo smeared across his tan-white face,

which also sports a look of delirium.

Though scrubbed clean, toxic green residue still forms a ring -

a moustache around his mouth.

Little losses,

bites of life.

Enzo as Therapy

Within the first months of being Enzo’s owner, my trainer had suggested Enzo might make a great therapy dog. I blew off the notion, knowing that the only one who should be participating in therapy was me. Weeks later, while browsing through books at the local Symmes Township Library, I noticed a sign accompanied by a picture of a dog looking quite similar to Enzo. The Cavalier King Charles’ name was Houdini, and Houdini routinely appeared at the library every Saturday from 10-11 a.m. to read with children ages 5-7.

I furthered considered the notion of Enzo – a reading dog. Not that he was going to read Where the Wild Things Are to any preschooler, but it had been proven that dogs with a benevolent, loving, but not too obnoxious nature, were given over to being perfect vessels for children for whom reading was a struggle, either through language development, nervousness or anxiety.

I began my Internet research on this topic and found an organization called R.E.A.D. whose mission is to improve the literacy skills of children through the assistance of registered therapy teams as literacy mentors.

R.E.A.D. stands for Reading Education Assistance Dogs. The R.e.a.d. program improves children’s reading and communication skills by employing a powerful method: reading to a dog. R.E.A.D. dogs are registered therapy animals who volunteer with their owner/handlers as a team, going to schools, libraries and many other settings as reading companions for children.

Dogs are ideal reading companions because they are not judgmental, at least mine is not, as long as I am feeding him his bananas in the morning, alongside his cardboard puppy chow. It is also clear that Enzo is not judgmental in that he will chew on ANY shoe, not just those belonging to my son Davis, whose footwear is optimum because his shoes have crossed many backyards, and his feet stink as if he never showered.

Last week, I visited my aging parents and took my dog along. My parents had been first to accompany me to the breeder’s home when I had gone in search of a puppy and found Enzo. At the time, there was also a runt in the litter, who had the nickname of Tiny Tim. My dad held Tiny Tim in his hands for the duration of my visit with the breeder. He could have cared a less about the others. My mother reacted this way too. She felt safe around a puppy being held in one’s hands vs. one jumping up on her lap.

In the end, Enzo became the I one selected, but during the entire drive back to my parent’s home, my mother lamented about not getting a dog. My mother has Alzheimer’s and her forgetfulness is only one reason why now is no longer the time for a dog. But in my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined her allowing the dog to occasionally have an accident on the carpet in the living room, or to chew up one of her door mats. But, since becoming a grandparent, she has changed her tune about what she allows from the grandchildren and a dog is no different. My sister’s dogs, affectionately named, The Fluffers, by their owner, and I.B.D’s (ill-behaved dogs) by the rest of the family are prone to occasionally pooping in the same spot on my mother’s dining room rug, and she simply shrugs it off, grabs a paper towel and plastic bag, and continues on with her chores.

As for my father, he would have loved to own Tiny Tim, who reminded him of the dogs he once owned. Blackie was some coon dog beagle mix and Tiny was part beagle, and part, just cute puppy. They were his hunting dogs, and served him well. The dogs survived until the first year of my parent’s marriage. After that, dogs took a backseat to children, and never became part of the equation. The only other pets allowed were bunnies, hamsters and gerbils. Not even fish. Of course, Subaru, our beloved but stubborn goldfish, still lives, after five years of intentional abandonment. So, I could see how my parents didn’t want to hang on to anything too long.

When I returned in April to retrieve Enzo from the breeder’s, my parents did not accompany me, but asked me to find out if Tiny Tim was still available. Alas, Tiny Tim was gone. He had moved on to a good home with younger homeowners.

When I arrived home during my most recent trip (funny how I still call Amherst, that house, or visiting my parents “home”), my parents were pleasantly surprised to see Enzo in tow. He too was just as surprised (read “excited”) to see them, and promptly licked my father’s face for a full five minutes. My mother quickly picked up on my falsetto voice calling Enzo, and then giving him a command. Though he rarely listened to her command, he certainly piped up when he heard her call his name.

Once I labeled the stereo buttons for Mom to operate, she began playing her Sinatra records incessantly. Enzo camped out near the stereo speakers for all his naps, lulled into slumber by Fly me to the Moon, and the softness of September in the Rain. It became quite the spectacle for us to listen to him snore away, backside nestled up against the pulsating rhythms coming through the speakers.

He would excitedly greet Mom or Dad when they descended the stairs in the morning, jumping up, waiting to be scratched behind the ears, or, what he loved best, to have his belly rubbed with a brisk motion of a Swedish masseuse.

It was Enzo’s nonjudgmental ways that my parents loved so much, after falling prey to their children’s criticizing their parents for a house move they should have made long ago, or for paying off the bills of my imprisoned sister while risking their own credit. Either way, Enzo would not condemn them for their actions, only condone what they believed to be the best decisions at that time, to protect themselves or maintain their dignity.

As I rolled on the floor with Enzo, my father remarked, “He’s a good dog, and he’s been good for you too.” And for once, I agree that my father is right. Enzo had been my outlet too, when I needed to see simplicity in life. He had been my companion, when I needed to walk outside and play among the leaves. He had been my therapy for such a low, low price. And to boot, we could share the couch.

I will have to wait until Enzo is one year old before registering him, or at least having his temperament and training tested, to determine if he can actually fulfill the role of certified therapy dog. But I wonder, Do dogs have a purpose, a vocation? Do we train them for this, or are they born into it? I have these burning questions about Enzo, the same ones I have for myself.

I could be one of those people who project on their dog all day. But the three days with my parents were not a projection of any thing other a simple healing from hurting hearts.