Pet Project : Patients Are Making Some New Best Friends in Canine Therapy Program

It’s not too easy for Pat Naylor to speak these days. She is very ill, from way too much smoking. When she talks, she has to cover a hole drilled in her throat.

But this is worth it, definitely worth it.

Why here at the Tustin Rehabilitation Hospital, nobody can recall hearing Pat talk this much, ever. Pat has been in the hospital since August of last year.

“His name is Chato,” she says from her wheelchair. “He’s a little black poodle, 17 years old. He’s blind and he’s deaf, but he’s still maintaining. His back legs aren’t too good though. He’s a cutie. I love him.”

This last part Pat says more slowly, soulfully, smiling just a little as she remembers that little black face, flecked with gray, waiting for her at home.

Then Jenna lumbers up, Jenna with that go-ahead-and-kiss-me mug, and stares up at Pat with this grin .

“Beautiful,” Pat pronounces. Jenna, a yellow Lab, thumps that tail of hers on the ground for a few more rounds.

This is the therapy at work.

Pet Assisted Therapy is the clinical name for the magic at hand. Ignore that. What is going on here is something that anybody can understand. It is about acceptance, kindness and yes, it is about love.

The hands of the ill, the depressed and the quietly frightened go up, as if by instinct, to pet the heads of these canine visitors, all of them attached to volunteers from the Orange County SPCA. Each of the dogs has its own technique for getting the humans to come around.

Paddington, a three-pound Yorkshire terrier, sits on laps. Today he is wearing a blue bow in his fur, which matches the bandanna around his neck. “Adorable” is pretty much the consensus about him.

Winston, a white Westie, and Nessie, a black Scottie, are a common-law couple, with their differences. Nessie is an indiscriminate kisser, for one. Winston tends to play favorites.

“Oh, he really likes you,” Winston’s owner, Genell Csik says to Anthony Distefano, who is adroitly stroking the dog’s face for gentle licks in return.

“I have always, always been a dog lover,” the gentleman says.

Kipa Smith, the hospital’s director of therapeutic recreation, says she thought that it would be a good idea to bring in the SPCA dogs--today is their first visit here--until the hospital can train members of its own staff and their pets.

She says the animal therapy program she started in Austin, Tex., before coming here last fall was a smash.

“I saw amazing things happen there,” she says. “There was one lady in a coma who had golden retrievers before. Well, they brought one in and she woke up.”

And earlier this year, an 11-year-old Connecticut boy went home to his puppy, Rusty, after the chow-collie jarred him awake as he lay in a coma in his hospital bed. Donny Tomei nearly died of a head injury after being hit by a car.

“It really brightened them all up,” Kipa says of the patients today. “Normally, they are very hard to deal with. Most of them in this group are here because of smoking and they’re feeling a lot of anger within . . . .

“Even when I just told them what was going to happen, they lit up. They were more personable than I’ve ever seen them. It gives them a sense of home. It’s that jolt of ‘I’m still a person.’ And there’s that warmth that we can’t give them as easily. It touches them in a way that we can’t. You see their smiles, how their eyes light up. Oh, and look, here comes Ben back again.”

Ben LeBeau, in fact, is wheeling his way down the hall at a rather vigorous speed. He is 45 years old and recovering from a stroke.

“I made it! I made it!” Ben says. “Oh, you’re such a pretty girl,” he is cooing now to Jenna, who accepts it all with a big slurp back.

Ben’s last dog, Caracas, was a Great Dane. He died in 1978.

“I missed him a lot,” Ben says. “I didn’t want another dog after that. I loved him. I used to sleep with him when he was little. My wife kicked us both out to the garage.”

Rita Kanski, 65, has never had a dog. She did have a cat, however, but had to give him up because the two really didn’t get along. No matter. Rita remains a sucker for those of the animal kind.

“This is wonderful,” she says. “They just bring joy to everyone. It gives you a feeling of what’s outside yet.”

Which is the whole idea. There is life outside, there is hope, there is reason to smile. Call it therapy or call it medicine, this is good.

“Oh my gosh!” gushes Margit Clement as she spies the visiting dogs lounging in the hall. “This one looks almost like mine.” Then Margit goes on about her dog and her grandson and just kind of percolates on from there.

“My family wants me to be home very much,” she says. “But the dog, he is going to break down the screen door when he sees me coming back.”

But Jenna, Paddington, Winston and Nessie, they’re used to hearing this kind of thing. They visit nursing homes, hospitals and senior day-care centers about once a month. And even when you’d least expect it, the humans get carried away. These dogs are in demand.

The Orange County SPCA says it is looking for more good dogs, and their owners, to volunteer. They’d like to do more of this kind of therapy. It works.