I didn' t realize how loved Holly was， though， until I missed two days of work with strep throat. When I called in sick the first day， expecting a touch of sympathy， I was immediately asked if that meant Holly would have to stay home， too. The second day， I was seriously asked if I could at least send Holly to work in a cab. Apparently， the teachers were tired of answering the question，"Is Holly working today？"
One morning before school， nine-year-old LeMar， a third-grader who visited Holly regularly， was shot and killed in a domestic dispute. His classmates learned of the tragedy while they were still on the school bus， and by the time they arrived at school， they were terrified and in tears.
I hurried to LeMar' s home classroom， Holly trailing behind me. LeMar' s teacher stood there with tears streaming down her face. "My degree didn' t prepare me to handle something like this，" she sobbed. I mustered all my sources and expertise to come up with the right words to soothe them.
"Crying is okay for adults and children，" I began， "especially when something like this happens." Still seeing the pain on their faces， I continued to tell them that it was okay to be scared， that fear is a natural response. For a while， we talked about how we would miss LeMar. It was at this point that I realized what Holly was doing.
She was working her way around the room， going from child to child—and the teacher—putting her front paws on their laps and stretching up to lick the tears from their faces. Unconsciously， the children hugged her back， running their fingers through her fur with such intensity that she would have gone bald if they' d done it all day. She called no significant attention to herself， but quietly expressed love and consolation. She diligently kept up her silent comfort throughout that long， difficult day.
As I slid into the front seat of my car that afternoon， I leaned back， exhausted from the emotional trauma. I just wanted to be home. Glancing briefly into the backseat， I was surprised to see that Holly had already fallen asleep. She was just as drained as I was， if not more so， and， not for the first time， I felt a pang of guilt. Was a fair to ask my dog to take on the emotional responsibilities of troubled children？Shouldn' t she be allowed to stay home and enjoy the carefree life of a house pet？