寵物治療 An Extra Ten Minutes
佚名/Anonymous
On Monday afternoons at two o‘clock, Beau and I would arrive at the Silver Spring Convalescent Center on Milwaukee’s northeast side of town for an hour of pet therapy with the seniors who lived there. We‘d walk the hallways greeting everyone on our way to the hospitality room, where residents would come to pet Beau and bask in the adoration of this beautiful, happy, ten-year-old, ninety-nine-pound Doberman pinscher. You’d never know this was the same dog that arrived at my doorstep eight years earlier so beaten, scarred and scared that as soon as he made eye contact with you, hed lie down on his back with his feet up in the air and pee until you petted and soothed him into feeling safe.
On our first visit, as we walked through the canary-yellow Hallway One, I heard an elderly mans excited voice, thick with a German accent, streaming out of room 112.“Ma, Ma, the German dog is here！The German dog is here！”
No sooner did I hear the voice than a wrinkle-faced, six-foot-tall, white-haired pogo stick of a man was greeting us at the door, swooping his big, open hand and strong arm across the doorway, inviting us in，“Im Charlie. This is my wife, Emma. Come in, come in.”
When Beau heard Charlies friendly, enthusiastic voice, his entire body went into his customary wagging frenzy and lean against your thigh position, waiting for a petting, which was immediately forthcoming from Charlie. As we walked into the room, a frail but lively eighty, violet-haired Emma sat in bed, smiling, patting her hand on the bed. All she had to do was pat once, and Beau, leashed and always obedient, was up on the bed lying down beside her, licking her face. Her eyes were full of tears as Charlie told us that he and Emma had immigrated to the United States from Germany during World War II and had to leave their beloved Doberman, Max, behind. Max, according to Charlie, was the spitting image of Beau.