Hooves, Claws, and Paws

Originally published in TC Dogs in 2006.

I have an animal companion, Raven, who is small and soft, black as coal with button eyes, begs to sit on my lap, gets relaxed and tranquil when soothingly petted, follows me as I walk throughout the house, and comes when I call her. She easily does her range of tricks if she knows her favorite treats are near and verbally carries on, perhaps in protest, when she cannot be with the humans. Raven has inspired, awed, charmed, and delighted others, while also helping to educate and provide opportunities for reflection. More than a pet, she is my business partner because I am a social worker who practices animal-assisted therapy, education, and wellness. Raven helps me work with individuals who desire a unique and fresh perspective on what life has to offer.

As co-founder of the nonprofit MN LINC-Minnesota Linking Individuals, Nature and Critters-I have helped to educate, train, and empower others to recognize many lessons provided to us if we "tune in" to our environment. Because we matured together through time, our affinity to animals and nature is a hardwired, biological need and one I would argue is as critical to our health as eating and sleeping. It is why so many of us share our lives with a dog, remember fondly riding a pony when we were children, and climbed countless trees to do nothing more than sit among the branches as they swayed in the wind.

Sadly, we humans are also facing what author Richard Louv calls "nature-deficit disorder" because so few children-and even adults-maintain a meaningful, daily dialogue with their environmental milieu. People say, "this is the 21st century"...."we no longer need to live like farmers"..."time is money"...and "we have to compete with a global economy." I could provide other equally persuasive arguments for why we humans are as connected to gadgets and gizmos as we once used to be to the flora and fauna. Can life lessons, skills, rewards, and insights be conveyed from machines with the same power and effect as when we learned them from interactions with our environment? As the following examples illustrate, I would argue they cannot.

Mariah and Torie, two of our registered therapy dogs with the Delta Society(r), serve as wonderful ambassadors for MN LINC's work. No matter where we go with them, people will easily approach Torie, a border collie, and will hang back from Mariah, an unknown cross resembling a fighting dog. I have never heard anyone call Mariah "cute and cuddly" upon meeting her, and I have often had to rescue Torie from someone's lap or embrace within the first ten minutes of being in the room.

The assumptions and preconceived notions about both dogs lend to tremendous amounts of learning, no matter if we are training a corporate group, working with a family, or teaching at a school. During MN LINC programs, we point out the metaphorical story that Mariah is a sheep in wolf's clothing and Torie is a wolf in sheep's clothing. I could never leave a piece of food unattended in Torie's presence, yet Mariah would not dream of touching a hamburger belonging to a human, even if she were starving. So how many of us make snap judgments about people and our surroundings without checking them out or taking the time to really learn about all the components? With technology, we don't have to worry about this, do we? What opportunities might we miss because of this shortsightedness?

Animals can easily be a bridge, a connection between humans, and awaken feelings we may have been trying to ignore or discount. Another one of our animal partners is a blond, doe-eyed Norwegian Fjord horse named Viola. When we tell participants that she is 20 years old and has birthed 10 foals, she is seen as a beloved elder whose wise presence resonates with people time and again. A recent adult participant at a "Spirit of Equus" wellness workshop described how Viola helped her feel needed, grounded, and solid. This woman was moved to tears on several occasions because feelings and wishes were tapped, and she left with clarity of purpose and a sense of renewal toward her own relationships. When people are afraid to be near a horse, Viola has remained calm and held a space of peace. When people have needed to cry, she has rested her head in their hands. And when people have needed to find their voice, she becomes a tree in the ground until assertiveness and volume comes forth to help her move forward.

Animals can also be role models, confidants, and "Scared Straight" instructors, especially when working with "at-risk" youth. MN LINC staff might have a certain affinity for working with adolescents, but an animal provides boundless learning opportunities from which we can extrapolate. A young man I will call "Charles" was working with a shepherd-Labrador cross and, every week, insisted that his dog was dumb, out of control, and hopeless. Every week, staff would demonstrate how to get the dog's attention so that training could occur, and every week, the dog would literally walk all over Charles as soon as the leash was exchanged.

Finally after about eight weeks of this frustration, Charles began to make a small connection with the dog. Although I never expected him to share with all of us any personal insights, he revealed something most profound-that working with the dog showed him how adults must feel when they had to work with him and how difficult he made things for people who tried to care for him. The simple brilliance of animal-assisted work is that through novelty or perceived risk, there is just enough interest and motivation established for participants to persevere in ways that they would never tolerate if their "teacher" were human.

Rationally, I attempt to explain these chance encounters and glimmers of awareness that occur when people commune with animals and nature, and so often, I cannot do them linguistic justice. Is it science? Is it magic? Can it be measured or studied? Moreover, do any of us really care if this discipline has not produced convincing statistically significant results?

I reflect on such philosophical questions while attending to Raven, now dozing on my lap and slightly snoring, and I am thankful that she is such a patient partner in my work. I visualize how she provides humor and points of conversation when she runs through the yard, how I see a visible transformation-a softening-in people's faces when they hold her, and how both beings maintain the power of mutual gaze-eye to eye, heart to heart, soul to soul. I recall how many people are surprised at the feelings they experience when in her presence, how their rambling and racing thoughts dissipate, and how powerful it feels to just be in the moment. And I smile knowing than many of you will be surprised to learn that Raven is not a dog-she is a chicken.

 Tanya Welsch is a licensed social worker and co-founder of the nonprofit MN LINC.