Once a heath care or assisted living facility begins receiving visits from the SF/SPCA AAT department on a regular basis, we often hear that the program brings a whole new and welcome feeling to the environment. When we are able to provide weekly visits, we are told that the regularity offers a refreshing continuity. Not one connected to meds or meals or medical procedures, but to joy and fun, respite and relaxation.
       It’s hard to pinpoint an animal’s effect on patients or residents, and it is of course often very different for different people, but in general the animals often seem to represent a part of life that is relaxed and unstrained, an experience for which one need not brace oneself or be in the least bit defended to endure.
       Mood can be cross/specie contagious. A mellow dog with a graceful wag and warm eyes can lure a human to try to go to that place within themselves so as to connect. Likewise if a dog is exuberant and joyful and playful, he can beckon folks to meet him there. No hidden agendas. No fee. Just come and be with me.
       Conversely, an animal often appears to be beckoned to join the human where it is they find them if needed, and to sense the sadness, the situation, to recognize without explanation where the patient is in a somehow deeper way than could another human.
       Non-human animals have honesty in their regard that is above suspicion, while humans may have to strain through their own stress to put on the right face and proper attitude so as to be appropriate and attentive. However the act is rarely convincing if the heart isn’t in it. Animals do not resort to such evasiveness or deception. They are here one hundred per cent with you now. They have no need to conceal any of their judgments, reservations or preoccupations. What you see is what you get . If nothing else, that alone can be a refreshing brake.
       And what goes around comes around. I like to sit back and recall some of the amazing gifts that the folks with whom we visit give to us, and to marvel at the way an animal often times brings us humans together, somehow eliminating a thicket of automatic judgmental skepticism that we may carry with us unconsciously to put between others and ourselves.
       An elderly resident of a rest home seemed heartened to be surprised by a furry visitor and myself recently. After agreeing about the beauty and innocence of animals in general, and of the particular animal in our presence, we felt like we had known each other far longer than the few minutes we had spent together. After some time of silent petting and connecting, she shared some very intimate thoughts with us. I was deeply honored. “I’m ready to go” she said without bitterness. “I’ve had a wonderful life but this old body is shutting down.” She adjusted herself slightly with a brief grimace of pain. There were no obvious traces of depression behind her words. She smiled warmly and said, “To be honest, I look forward to turning the last page at the end of this chapter.”
       Both Mako (the hearing dog student with whom I was doing rounds) and I listened intently. The woman then laughed joyfully at the memory of a cat, Lucy, with whom she shared some years when she lived overseas. “What a character that kitty was!” She recalled, “So much love and so much attitude at the same time.”
       “Well put,” I replied, having had kitties in my life as well.
       Then, unfortunately, the staff contact person informed us of the schedule she had in mind for us, so as to fit our visit in with the routine of the facility.
       It was time to go. All too soon, I thought, but maybe not. Maybe it was enough, maybe it was perfect. I had had a gratifying interlude and I sensed the other two players had done so as well. It was time to turn the page at the end of the chapter.

What Does AAT Mean?
(From 'The Psychological Impact of AAT" The Bond, Vol. 1, No 1)
February 1999

       Animal Assisted Therapy is a short way of saying "the energy between human beings and other animals can be a powerfully joyful interchange and joy is healing." It is freeing for a human to relate to another living creature without feeling the need, consciously or unconsciously, to be defended against the perceived judgement of the other. When an animal responds to the attention of a human, they are saying, "You are here, you are real, you have an effect on me, I am aware of you, I respond to you. A dog kiss says "You're delightful, with this kiss I gleefully and excitedly celebrate you."
       These are affirming messages to anyone under any circumstances, but perhaps even more powerful when offered to a person who may be feeling incomplete or ineffectual, indeed unlovable, due to illness, injury, emotional circumstance, or challenged abilities. When a cat closes her eyes, kneads with her paws, and begins the deep ecstatic hum known as purring, she is saying, 'You are hitting the spot, you are making me feel wonderful, you're doing it beautifully and expertly, don't stop. A high compliment indeed.
       It is often reported by people suffering from depression that the animals they encounter seem to supply the only contact that doesn't somehow feed in to the tangle of self loathing that is haunting them. Perhaps it is messages like those quoted above, consciously or unconsciously received, that tend to comfort and reassure. The human often receives such an encounter as if the animal is saying something like: "If you think you are tragically flawed, you won't get me to co-conspire with you on that score. You appear to me to be perfect and perfectly suited to exchanging energy with me.
       Life encourages life, it cheers it on. When suicidal ideation is present, the most profound intervening arguments to the contrary are often presented not by logical reasoning or desperate imploring but merely by the non-judgmental witness of another life form. In the eyes of a critter, one may see evidence of what may only be a pre-conscious, cellular realization: that we are all one organism. That the human player is, deep in their true heart, every bit as innocent and loving as the critter they hold. That the purity of this animal's intentions reflects the true essence of a shared epoch, felt so keenly by all expressions of life, human and otherwise.

Even When They Just Say No
from the Bond Volume 3
Number 2, May 2001

       It is not unusual for folks to decide against meeting, petting, or having any kind of close encounter with the animal therapist we chauffeur to a healthcare or assisted-living facility. However, we find that even that occurrence can be a very worthwhile moment. Many of those refusals are delivered with a generous portion of delight, such as an energetic wave off, “Oh no no no!” accompanied with the sudden raucous laughter of surprise and what for many appears to be a hilarious sense of absurdity.
       Folks sitting in wheelchairs or lying in hospital beds generally tend to expect anyone who approaches them, especially a stranger, to be coming over determined to be a big drag-to stick them with something, ask ominous questions, be concerned about insurance, or deliver some far-less-than-exciting cuisine.
       So, when merely offered an animal’s attention, the patient often has to do some version of a double take. The unexpected, when it involves something so unthreatening and optional, often sparks a wave of laughter and disbelief that could well be the highlight of an otherwise gloomy and predictable day-whether or not direct contact is desired.
       In a group setting, many who first eschew contact with the animal because of what appears to them to be the incredulity of the situation later decide to take the leap after witnessing others do so.
       An elderly gentleman resident of Sara’s Garden in Coventry Park, for example, was initially aghast and indignant when offered contact with Sandy, the bearded dragon. After watching others meet and greet her, he reconsidered with some enthusiasm. It appeared he had something important to attend to. Once Sandy was regally poised on his lap in all her timeless dignity, the gentleman made the motions and uttered the phrases he felt necessary to “baptize” her and change her name to Lizzy. He then appeared to enjoy a sense of satisfaction at his good deed. Sandy undoubtedly felt blessed.
       The medical staff at the St. Francis Inpatient Psychiatric unit had no reason to doubt a patient’s claim that he was mute. That is until he questioned the propriety of meeting Bun Bun, the rabbit therapist who accompanies AAT volunteer Margot McFreddries on rounds, with the statement, “But I don't have any carrots.” The staff was quite surprised by the statement, delivered loudly and clearly, and entered it in his chart. At a future admission for the same gentleman, he again represented himself as mute. But the rabbit had already gotten to the truth of the matter.
       A resident of the Jewish Home for the Aged sadly declined a close encounter with Blossom, a Hearing Dog Student and Human-Assisted Therapist “par excellence.” The resident held up one trembling hand and said, “I’d love to but I shake too much.” Knowing Blossom as I do, I felt secure in reassuring the woman-“Blossom won't mind, trust me.”
       I placed the curly little therapist on the lap of the apprehensive woman who wrapped her steady hand gently around Blossom’s body, leaving her other hand bobbing rapidly in the air. When she, with a little help, arduously brought the renegade hand down to touch the dog, she heaved a sigh and the hand stilled against the soft curly fur. Blossom looked up at the woman wide-eyed and reassuring. The woman was able to stroke Blossom’s little body with both hands. Time hung suspended as they both savored the connection.
       With certain developmental challenges, such as autism and Down’s syndrome, communication itself may be a difficult and frustrating hardship. After institutionalization in places where a patient’s every move and moment is dictated with little or no concern for their inner experience, a powerful fear of saying no to anything often develops. Given that history, the ability to communicate a preference to forbear in a clear and controlled way can be a therapeutic advance. I’ve heard health workers comment to patients, “Good job saying no.”
       As age and infirmity advance, and when illness and injury strike, choices dwindle. Offering AAT is a way of empowering people to exercise a choice that may be one of a precious few left to them.
       Perhaps the least likely group to decline contact with the animal is the working staff at a healthcare facility. When time allows, they always take advantage of the opportunity. As one therapist put it, “We gather around the AAT animal and volunteer like people warming their hands at a campfire.”

Looking Forward to the Day
From the Bond Vol 2 No 2
May 2000

       I can see a day when comprehensive health care and assisted living include animal contact on a daily basis. When hospitals and assisted living centers have an AAT staff of animal therapists and human assistants and where on-going relationships between the residents and the animals are a part of daily life.
       It won’t be easy. The numerous naysayers do indeed point to a myriad of important issues concerning the well being of all concerned.
       Recently at a large hospital’s mental health unit, a spirited meeting took pace devoted to the possibility of resident AA animals. The skeptics had some very good, tough questions for the advocate.
       What happens if the eager stafer leaves the facility and the critters lose their champion? What of veterinary care and health monitoring? Ongoing humane evaluation of an animal’s continued appropriateness for the job, and retirement options for them when called for. Infection control. Phobias and allergies amongst the patients and staff. In the case of guinea pigs, bunnies, rats, chinchillas (all potentially gifted therapists), food and hay storage and the likely possibility of feral mice ready to capitalize on the stash and increase their numbers while being in a position to carry health risks to the therapy animals and in turn to patients. There is a lot to consider and to deal with.
       The obstacles are by no means insurmountable, but would it be worth all the effort? Is there a great enough positive impact to warrant the initial and on-going expense, labor, concern, and vigilance?
       In addition to the well-documented physiological effects of stress and blood pressure reduction that come with animal contact, how significant is, for example, a smile or a chuckle, especially if it has become an extinct response, lost in a thicket of endless sullen pain? What about the value of a memory recalled when brought to a psychic landscape otherwise obscured by age, time, disease, and indifference? How important are the first words uttered after a long period without verbal communication from a patient thought by others to be permanently silenced?
       What of the self-assurance and joy that floods the heart when a dog’s kind eyes meet a patient’s with a warm joyful wag and a reach for a kiss? Is the experience of freedom when relating to another living thing without feeling the need to be guarded against the perceived judgment of the other worth all the trouble involved, and is the re-kindling of a sense of awe towards nature and life itself?
       Or is it all just so much fluff? Unnecessary sentimental warm fuzzies unwarranted in a no-nonsense sterile healthcare setting where matters of life and death preclude any such nonsense?
       In some ways it becomes an issue of detached monotonous warehousing and impersonal mechanical medical attention verses a life still being lived. Between attempts at adequate full time sedation verses an active ongoing interest in life.
       While TV gazing and management through medication can be valid tools, many patients when offered a choice would rather partake in life enriching activities such as music, art, intergenerational contact, and AAT.
       In addition to the therapeutic benefits for patients and residents, the positive impact upon working staff should not be underestimated, even when an animal’s presence may increase job responsibility to a degree. Studies have shown that staff report a favorable impact on their own working situation when AAT is a part of the clinical environment, due in part to the patients’ over-all improved outlook, and in part to the animal’s emotional impact on the staff members themselves.
       And of course saving the lives of homeless, unwanted animals is another wonderful result of the resident AAT animal idea. Here is an area where local humane societies and healthcare and assisted living facilities of all types can work together. In addition to the traditional household placement of homeless animals, they could also be evaluated for careers in the medical and assisted living fields and then placed in such a setting when appropriate.
       Each placement would be a unique situation requiring particular consideration, planning, and ongoing care, but would, on a daily basis, prove eminently worth the effort.