I've been remiss when it comes to updating my blog lately, but here's why: I've been really busy. Seriously. I started a new pet therapy job in September and I love it, though I do need a good nap when I get home.
It's not easy being adored.
Like many choice gigs, I got mine because of a referral from someone I know. I met Karen at a Labor Day cookout, and she just couldn't get enough of my deep, soulful eyes and gentle ways. She suggested I talk to the folks where she works, L+M Hospital in New London, about working as a therapy dog with the patients there.
So my people called her people, and after a couple of interviews and some blood tests, we were good to go. I can't thank her enough for suggesting this line of work. Apparently, I'm well suited to it.
And, of course, this is in addition to all the unofficial pet therapy work I do with family, friends, the woman's coworkers, and Grampy, one of my biggest fans.
In a typical work day at the hospital, I start at the Community Cancer Center where folks come weekly for chemotherapy and other treatments. I enjoy seeing the familiar faces every week, especially my pal R., who tells me he loves me and kisses me. I like to drape myself across his lap while he showers me with affection. I could stay there all morning, but there are many floors to go before I sleep.
I stop and say hi to Karen in her office and usually can't make it down a hallway without being stopped several times along the way by staff and families. Now I know how Bieber feels.
I take an elevator to the sixth floor and stop at the nurse's desk, where they know me by name. Then they suggest animal-loving patients I should visit or say just knock and see who needs a little furry love. We work our way down the floors of the hospital, room to room, nurses station to nurses station.
I get patted and rubbed and kissed and fed treats to my heart's delight; and I like to think I leave 'em wanting more. You even could say I work like a dog, and you'd be right.