Gone to the Dogs

chapter 1 NELL JORDAN was used to people bursting into tears when they saw her, but this particular woman rivaled the floodgates at Hoover Dam. But of course, the woman's overflowing eyes fastened not on Nell in her clean white tennies, Wal-Mart khakis, and green polo shirt, but on Piggy in her freshly brushed reddish-brown fur, pointy ears, liquid-brown eyes, and the green doggie vest that announced she was a registered therapy dog. An older gent across the room from the weeper nudged his wife. "Look, Ethel! It's a dog! Right here in the surgery waiting room! Don't that beat all?" "My word! Isn't he cute?" Ethel made a clucking noise to get Piggy's attention, and others seated in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs also made bids to be noticed, but Piggy focused on the woman sitting in the corner--the one suffering the waterworks. A younger version of the distraught woman--a daughter, Nell speculated--tried to comfort her. "Mom, it's okay." But Piggy knew better what the woman needed. The corgi paddled forward on abbreviated legs, stuck a wet nose beneath the woman's hand, and settled firmly against her leg. Soft comments from a rapt audience: "Oh, isn't that just darling!" "Don't that beat all!" "What a good dog!" "What'd they do, cut her legs off at the knee?" Everyone in the room had the courtesy to stare at the dog, not at the woman making such an emotional scene. People waiting for a loved one in surgery or waiting for their own turn under the knife knew about tears, and they didn't begrudge the distressed woman her release. "Her name is Piggy," Nell said. "Piggy," the tearful one quavered, and didn't take her eyes from the dog. Piggy sighed in contentment as the woman found just the right spot behind one of her big ears. "You're a wonderful little dog, Piggy." The tears eased a bit as she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. "A wonderful dog. I just . . . just, well, you know, there's something about a dog." She sighed and bit her lip, then said in a quiet, broken voice, "Since my mother's accident two days ago I haven't been able to cry. It stayed inside me and just burned and hurt, you know? But I couldn't cry. Until I saw the dog. There's just something about a dog." She shook her head. "And now I can't stop crying. But it almost feels good. I'm sorry to be such a blubberer." "Not a problem." Nell gave her a warm smile. "It doesn't bother Piggy a bit." The daughter gave her mother's hand a comforting squeeze. "Gran's going to be just fine, Mom. I know she is." Then she smiled up at Nell. "Is she a guide dog or something?" "Piggy's a therapy dog who visits here at the hospital." "Do you take her into patient rooms?" someone across the waiting room asked. "We go everywhere but obstetrics." Nell smiled. "They don't need our help in there." That earned a laugh. "Show them your trick, Piggy." Nell waggled an index finger at the dog. Piggy gave Nell a disgusted look, but she lifted her stubby front leg in the semblance of a wave. The trick earned her a round of applause and a few chortles, then another ovation when she caught the tiny treat that Nell tossed her way. "She's a mercenary little soul," Nell explained. "Works for food." "Don't we all?" said a youngish man in worn cowboy boots and a battered Stetson. Everyone wanted Piggy's attention, reaching out to touch her and tell her what an extraordinary dog she was. Piggy took the attention with queenly condescension while occasionally darting beneath a chair to grab a cracker crumb or peanut that the housekeeping staff had missed. People in the waCarmichael, Emily is the author of 'Gone to the Dogs', published 2004 under ISBN 9780553586336 and ISBN 0553586335.