Stories from the Heart of the Dog

On Thursday, June 23, 2022, at 11:00 a.m., we said goodbye to our beautiful Laney.

We did not see this one coming. She was only ten years old, and still puppyish in the way she loved life. She loved to swim, to run beside Craig when he rode his bike at the cottage, to harass the waterskiers, to go for boat rides and car rides, and to play catch until your arm fell off. We saw no slowing down.

I am going to start at the end, and work back to the beginning.

As most of you know, I love the relationship that dogs have with humans. Laney was in training with me to be evaluated as a therapy dog. We were scheduled for our in-person evaluation on April 24th in Orangeville. As part of the process, she needed a vet check to be approved for animal therapy.

We had the appointment on the Friday, and I had no concerns about her getting the signature on the paperwork.

I was very wrong.

The vet said she was running a bit of a fever, and she did not want to vaccinate or sign the papers that day. We talked about blood work. I agreed, more to establish a baseline for her senior years, something to compare against later on.

By Monday, Laney did not seem to be feeling well at all. We thought perhaps she had eaten something in the bush at the cottage, and that she would be just fine. We went back to the vet, and she had the blood work results. They were not what I had expected to hear. Laney had an aggressive cancer called hemangiosarcoma. The vet did not think she would last even until the end of the week.

Now I had to go home and tell Craig.

It seemed too hard to believe. We needed another opinion. We asked my friend Debbie Gilbert's husband, Dr. Martin, to come to the house with his mobile vet service and his ultrasound.

Dr. Martin was so kind and gentle. He showed us, right there on the ultrasound, the huge tumour on her spleen. He gave us our options, and Craig chose the one that let us simply love her for now, watching closely for any sign of discomfort. Dr. Martin thought she might have a week or two. A month at the most.

Well. Here we are, nine weeks later.

We are so grateful for the extra time we had with our darling yellow lab. But it was time.

Now, to go back to the beginning.

Laney was a dog that was so wanted by Craig's late wife, Irene. She was a spunky puppy, and there are many stories of her counter surfing and eating things that had been prepared for the humans. She got better with age, though complete trust, when there were yummy things on the counter and no one was looking, was something we never quite reached.

But Laney brought this family something far more important.

Irene was diagnosed with ALS. After it began to affect her mobility, she would fall. When she did, Laney would lie down and press her back against Irene until Craig came to help her up. Laney instinctively knew that pressure and closeness were exactly what Irene needed. She was a service dog extraordinaire, without a lick of formal training. The heart of a dog can do miraculous things out of love for its precious human.

I had the pleasure of getting to know, live with, and love Laney. We built a bond of our own, though it was never quite as strong as the one between Laney and Charity, my own dear dog. The two of them were the best of friends. When Charity passed away on August 3, 2021, Laney grieved. It was so hard to watch. We all grieved Charity, but to witness the grief of a dog over the loss of her bestie was heartbreaking.

Eventually, the happy, silly, fun-loving Laney came back to us. Riding with Craig at the cottage, harassing the skiers, all the fun returned. She became my strength, and our bond grew so strong. Laney and our very senior cat could even be found sleeping side by side, when no one was looking.

My whole family loved her. Zach and Candace, Craig's adult children, and Craig himself have loved her since she was a puppy. They knew how much she meant to Irene.

Craig and I take comfort in knowing we were right there with her, and that she got to lie on the couch where she was most comfy. We take comfort, too, in knowing that Charity and Irene were on the other side, waiting for her.

No one really understands that the hardest part of loving a dog is saying goodbye, until that time comes. It does not matter how many times you go through it. The hurt is just as deep, and the loss just as great.

And still, I say this. It is worth every bit of the sadness and the heart pain to have known the unconditional, pure love of a dog. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Goodbye for now, Laney.

We all love you so much.

First written in August of 2020.

When we walk around Horseshoe Resort, just north of Barrie, with our two beautiful blond labs, one thing has become perfectly clear. Doggie love is a gift the guests here truly enjoy. Charity and Laney brighten everyone they meet, simply with a joyful greeting.

Children giggle, delighted, when Charity holds her own leash. Her excited talking while they pet her becomes the highlight of their day. And Laney circles nearby, waiting her turn, until the children notice her too.

Parents scramble for their cameras to catch it, a little video, a couple of still shots to keep. It always strikes me. These families are surrounded by everything the resort has waiting for them, and still it is the doggie love that makes everybody smile.

The cleaning staff at our condo look forward to their dog time every single day. Each one gets right down on their knees for a proper welcome. They tell me the daily visit takes all their worries away, if only for a few minutes.

Even the real estate team, whose office in the guest services building looks out over the resort, told me the whole office gets up to watch for the blond doggies going by. They wait for them. Canine love, enjoyed by all.

The dogs and the ski hill

My husband worked the ski hill as a lift operator through the winter. On his breaks, when I was working away from home, he would run over to walk the dogs. His fellow operators coined a phrase for it, a "dog day," when someone needed a few minutes to dash across to the condo and take care of them. The kindness of those operators, quietly covering for one another so the dogs were looked after, drew that whole staff community closer. Dogs have an incredible way of pulling people together. So I would walk the dogs over to the lifts, just so the operators could have a few seconds of doggie love of their own.

It seems we have lost our own identity out there. We are now simply the people with the beautiful dogs. And I am perfectly okay with that. If our dogs' love is enjoyed by the guests, then we are happy.

The universe always has our backs. To be with our dogs in a place like this, and to watch the power they hold to brighten so many days, has been a real gift to me. It is true what they say. When something is a passion, it cannot be denied.

Charity and Laney are true Canine Ambassadors at Horseshoe Resort. A dog friendly place, so you never have to leave your family member behind.

I loved a man who lived with type one diabetes. And so I came to know its quietest cruelty, the kind you only learn from living close beside it.

Sometimes the blood sugar begins to fall, and the body sends up no warning at all. No shaking. No sweat. No racing heart. Just a silent slipping away, while the person you love carries on as though everything is fine.

That silence is the thing that frightens the people who love a diabetic the most. You cannot brace for a danger you cannot see coming.

And then, one day, I heard something that changed the course of my life. A dog, they said, can smell it. A dog can be trained to catch a low blood sugar before the numbers ever show it, and to sound the alarm.

I was all in. Completely. I flew to London, England, to learn how it was done. That is where the seed of Sweet Charity was planted, in my certainty that this was work worth giving myself to.

And then I watched it with my own eyes. Charity, my yellow lab, my heart dog, could smell the change in a body before any glucometer caught it. A shift in the chemistry, something rising off the skin, a scent none of us will ever know. She knew. Her only trouble was her joy. She was so thrilled to have found it that she could hardly contain herself. But the gift was real, and it stopped me in my tracks. This creature, asking for nothing, could stand watch over a life.

That is what a diabetic alert dog does. When a low begins its silent approach, the dog knows. It starts with a nudge of the nose against a hand. If nothing happens, the nudge becomes a paw, then a lean, then a whole insistent body, doing whatever it takes until its person finally listens. Check your sugar. Please. Now.

I will never forget the mother who texted me about her little boy, Noah, and his dog, Riley. Riley had just given Noah his very first alert. A dog, catching a child's fall before it came. Riley went on doing that, faithfully, again and again, right up until it was his own turn to leave this world.

I want to be careful and honest here, because I always am about this. A dog is not magic. A diabetic alert dog does not replace the glucometer, or the medical team, or the family who sit up through the night. It is not a cure, and it is not a guarantee. It is something gentler than that. It is one more safety net, and this one is woven out of love.

Because that is what makes the nose work. Underneath all the training, and the scent, and the science, what the dog is really doing is paying attention. Staying close. Loving its person so completely that it cannot bear to miss a thing. The alert is simply love, made useful.

I think that is why these dogs undo me. They take the very thing that frightens us most, that silent falling, and they meet it with the steadiest kind of devotion. Not fear. Not fuss. Just a warm body that will not leave a person's side, and a nose that knows before we do.

Find one thing to love, I always say.

Sometimes the one thing to love is the one keeping watch while you sleep.

Laura will tell you how profoundly pet therapy can change a life. Hers was changed by the unconditional love of a dog named Jaxon.

It is a love story, and like all the truest ones, it had its ups and downs. What remained at the end was a canine human bond that could not be broken.

Laura has lived with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She was diagnosed many years ago, and she had tried so many things to ease her symptoms.

Then, in 2013, she and Jaxon found each other.

Jaxon was the runt of a litter a neighbour was selling. A skinny little pup no one was expected to want, with a future that did not look kind. Laura saved his life. As it turned out, they saved each other.

He grew into a healthy, strong black beauty. Laura called him her BBD. Her Big Black Dog.

Puppies need endless care and attention, and Laura poured herself into his. The vet visits, the daily grooming, the long walks, the exploring, the play at the beach, the car rides. And somewhere in all that giving, something began to heal in her.

A love so deep, and so mutual. All her focus on his well-being, all his unconditional love pouring back, and quietly an unintended therapy took hold, one that outweighed any counselling she had done before. Pet therapy impacts lives profoundly.

There was new research at the time showing how much dogs could help those living with PTSD. As brave veterans came home to Canada from Afghanistan, the need was enormous, and service dogs were proving to be a real path to wellness. A trained dog can monitor breathing and heart rate, interrupt a panic attack or a flashback with a nudge, wake a person from a nightmare, or stand between their human and a crowd. That work takes specialized training. But even a beloved pet, simply close by, offers some of that comfort without ever being taught to. It does not replace the trained dog. It simply helps.

Laura began to feel so much better that she was able to return to work. She was offered a position with Transport Canada, in a remote part of northern Ontario. Taking it meant she had to find a new home for her precious dog.

To ease her own heart, she hoped Jaxon could go on to help someone else the way he had helped her. She went looking for a service dog organization that would train him and place him with a person who needed him.

That is how I met them.

I was the Program Director of Sweet Charity Medical Assistance Dogs. Laura still reminds me of our first meeting, in a Tim Hortons parking lot in Barrie. I felt such sorrow for the two of them. I cried, and Jaxon licked my tears. Laura told me later that in that moment she knew she had found a place where he would be loved.

Jaxon was young still, with puppy energy for days. But his demeanour was so sweet that I felt sure I could work with him and find his place within Sweet Charity.

We tried a puppy foster first, but in the end it was clear he should come to me. I had acres of farm field for him to run, other dogs for company, and the time to work with him on his skills.

Jaxon lived with me for three years. My whole family fell head over heels for him. We have so many stories. He was a character, all boundless energy and mischief and joy, forever finding something to get into. His presence in our home was its own kind of pet therapy, and it changed us too. Even a therapy dog, it turns out, needs a holiday on Go Home Lake.

Then Laura had a setback. She loved her work, but the PTSD called her home to take care of herself. Her bond with Jaxon had been such a part of her wellness, and she missed him terribly. Still, we both knew we had to put Jaxon first, and take our time with any decision that would touch his life.

So we began with short visits. Laura would come to our home, where Jaxon was comfortable and sure of himself.

That first visit undid us all. Jaxon knew her the instant he saw her, and the love that came pouring out of him told me everything. This team was meant to be back together.

Laura worked so hard, on herself, on her home, on her whole life, to be ready for her big black beauty to come home.

Our visits at my house slowly became visits at hers. I would drive him up, and we would explore the neighbourhood together. Laura's place is called Magic Cottage, and it truly is magic. Georgian Bay and a beautiful beach sit right there, and Jaxon always did love to swim.

Day visits became sleepovers. And finally, we all knew it was time.

It was bittersweet for my family. We knew in our bones it was meant to be, and still our hearts ached to say goodbye. He would come back to visit, and he was always glad to see us. But it never once matched the pure, whole joy he showed every time he was reunited with his person.

Jaxon heals Laura still. He is her rock. When the hard days come and the symptoms return, he is right there to see her through the worst of it. His unconditional love, and his complete lack of judgment, are a gift she gives thanks for every day. Their love story survived the ups and the downs, the separations and the reunions.

There is the intentional work, the careful preparing of therapy dogs to bring comfort in hospitals and schools and hospice, and that work is growing.

And then there is the unintentional gift. The quiet, priceless therapy of simply loving a pet, and being loved back.

I am so grateful I got to be a part of Laura and Jaxon's story, and of the unequivocal power of the canine human relationship.

Pet therapy impacts lives profoundly.

First written in September of 2021, as schools returned to in-person learning.

We can bridge the gaps in learning.

As we return to in-person learning, it is so important that we find real ways to support our teachers and our students. And I believe the therapeutic benefits of a Dogs in School Program can be transformational.

Educators are facing more challenges than ever before.

Could a dog in the school give students and staff the unconditional love they need right now?

Somewhere along the way, education has become as much about student mental health as it is about delivering curriculum. So many things have brought us here, and now, on top of it all, a pandemic.

Teachers are beginning to question whether education is really where they want to be. Are they qualified for the mental health challenges they meet in their classrooms every single day? How do you teach content to a child who is too troubled by their own world to take it in? How do you ever make up for all the lost time?

Getting a student to school at all, when they are depressed and cannot find a reason to come, is its own enormous challenge. You cannot teach a child you cannot get in front of you.

I know that setting up a Dogs in School Program may be the last thing on the agenda right now, when the focus is on keeping students physically safe. In-person learning, then remote, then lockdown, then home again, teaching while raising your own children, and the isolation through all of it. These are only a few of the weights everyone is carrying.

But maybe, just maybe, finding something that sparks a little excitement, something that makes a child want to keep going, could be the very thing.

A Dogs in School Program has the power to touch the whole school community. The secretaries and the custodians. The teachers and the administrators. The parents and the students. That non-judgmental friend who greets every single person with an enthusiastic happy dance is good medicine for all of us.

The gaps are real. Literacy. Social and emotional learning. Attendance. Behaviour. Special education. The inequities we can no longer unsee. There is so much catching up to do.

It will take more than one strategy, and it will take time, to heal what these years have done to our schools.

I have one strategy to offer that I believe can be transformational.

We all saw, first hand, how our pets carried us through the anxiety of it. The lockdowns. The working from home. The fear of getting sick. Why would we not take that, what we lived and know to be true, and carry it forward into how we come back?

If you are an administrator, a teacher, a parent, a custodian, a secretary, an educational assistant, anyone at all who believes in what a dog can do, you could be the one to bring this to your school. You may have to be the advocate who puts the idea in front of the people who make the decisions. You could be the beginning of something truly special in your community.

I know first hand the difference dogs in school made. For my students. For my whole school community. And for me. It is worth every bit of the extra effort.

First written in June of 2021, as workplaces began to reopen.

What will it be like, going back to work?

The vaccines came. Our long patience at home carried us to the other side. The economy is opening again, and slowly we are stepping back into something like the lives we knew before.

Though "the lives we knew before" is not quite the truth. Everything has changed.

The pandemic asked us to do things differently. Work from home. Children in school through a screen. Whole families under one roof, all day. It was a hard adjustment. But being the resilient creatures we are, many of us found our way, and some of us even came to love parts of it.

Maybe we found more freedom in our days. Maybe we grew closer to the people we live with. Maybe we discovered we liked slipping the dinner in the oven before the last meeting. And maybe, to fill the quiet where our colleagues used to be, many of us brought home a dog.

And here is what all those new dogs quietly proved. A dog in your everyday life, a non-judgmental, steady companion at your side while you work, simply helps. Our dogs, the ones we found in the pandemic and the ones we already loved, got something too. A life full of their people. That is their greatest happiness.

Now, as things shift back, employers face real decisions, and many of the answers are not in yet. It is still too early to know how all of this will settle.

But you do not need a crystal ball to know their people will be carrying new stresses. The return to the office. The children back in classrooms. Hockey and music and dance and swimming, all starting up again. The commute folded back into the day. And the endless small question of what is for dinner, and whether anyone remembered to shop.

And one of the biggest worries of all. What do we do with the dog? Everyone is gone eight or ten hours a day now. You cannot leave a dog that long, can you? Is it fair? So many of them have never been left, or are no longer used to it.

Is there a doggie daycare, and what does it cost? Can I find a walker? Yes, and yes. But there is another answer too, one I wish more employers would consider.

There is real research behind the benefits of dogs in the workplace.

Pet-friendly workplaces are more engaging, and more attractive to the people companies want to keep. A friend of mine in the corporate world told me that if she ever went looking for a new job, the single biggest draw would be a dog-friendly office. She would take less money to bring her dog to work. And I understand it completely. My own favourite years in teaching were the ones when I brought Charity to my classroom every day. She was never happier. Dogs need a purpose, and she had found hers.

I watched what she did to that room. A workplace can become something kinder, something more inclusive, with a dog at the centre of it. Dogs are the purest proof that everyone matters. They do not care about your years of experience, or your beliefs, or whether you have the corner office. They think every single person is worth knowing. And to be accepted and loved with no judgment at all is one of the greatest gifts there is, for our confidence and for our mental health.

There are so many more reasons.

Anxiety softens around a calm, happy dog. It is hard not to synchronize with that easy, joyful way of being.

Fitness improves, because dogs need and love to get outside. Instead of one more coffee at break time, you take the walk your dog is already asking for. Fresh air, a few extra steps, and the best kind of reset.

And there is the quiet leadership of it. Even the basic training a dog needs to come to work teaches you to guide, and to be consistent, and to notice what is working. Dogs give you honest, immediate feedback, and there is real satisfaction in that.

Mostly, though, dogs love to please, and a day spent near a happy companion who spreads gladness wherever it goes is simply better for everyone.

There is a bigger picture here too.

Equity, diversity, and inclusion belong at the front of the decisions we make. Through these years, the people with pets found healthier rhythms and steadier minds while working from home. Children who could not be in school learned care and responsibility by looking after a dog. Whole families felt a little more compassion, a little more sense that each of them mattered, because of the unconditional love of an animal.

It makes so much sense to carry that forward, and not to leave it behind as we return.

The people who love their pets are not only a group who deserve a workplace that includes them. They are also, quietly, a group of leaders, the kind who can help turn a company into a place everyone wants to be.

I think it will be a joy to watch the businesses that put people first begin to welcome dogs into the ordinary life of the office. And I hope, someday soon, more of them will.

First written in June of 2022.

For a long time, when we talked about the welfare of therapy dogs, we focused on their stress. We measured their distress.

But isn't welfare really a continuum, from stress all the way to genuine, positive feeling? It is the same as when we speak of human mental health. That runs a continuum too, from depression, even suicidal thoughts, all the way to happiness and ease. It is never simply one or the other. The real question is where a being falls along that line.

A recent study looks at exactly this. It is quite technical, and it examines the release of oxytocin in the saliva of dogs who show happy, positive behaviour while working alongside humans in Animal Assisted Interventions. And it makes such sense. A dog who is truly enjoying the work will lift the emotional state of the person it is with. Happy dogs make happy clients.

In the simpler terms I understand best, it is the synchronizing of emotion between the human and the dog, and it is a beautiful thing. I have been lucky enough to watch it happen, supporting children and youth who were struggling to find any positive feeling at all. There is nothing better than seeing the corners of a sad child's mouth sneak upward into a smile as they fall into rhythm with a happy, enthusiastic dog. And any pet owner knows this too. There is nothing like walking through the door after a hard day, still carrying the disappointment of it, and being met by a cheerful, tail-wagging happy dance.

Back to the science. A dog's temperament and breed shape its behaviour and its responses. Cortisol levels can show us a dog's stress during an interaction, while oxytocin points to a positive experience. And then there is what we can simply see, the behaviours that show a dog is enjoying itself, the play, the leaning in, the nudging, the licking. Alongside those measures, the study explains, a questionnaire can help us recognize good welfare in a working therapy dog.

As a lifelong animal lover, someone who feels the neglect or unhappiness of an animal right down to my core, I am so glad to see studies like this, work that stands up for the best possible life for our therapy animals. And everything it teaches us, we can turn around and use for our own pets at home too.

The study names four marks of positive welfare. Quality of life. Happiness. Positive emotions. And positive engagement. It goes into real detail on each.

To put it simply again, our dogs are always communicating with us. How well we understand what they are telling us is the very key to the happy, healthy relationship we get to share with them.

The researchers put it this way:

"Common temperament traits identified within dogs are excitability, aggressiveness, curiosity and fearlessness, trainability, sociability, playfulness, and a higher-order trait known as boldness, the propensity to take risks, which can influence the expression of all these traits. With dogs, it is widely accepted that behaviour differs between breeds, with empirical evidence to support this."

So temperament, again, lives on a continuum, and it is deeply individual, even within a single breed. So many things work together to shape one dog's temperament. How it was raised. The home it lives in now. Its age, its size, its sex, and whether it has been spayed or neutered.

Now I am going to go out on a limb. What I am about to say is not backed by any study I have run. It comes from experience, and from a mind that chooses to think in possibility.

I believe a dog's temperament can be shaped by the way it is loved. By how it is cherished, and understood, and cared for within its home. We are the ones who get to have a playful, happy, engaged dog, if we value that enough to give it a life built on two-way communication, respect, and love. It is on us to be informed, and educated, and willing to learn, so that we can give our pets the very best. And in return, we receive everything they are so ready to give.

If you would like to read the full study, it is called The Importance of Evaluating Positive Welfare Characteristics and Temperament in Working Therapy Dogs, published in Frontiers in Veterinary Science.

And I will leave you with this.

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." — Gandhi

Cat therapy is a thing.

There is so much out there about therapy dogs, and the ways they lift the lives of the lucky people who get to be with them. But cats give us something too. More and more animal assisted interventionists are welcoming them into their practice.

And when I think about my own life with cats, I know there is a great deal of truth to it.

The first kitten I ever fell in love with came to me by pure accident. When I was a teenager, a friend brought a cat to my house, sure it needed a home. I notice she did not take it to hers.

It turned out this cat was about to have kittens. She had all eight of them right there in our home, and my Mom and I watched them nurse and grow and get ready to go out into the world. My Mom was a true champion of animals, and she made sure all seven of them found good homes. There was one, the littlest, that I had already lost my heart to. It took a lot of smooth talking, but Mom let me keep him. He was jet black, and one cool cat. He lived a wonderful life, and then one day he simply went away. We learned later that cats will often go and find a quiet place to leave this world, with no fuss for the ones who love them.

After that, my first husband and I got our first pet together, a little grey kitten from a pet store. We named him Mikey, and we loved him dearly. He was there when our children were born, and he even welcomed a little shih poo puppy into his world. A beautiful soul. We were blessed to have him.

After Mikey went to kitten heaven, my kids wanted another cat. I was hesitant, and we did not rush.

Then one night my husband and I were leaving a party, and as we got out of our car we heard something crying in the hedge. A cat, in the bushes, badly hurt. The friend we had been visiting was a dentist. I carried the cat to his door. He said, "Lori, I am a dentist, not a vet. But I will get you a clean towel." We cut our evening short and drove the cat to an emergency clinic. The vet was fairly sure she had been hit by a car. She had a spinal cord injury, her tail had to be amputated, and she had lost the feeling in her lower body. Her bladder would need to be expressed by hand.

The vet was so kind that she did not charge us for the emergency care. We named her Noel, because we found her at Christmas. We took her home, meaning to care for her and love her.

But it was not long before I realized that, with two young children, a full time teaching job, and a young dog, this might be more than I could carry. I made an appointment to see what could be done for Noel. I was even open to letting her go, if that was truly the kindest thing.

And then this incredible veterinarian decided that Noel would become the clinic cat. They had the medication she needed, and caring for her was no trouble to them at all. I was overwhelmed by their generosity. Our family agreed it was best, and we said goodbye to Noel with love, and sent her off to her new home.

As a teacher, that became my very first cat therapy. I was teaching Grade 5 at the time, and I had been telling my students all of Noel's trials and how she now lived at the clinic. It was their idea to write thank you notes to the veterinarian.

They wrote the most beautiful, heartfelt letters. Every one of them spoke of the worth of this cat's life, the generosity of the vet, and what they had learned about caring for something beyond themselves. We turned the letters into a laminated, bound book, and I took it to the clinic. I am quite sure it still sits on the front counter for everyone to see. It speaks volumes about the kind of care your pet will find there.

I knew this was powerful. I knew what it did, to move students to write from their hearts and be proud of their words, and to learn that they could be a force for good in the world. What I did not know then was that I was practicing Animal Assisted Interventions. When I look back over my teaching career, I see so many times I reached, almost by accident, for the power of animals to teach.

So. My kids still wanted a cat. I was content to wait.

Then one day, while I was working in the house and the children were outside with their friends, I heard it. "Mom. Mom. Look." I turned around to see them cradling an adorable little orange kitten. We lived in the country, and she was feral, and we loved her at once. Off to the vet we went, but before I could even get her spayed, it was clear she was going to give us kittens of her own. Three of them, born soon after, right on my bed, with our whole family watching in wonder.

My Mom stepped up again. She was having radiation treatments at the time, and still she took every chance to talk up these little kittens who needed homes. We adopted out one little boy. The children were at peace with it, because they knew this one, named Elvis, was going to be loved.

That very evening, Mommy Rose was hit by a car, and she passed away. How could I give away her two daughters now? So we kept Lily and June, beautiful long haired girls. I had a teacher friend who used to say that in her next life she wanted to come back as a Johnson pet.

The last kitten, I rescued off the road. A feral barn cat, most likely. I probably could have left her to go on with her own life.

Oh, no. I decided to take her to the humane society and ask them to find her a good home. The intake worker turned out to be a former student of mine. She asked if I wanted to know how it all turned out. Of course I did. Three days later she called. They were going to euthanize the cat. She was "unadoptable."

No. That was not happening. I went back, and I adopted my own kitten.

Except she was not a kitten. She was a four pound, fully grown cat, and who knows how old. Feral, all right. Frightened of everything.

Well. Twenty one years later, I still have her. She is my Jade.

She loves the warmth of me when she sleeps at night. Four pounds is a skinny little thing, so I have a small guest at my side constantly. She cannot wait for me to lie down so she can curl up and purr. She greets us by rolling over and talking. She loves to talk. Ask my husband.

I know the day is coming for this little therapy cat to head to the rainbow bridge. And still, I cannot be sorry. A feral barn cat who became my strength and my sweet soul through so many of the hardest times of my life.

Cats rule. And yes, cat therapy is a thing. I know it first hand.

This is a different kind of piece for me. But it has been a season of reflection, and I have wanted to write about it.

I am not the first person to enter the twilight years of life, and I am not the first to write about them. Each of us comes to this stage so differently, shaped by so many things. My experience is my own. I only hope that in sharing it, some of it might resonate, and maybe even inspire.

I was a driven child. My parents were endlessly supportive, and they gave us every opportunity to thrive. But above all of it, they valued education. Everything else came second, and hinged on how we were doing in school.

My sister and I were put in figure skating young, and we fell in love with it at once. It became our passion. And with that passion came what my dad used to call time management, discipline, and a fit-for-life attitude. He believed our skating was part of our education, and now, in my sixties, I see just how wise he was. So much of my drive and my sense of purpose came from the values my parents lived out in front of us.

Those values carried me. I went on to university and became a teacher. I loved to teach, and that same discipline saw me through some hard years as a young mother and wife teaching full time. And when it was my turn, I wanted to give my own children the same. The early morning hockey. Figure skating five nights a week. Tournaments every weekend. It was a great deal to keep up with, and it was also our whole community, full of friendships we treasure to this day. Some of the best years of our younger lives. Busy, and deeply connected. That is good for the heart and soul.

I ran, too. I worked out. On the nights my kids were at their own activities, I would run to the arena, watch until the cold set in, and run home again. I went back to figure skating at forty and finished my gold dances. I loved a good 10K race. I have always wanted to challenge myself.

When it came time to leave teaching, I knew I would need something that gave me purpose. My children were building their own lives, and after so many years in the classroom, I knew, for my own spiritual wellness, that I needed to do something that mattered. So I started a charity, and I am still proud of that. I found community and purpose in new places. Volunteering has always been in my blood. The work I did around the rise of therapy dogs brought me so many people I have come to love, and a cause I am still passionate about.

And still, quietly, I found myself wondering. How will I know when it is time to rest? How will I know that I am enough, in these twilight years?

Here is what the wondering taught me.

Being true to yourself is the first thing to hold onto. Everything I do now needs to feed my soul and bring me joy. That, I have learned, is what keeps the stress away. Not the stress we cannot control, life will always bring some of that, but the wisdom to handle it well comes from all these years of living.

I have learned to use discretion in what I say yes to, and what I let go. Choice is the key. And the people who truly love and respect you will support your choices. I have learned not to compare. Each of us builds the twilight years that are right for us.

I have made peace with not deciding everything in the moment. I trust myself now. Purpose can look so different from one day to the next, one season to the next. Sometimes it is helping someone carry their groceries to the car when they are struggling. Sometimes it is saying a prayer, every day, for the ones who need it.

I promised I would bring the dogs into this, and here they are. My dog gives me purpose. Juney, my cockapoo, is the reason I walk in the forest and take in the beauty of the world. She came with big shoes to fill, and she fills them with a zest for life and a heart holding more love than anyone could imagine. Caring for her needs gives my days their shape. Her unconditional love tells me, every single day, that I matter, and reminds me how important it is to love myself too. She plays, and it keeps me young. She nudges me to talk with the people we pass. She keeps me creative, always thinking of new ways to write about her and share her love of life with others.

We do not have to be doing something big and fabulous to be purposeful. And if the universe does bring something big and fabulous, and it feels right, then by all means, do it.

For me, the something that came was writing.

The purpose I once wondered about has taken the shape of books. The One in Front of You, for the teachers I spent a lifetime beside. And, from a tenderer place, Until Next Time, and the work of Held by Daisy, walking with women and families through the loss of a baby. Two different worlds, and yet, when I look closely, they are the same. Both are about being seen. Both are about being loved. Both come down to one small practice that has carried me through a whole life. Find one thing to love, and let it change everything.

The twilight years are the gift of time. The chance to be at peace. The freedom to show up exactly as you are, authentically you.

I am not struggling with them anymore. I am embracing them. My drive is still here, but it has softened into gratitude. To protect my health. To enjoy my family, my friends, my pets, and the beautiful places where we live. To belong to a community.

And if something big and fabulous comes my way, I will say thank you.

And if it feels right, I will do it.