Leo, the Lionhearted greyhound, has been a bit reluctant to introduce himself to this lovely group as he is a very shy guy and worries a lot about strangers. He also has mini panic attacks – really they’re all out panic episodes – every time a loud noise occurs. Thunder sends him to the cellar in search of a way out and pots banging in the kitchen cause his ears to rise, and then he comes running for a reassuring pet on the head, and a cookie. This 100 pound pile of love came to me in May of 2011 in honor of my 20th anniversary. I was looking for a therapy dog – I am a hospice volunteer –  and Leo was clearly the perfect candidate. My beloved greyhound took to the work like a horse to water until that fateful day when a massive thunderstorm rolled through when he was working. I panicked. Leo; however, seemed to take it in stride. Oh, don’t get me wrong. He shook, he whimpered, he leaned against me for protection and his ears never left their standing straight up position, but he never left the bedside of his intended love for the day. She was equally terrified, and it seemed he was determined to ride this horror out with her. He didn’t attempt to climb onto the bed, nor did he run down the hall. He simply stood and shook and let her keep her shaking hands nestled in his soft fur. They both came through stronger for it, but I worried about how he would handle it a second time so didn’t go back for awhile when weather threatened. When I did return, he turned the corner in search of his beloved’s room only to find it empty. He seemed baffled. Sniffed around and walked out and back in three times. On the third time, he let me lead him in another direction and has never tried to return to that room. Still makes me cry, but he seems fine. He knows there is someone else to love and share horror with just waiting for his call.

Leo draws people to him wherever he goes, but especially on our walks together. Often people will come up to us and ask if they can pet him, cuddle him or offer him love. In trade, we hear many stories. We live in a small town so I often feel I know everyone. One afternoon, Leo and I were out walking and a stranger approached asking to love on Leo. Of course I said yes. Soon she was talking to herself, petting his head and sobbing. Somehow I knew not to interfere with this exchange – it felt so spiritual to me. Finally, she asked me the dog’s name. When I told her, she nearly fell to the ground. It was holding Leo that kept her upright. Come to find out, her father had just passed away, and she was in the area recovering and trying to “right her mind” about her great loss. It turns out her dad’s name was Leo. She truly felt that Leo and I had been sent to tell her all was well. I have seen this woman several times since then, but still don’t know her name or have a context for her whereabouts in town. Each time we see each other we quietly acknowledge hello, and she saunters over, rests her hand on Leo’s head and sobs. I don’t know her name, but she knows Leo and that is all that matters.