I loaded Dante into the truck with his visiting vest and headed off to get some food and some money--just in case. I figured that at the shopping center, Dante could perhaps bring some relief to people reeling from the emotions of the morning's horror. Halfway there, I became disoriented and veered the truck off the highway, lost and confused. Luckily, I ended up at a fire station and all the volunteer firefighters and EMT's were there, eager to be at ground zero to help in any way. But they were all on hold. So when I pulled in, got out and stumbled around, they all seemed relieved to have someone to take care of, not to mention a goofy dog to pet.
Dante and I were piled into an ambulance and whisked to the local ER. After a few questions and some blood tests, they realized I had gotten some of the bug spray into my system. They treated me with fluids while Dante worked his magic around the ER. As I started to come to my senses, I could see just how much relief he was bringing these folks who by their nature were driven to want to be helping in a time of crisis, yet the only person they had to treat was me--the woman whose little dog poisoned her while they hung out with her big goofy dog.
It took us about ten days to organize teams to go down to the Family Assistance Center on the West Side. I knew from my time with Dante on 9/11 that this would be so important for everyone from the families of victims to the workers. Luckily, I was not alone in this thought and many strings were pulled to get therapy dogs into the center. Because Boo was not yet tested and registered as a therapy dog and Dante was older with joint issues that made the hour-and-a-half ride each way out of the question for him, I went as a team leader to support the other teams. This allowed me to be a quiet observer to the amazing things the dogs did for people at the Family Assistance Center. As soon as teams walked into the center, the grim expressions would melt from the armed guards who would ask to pet the dogs. Next would be the Center workers, many of whom were away from their families doing Red Cross work and missed their own pets. And finally, teams would find their way to various spots around the Center, where people could pet the dogs and sometimes just talk to them.
On one visit to the Family Assistance Center, one of the greatest therapy dogs ever, a Golden named Hunter, worked his gentle eyes and his patient face to help a little boy break through his silence and finally talk about his father's death in the towers. With Hunter, the little boy was able to open up and start the healing process as he had not been able to do with any social worker, teacher or his mother. Dogs don't judge. They don't laugh at the wrong time, they don't cry, or misunderstand. They listen, they absorb emotions and tears, too. And ultimately, they allow us to find ourselves as we look into their eyes and accept ourselves with the same unconditionality that they do.
Joan: You were shy, an introvert and a late-diagnosed dyslexic. Yet, you now stand up in front of strangers, lots of them, teaching. You had so much trouble reading, didn't know why and thought you must be dumb. Then, you went on to write a book, a really fine one, at that! Would you ever have imagined this kind of life for yourself?
Lisa: The simple answer would be no. Adding to that would be the fact that Lawrence reminds me quite often that if he had told me when we met that I would be a bestselling author teaching and regularly giving lectures and workshops I would have thought he was crazy. I think that often we (both dogs and humans) move along a path without realizing exactly where that path will take us. It is the life-size version of the training technique of successive approximations--small steps in the right direction and voila, we have trained a trick.
A perfect example would be the Kleenex box trick where we sneeze as a cue and a dog to picks up a Kleenex box, brings it to us, removes a Kleenex and gives it to us. This dog had no idea what the final trick was going to be or how happy it would make anyone watching it, but simply went along with each step because it was fun and rewarding. I think most of us look back on our lives and we can see the rewarding choices we made that took us in one direction or another that, ultimately, had a final result we could be proud of--whether it was a career, creating a family, volunteering, or anything that rewards us emotionally or financially.
Joan: I agree! What kind of response has A Dog Named Boo gotten? I enjoyed it immensely.
Lisa: The feedback has been very good including making the London Times bestseller list to the scores of emails from readers around the world who have been touched by Boo's story. Boo even flew out with me to Los Angeles to appear on The Marie Osmond Show. It's hard to look back on Boo's life and not see some kind of hand of destiny at work. Starting as an abandoned, bullied puppy with disabilities, he then became a hero dog who brought so much joy to people and ended up jet-setting across the country for his television appearance--all with his usual unflappable placid approach to whatever life threw at him. I can only laugh at the unlikeness of it all.
None of us could have imagined the magnitude of his reach that included emails from Russia and Argentina, thanking us both for giving the readers new hope for a dog they had, or understanding for their own struggles in life. From all the feedback, the common thread is that Boo has taught us all that we are all better when we move through our days with patience, persistence and the understanding that perfect is not all it is cracked up to be--because sometimes it is in our imperfections where our greatest strengths lie.
I know that if I could have asked Boo for his feedback on his life, he would answer that his greatest accomplishment was without question to have a little boy of his own.
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