Amy Bennett and Newman at the Family Assistance Center for the WTC

When the home office at Therapy Dogs International asked us to write about our experiences at the Family Assistance Center for the World Trade Center, I fully intended to do so. Many times, I sat down to write, but I simply could not make sense of my thoughts… and I was unable to type a single word. At first, I did not understand why. Writing has always been something of a catharsis for me… a part of the healing process, if you will. But just as our visit to Pier 94 was different from any other visit that we had ever made, so was this inability to express myself. Then I realized that, in order to express my feelings with words, I would first have to find the words to express my feelings. But how does one express with any kind of clarity something as incomprehensible as September 11? How does one write about such an event without just running on and on about the emotions involved? Especially when I have not quite come to terms with those emotions. I had four very close relatives who worked in the World Trade Center. One by one, their phone calls came in. My loved ones were safe. But if the planes had come just a little earlier… or just a little later… or if they had struck the towers just a little lower… I would have been at the Family Assistance Center for a very different purpose. Had the circumstances been slightly different, my life would have been very different. How does one express the emotion involved with working with grieving people who are thinking the same thing? Had things been just a little different, their lives would not have been so dramatically changed… These are people just like me… people who waited and waited for that phone call… that phone call that never came. What is it that separates them from me? Why was our family spared while others are hurting? I want so much to write about what I saw and what I learned at the Family Assistance Center. I want to write about The Wall and how it made me feel. I want to write all about the people who I spoke with… people who were looking forward and inquiring about adopting a dog like mine… people who were looking back and telling me about their loved ones who had disappeared forever… and people who looked so lost that they looked at me and my partner… and never even saw us at all. I guess I'm just not ready to do that… not ready to make sense of all that. As many times as I have started to write, I have put the laptop away. I would have been content to simply read the TDI newsletter when it came out. However, when I was asked if I would please write about the affect that this visit had on Newman, my canine partner, I agreed to do so. I'm not ready to write about the human aspect of the attack on the World Trade Center, but if it will help someone, I will gladly write about my best friend's reaction to this disaster.

My best friend, Newman, is a six year-old Labrador/Doberman mix. (A Dobrador Repinscher) I rescued Newman when he was five weeks old and we have enjoyed an unusual kind of closeness ever since. We are not just dog and handler, we are truly friends and partners. Newman can read me and I can read him- no words are necessary. Newman and I have been involved with Therapy Dogs International for about four years and he is an excellent Therapy Dog who truly loves his work. It has been a joke in our chapter that Newman is "The Rock", in that he never appears to suffer from stress or fatigue, not even after an unusually difficult visit. One resident at our local nursing home once commented that the reason why she likes Newman so much is because "He's just happy. He doesn't have any issues or any problems. He's just happy to be who he is and where he is right now." She was right. That is my Newman. And that is why it is still so unbelievable to me that my dog is still suffering from Post Traumatic Stress after a single visit to Pier 94.

My husband, John and I signed up for the same shift. Both Newman and Taylor, our Collie/Shepherd mix, were very excited on the drive to New York City. They knew that they were going to make a visit because they were wearing bandanas around their necks, just as they do on all of their visits. However, this time, I made an American flag bandana for each dog. It seemed like an appropriate thing to do. Newman was his normal, happy-go- lucky self until we parked the car. Even though we were across the river from New York, as soon as we opened the tailgate of our station wagon, something happened to Newman. He sniffed the air and put his ears back and his tail down. He stayed that way for the rest of the day. My sister, who had worked in the WTC until shortly before September 11, told me that, for a long time, there was a very distinctive odor in and around Ground Zero. Maybe the dog smelled death and he feared it. Maybe he sensed that something truly awful had happened in this place. I don't know. I will never know. All that I am sure about is that the dog knew that something was very wrong here.

Newman did not care for the ferry. Taylor stood at the bow and pointed his nose into the wind. If he could have shouted, "I'm King of the World!", I think he would have. Taylor was having fun. Newman stayed inside and looked unhappy. Several crew members came and offered him various snacks, but Newman politely refused. He had too much on his mind, I suppose. But in his entire life, Newman has never turned down hard pretzels. The four of us walked from the dock to Pier 94. Taylor literally pranced up the West Side Highway, acting as though he owned the city. Newman acted as though he were glued to my leg and he kept stepping on my feet… something he does when he is nervous or unsure of something. The traffic on the West Side Highway was very loud, but Newman was following my hand signals better than he had ever done before. Throughout the day, I noticed that Newman seemed to find comfort in his training and in doing what he found familiar.

The Therapy Dogs were very popular at Pier 94. For many reasons, this visit was different from any other that we had ever made. On our visits to the nursing home, when we leave, we have the satisfaction of knowing that we have brightened someone's day and that, in a small way, we have made a difference. At Pier 94, we weren't brightening anyone's day. While we were making a difference, it was in a very different way and it was more difficult to keep that in mind. Our objective at Pier 94 was to help people to get through one of the darkest days of their lives. We weren't making people happy- and we couldn't make them happy. But we were getting them through. We were helping. The people seemed so relieved to pet a dog- a very normalizing and emotionally settling experience. They seemed so pleased to have something to talk about other than the reason why they were there. A dog- what a great distraction! A dog who does tricks- something to laugh about, even if it is only on the outside! Anything that will help pass the hours… anything that will distract the mind and an aching heart… even just for a few minutes. Newman has always loved his visits, whether it is with children at a nursery school or with the residents at the nursing home. However, I think that Newman knew that this visit was not having the same affect on the people. Thinking back, maybe Newman thought that he was somehow failing to perform his job. No matter what he did, he just could not make these people feel happy again. He could make them laugh and he could make them smile, but he could not make this grief go away.

Taylor was having a wonderful time. He thought that the Family Assistance Center was great! (Of course, Taylor thinks that anywhere that someone feeds him is great.) He was not the least bit stressed. Newman, on the other hand, was not handling the situation as well. At one point, my husband pointed out how well Newman was doing. I disagreed. As Newman's longtime partner, I know that while he didn't have his tail between his legs, it wasn't curled up over his back the way it is when he is happy. He didn't have his ears all the way back anymore, but they weren't perked up the way that they are on most of his visits. Newman's eyes were big and he was panting hard, despite numerous drinks of cool water. Newman was allowing himself to be petted, but he wasn't seeking affection like he always does and he wasn't responding to the affection with any kind of enthusiasm. On our weekly visits to the nursing home, one of Newman's trademarks is wagging his tail so hard that the back half of his body sways back and forth with it, just about lifting his back legs off the floor. That day, there was no 'body wagging'. After the first two hours, he wasn't even giving out any kisses. But, despite his anxiety, Newman showed his devotion to his work and I was very proud of my buddy. Newman was doing absolutely everything that I asked of him. If I asked him to shake hands, he did it. If I asked him to move closer to be petted, he did it. If I asked him to kiss someone on the cheek, he did it. To everyone who didn't know Newman and even to my husband, who knows him very well, Newman was the perfect Therapy Dog. However, I know better. Newman was doing a job. For the first time in his life, pet therapy was work for Newman and not fun. Apparently, the emotional overload was just too much and he shut everything down, focusing on what he was doing as opposed to why he was doing it. As the day went on, I began to realize that that Newman had never responded to his commands or to his hand signals so quickly and so perfectly. Again, he was finding comfort in doing what was familiar and comfortable. It was also a testament to our relationship that he trusted me enough to focus on me and on what I needed him to do.

When we finished our shift, I was glad. By this time, both of the dogs were very tired and ready to head home. John and I felt the same way- both physically and emotionally drained. As badly as I felt for Newman, I was starting to get a little annoyed with him on the walk back to the ferry. Not only was he leaning on my legs and stepping on my feet, but he kept bumping into me and actually getting between my legs. At 90 lbs, Newman's head is even with my hips, which will give you an idea of how difficult the going was. As we were crossing the highway, I felt something collide with my leg. I thought that it was Newman again, but when I looked down, I realized that it was Newman's broken collar swinging on the end of the leash. Newman had been walking through the crowded streets of New York City with no leash! Probably for blocks and blocks! This dog was so frightened by what he had just seen or smelled or heard that he had no intention of leaving me. On the contrary, he was going to stay just as close to me as he possibly could. Immediately, I felt very guilty for feeling annoyed. I looped the end of his leash around his neck and held onto the clip for the rest of the evening.

Newman just about had an anxiety attack on the ferry ride home. It was rush hour, so there was no room for Newman to pace… but he tried. In order to get through the longest ferry ride ever, I had to put Newman in a down on the deck and, with my arms around his neck, hugging him, I had to just about lay down on top of him just to hold him down. Newman is 90 lbs, I'm 110. If he really tried to, I know that he could have thrown me off. I was just praying that his fear wouldn't get the best of him. I held him as tightly as I could and I kept repeating that we were going to be okay and that we were on our way home. I would like to add here that, contrary to popular belief, New Yorkers are not cold and unfriendly people. Everyone was very sympathetic and had nothing but kind words to say. It was ironic and, in retrospect, amusing, to see a crowd of people petting and trying to comfort the therapy dog. Before we were halfway across the Hudson River, everyone on the deck knew Newman and Taylor by name and why they had been to New York City. And they all thanked us for coming.

It was very late when we finally made it home. John and I fed the dogs and let them out in our yard. Newman would not go out until we went out with him. That night, Newman insisted upon sleeping between John and I with his head buried in my neck.

Ever since we visited Pier 94, Newman has not been the same dog. Ever since that day, the best word to describe Newman's behavior would be 'clingy'. Newman follows me from room to room, sometimes even rising out of a sound sleep to do so. Whenever I work at home, Newman curls up under my feet while I work on the computer. In the evenings, when I go to my workplace, Newman insists on accompanying me. (Fortunately, the company that I work for is very dog-friendly.) While Newman has always enjoyed spending afternoons outside in our yard, now he will only stay outside for a few minutes unless I come outside with him. If I do not come out, Newman scratches on the door until my children let him in- no matter how much they beg him to play with them. Newman will no longer leave the property without me, even if the gate has been left open. (Okay, this is not a bad thing.) We no longer need to use a leash. Newman never leaves my side. Whenever I am gone for more than about two hours, my husband reports that Newman begins to pace and whine. When I am at home, Newman is usually not more than a few feet away from me and always within sight. As I am typing this, Newman and I are on the couch. The laptop is open and I am using Newman's back as a combination desk/ footrest. It's been more than six months now and Newman has not forgotten. He is no longer "just happy". Newman still enjoys his regular visits. We are closer friends than we have ever been before and we have comforted one another many times during these past few months. I've given Newman lots and lot of big hugs and Newman has kissed away more than his share of tears. But I fear that my best friend will never be the same again.

Is it odd to expect any kind of post traumatic stress from a Therapy Dog? Probably not. On September 11, all of us were glued to our television sets. While we will never truly understand why this had to happen, at least we had the benefit of knowing the facts about what had happened. Newman did not have this advantage. All he knew was that he was in a strange place were many people had lost their lives and where there were even more people grieving the loss. After September 11,we all realized that there are certain things that we must never take for granted- our loved ones, our sense of security, our values. A dog is no different. God willing, our nation will never again suffer a disaster of such magnitude. But if we ever do, please keep in mind that, not only do we, the humans, have to be able to handle the emotions, but our dogs- our partners- do, too. Not every dog can handle this kind of stress- even a very stable dog like Newman who has never had any issues with stress before. As I mentioned earlier, I am not yet ready to deal with the human aspect of this tragedy. Apparently, neither is Newman. Instead of wondering why I am so deeply affected by this tragedy, I will follow Newman's example. While I have the benefit of knowing that it is okay to go out in the yard alone, Newman does have the right idea. Let us all stay close to our loved ones. Let us comfort them, and be comforted by them. Eventually, in my case, the words that I need to write about how I was affected by my visit to Pier 94 and by the events of September 11 will come with time, faith, and, above all, love.

Authored by Amy Bennett, Caring Paws member