Three years ago my husband and I brought home a nine-week old Havanese puppy. We knew there was something special about this little fella. He had a bounce to his walk and a spirited, playful attitude. Of twenty pups he was the only one running around with a piece of rawhide in his mouth and a daring, mischievous “catch me if you can” look in his eyes. He presented me with a big, wet lick on my neck and that sealed the deal. I was hooked.

In honor of his exuberant, “I’m all in” disposition, we named him Sunny-Boy and bestowed him with the title Ambassador of Love. We had to share him. His larger-than-life personality filled our home and our hearts with joy. We figured everyone would welcome a bit of sunshine in their lives; who better to bring it than this bundle of fur?

Thinking my husband might enjoy some volunteer activity, we researched how to qualify Sunny-Boy as a therapy dog. He successfully completed some training classes and tested well enough to receive his canine good citizen certificate. This was the first part of the process. The second involved an all-day workshop for my husband, and me, followed by another test for Sunny-Boy. Check and check! We were excited to be an official part of the Pet Partners volunteer team. A local organization, Dogs on Call, would act as the matchmaker and identify clients in need of a little love from Sunny-Boy.

I joined this project excited about the prospect of working with children and young adults. There’s a reading program in our elementary school that uses therapy dogs, and in a nearby town, the middle and high schools enlist therapy dogs to reduce stress during test periods.

We thought for sure this was a slam-dunk. Imagine our surprise when both my husband and I, and Sunny-Boy, failed the youth “orientation” assessment! The kids’ energy level was overwhelming for our little guy, and we weren’t seasoned enough handlers to restrain the youngsters’ enthusiasm. As a therapy dog handler, our first and foremost responsibility is to our dog.

We took advantage of an opportunity at the local hospital. We strolled through the Critical Care hallways soliciting patients for a chance to pet Sunny-Boy. I found this awkward and unproductive; most patients were in their rooms and unable to take advantage of a Sunny-Boy visit. Consequently, I turned down this work.

As I contemplated our situation, trying hard not to be disappointed—and failing— I reached out to Susan, another handler, and asked about her volunteer experience with hospice. Terri, a hospice evaluator present during our testing, had given me her card, feeling Sunny-Boy would make a perfect fit in that area. This was the last place I considered working. Sunny-Boy might be a fit, I was certain I wasn’t.

With a great deal of hesitancy, we went on our first visit with Susan and her dog, Sofie. Our client was in the mental health unit of a nursing home facility. Given her restricted movement, we put a blanket on the bed and Sunny-Boy sat down next to her. I almost didn’t recognize him. His demeanor completely shifted. He was quiet, subdued, and a bit uncomfortable. Yet he stayed and let her pet him. The pleasure on her face was priceless and Sunny-Boy rose to the occasion brilliantly.

As the patient became tired I took Sunny-Boy to visit a few others. One woman, with an angelic face and wide-open, innocent eyes, held a doll close to her. I found myself walking up to her and stroking her face. I couldn’t help myself. The light in her eyes drew me in. Though her mind wasn’t available, her heart was. She smiled up at me and it melted my heart!

I left the facility immersed in a sense of wonder. Sunny-Boy instinctively knew how to behave, and appropriately restrained himself. How is that possible? Before our visit I prayed to stay open, to “see truly,” and simply be present. I didn’t want fear to dominate my mind. For this, I was gifted with meeting a bright, shining spirit. Maybe I could do this after all.

Once the pandemic hit, we were unable to visit the nursing facilities. Within a few months, a request was made to visit a bedridden woman at her home. “Would Sunny-Boy and I feel comfortable going?” queried my hospice partner, Terri. I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely!” I replied, grateful to once again have an opportunity to work alongside my little ambassador of love.

I wasn’t prepared for the upcoming experience. Our client was a radiant, incredibly beautiful, light-filled woman. For almost six years she was bedridden and now completely dependent on the care of others. Yet her face…her face! It shone so brightly that I was captivated. Her grace, despite her impending death, was remarkable.

I looked forward to our bi-weekly visits. Her joy at seeing Sunny-Boy, and watching her clumsily stroke him as he laid quietly next to her on his blanket, at times moved me to tears. Occasionally, he would look her straight in the eyes and lick her hand. Terri and I engaged in lively conversation with this fascinating lady and almost always left uplifted by the exchange.

Shortly after her seventieth birthday, she transitioned to the next stage of her soul’s journey. I was devastated. Terri, more experienced with hospice and its inevitable outcomes, was compassionate and loving as I sorted out my feelings. “Will you continue to volunteer?” she gently asked.

As is my way, I turned within and faced my fears. I assessed the experience, making note of and learning from Sunny-Boy’s selfless service. I questioned my heart. And in the silence of that sacred space I knew I received far more than I gave. I was humbled by my client’s courage. I admired Sunny-Boy’s innate compassion. And I realized, for perhaps the first time, the absolute privilege it was to bring love and joy to others as they faced their final days.

Over the last year, Sunny-Boy, Terri, and I visited a number of housebound, terminally ill patients. Six of our patients died. Each one brings pain—and even more gratitude. I didn’t anticipate that my desire to share Sunny-Boy’s love with others would touch me so profoundly. The universe certainly does work in mysterious ways and always for us. All that’s needed is the willingness to go along for the ride.