George Dawson's Legacy: Never Too Old to Learn

The chapter, “Reader with McDuff,” in Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog tells about Steven and the Reading with Rover Program. Steven, a sandy-haired, chubby 5th grader with crippling reading difficulties, read to my remarkable Scottish terrier therapy dog every Saturday morning at the local library. He went from a D average to the honor roll after reading to McDuff for twelve weeks. Steven graduated from high school last year and is attending college. His mom told me he has a 4.0 grade point average. Learning to read well changed Steven’s life.

George Dawson didn’t experience Steven’s reading difficulties because he never learned how to read. Carl Henry, a literacy volunteer, knocked on his door and told him about adult education classes being taught nearby. At the age of 98, the grandson of slaves began to learn to read and write. He sat on his porch each morning eagerly waiting hours before time for Carl to pick him up and take him to class. At his 100th birthday party, he could sign his name and read his birthday cards for the first time in his life.

The 7th and 8th graders at the George Dawson Middle School realize the importance of reading because of Mr. Dawson’s legacy. I watched their comments about him and saw his inspiring story on The Oprah Show’s Greatest Lessons. By the time it ended, tears streamed down my cheeks.

In 2000, Mr. Dawson co-wrote his best-selling life story, Life Is So Good. He appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show. His life has been profiled on The Discovery Channel, Nightline, People magazine and Good Morning America. Two universities awarded him honorary degrees before his death in 2001 at the age of 103.

George Dawson’s legacy lives on as inspiration to young and old alike. He proved that you are never too old to learn.

The Healing Moose

The Healing Moose was well-known before I retired from the Clerk’s Office at the Regional Justice Center in Las Vegas, Nevada, to write my book, Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog. He started on his journey in the winter of 2002 and is called by several names, Marty, Natasha, Natalie, Willard, and even “Magic Moose.” But, no matter the name or gender assigned, Healing Moose brought smiles, comfort, and moral support to colleagues and their families diagnosed with various cancers and other serious health problems. The Healing Moose represents well wishes, prayers, support and encouragement.

The moose is the official mascot of the courtroom clerks. We all contributed to the stuffed moose collection, and it grew over the years. Have you ever been “moosed?” Upon return to the office after vacation or illness, and for birthday celebrations, you’d find your work station buried under moose. On the computer, printer, desk, chair, file cabinet, everywhere imaginable, sat moose of all colors, sizes, and shapes.

It’s strange the effect a stuffed animal can have. I witnessed my son’s love for Teddy, a large stuffed, brown bear. He slept with him for years when he was a little boy. If he hurt himself playing or cried for other reasons, after I attended to him, I’d say, “Go get Teddy.” Off he’d dash. Teddy never failed to comfort him. One day he got mad at me and took it out on poor Teddy by giving him a swift kick in the rear.

My colleague, Cheryl Case, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2005. Marty Moose went with her to doctor appointments, tests, chemo, radiation treatments, and surgery. He provided his special brand of comfort and helped to reduce her anxiety and stress. Today Cheryl is a Breast Cancer Survivor, my hero, and a source of inspiration. She participates in the annual Komen Race for the Cure and urges others to join her in the fight against breast cancer.

The Healing Moose is back with Cheryl. He deserves a rest and recognition for being a reminder of the moral support, prayers, and encouragement for colleagues, families, and friends.

Therapy Dog McDuff's Life Lesson

McDuff, my Scottish terrier therapy dog, taught me many valuable lessons on our nine-year journey. I wrote about them in my book, Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog. One of those lessons changed the way I look at others to this day. He taught me not to judge others by outer appearances, but to look past their mental and physical disabilities.

McDuff was featured on Las Vegas KVBC-TV news and the front page of the Henderson, Nevada, Anthem View newspaper for his astounding therapy work with five individuals at Opportunity Village Project PRIDE Program. The Las Vegas Review Journal described them as having the most severe mental and physical disabilities in the state of Nevada. Yet, McDuff connected with them in amazing ways.

From the first time that he saw them, he accepted and loved them unconditionally. Me, I wanted to get away from them as fast as I could. In time I came to accept and love them, too. McDuff didn’t judge by appearances. He looked past the outer and into the heart. Because of the example he set, I became a better person.

You can read the book chapter, “Project Pride at Opportunity Village,” about McDuff’s therapy dog work and the lesson he taught me on my web site, www.lifewithmcduff.com.

Social Network "Friends"

“It takes a long time to grow an old friend.”
John Leonard

As the author of Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog, I’ve been told that I should be on social networking sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Myspace. I’m informed it would be good for book sales. I decline to participate except on a few business-related sites such as LinkedIn and Henderson Chamber of Commerce. Personally, I believe the amount of time I’d spend connecting with “friends” would adversely affect my marketing and promoting in other targeted areas. However, if you have the spare time and enjoy connecting and reconnecting with old classmates, childhood friends and the likes, by all means go for it.

Tell the truth. Would you really want to be friends with Charlie Sheen, Lady Gaga, or Paris Hilton? Like so many other things in our culture the word “friend” has taken on a whole new meaning.

To have a few true friends in a lifetime is rare. I’ve been blessed with many. Friends travel fifty miles to sit with you at your mother’s wake; friends stay in constant touch down through the years; friends never forget your birthday; friends encourage and support you even in your hair-brained endeavors; friends help you pack up and move cross country even though they want you to stay; and friends tell you what’s truly important in their lives instead of every mundane thing that they do.

I write about my friends in the book chapter, “Go West, Young Scottie.” Even though I am far away from them, we share deaths, births, illnesses and photos without being on Facebook, Twitter or Myspace. In my opinion, nothing beats unlimited minutes cell phone calls.

Therapy Dog McDuff and The Pill War

I once heard a Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show announcer say as the Scottish terriers majestically entered the show ring, “The Scottish terrier is the only breed of dog that knows it is smarter than its master.” I didn’t understand what he meant then, but that was before The Pill War with my Scottish terrier, McDuff, began.

Why would giving McDuff medication be any different than giving my previous dogs pills from the veterinarian? Just hide the pill in a piece of cheese, wiener, or lunch meat and give it to him. Right? Wrong.

He’d gently take whatever I had hidden the pill in from my hand, chew once, drop it, and repeat the process until the pill fell out. Then he’d eat the cheese, wiener or whatever and walk away savoring every bite.

I told a friend at work about my problem. She suggested I put the pill far back in McDuff’s throat, hold his mouth shut, and rub his throat until he was forced to swallow. It always worked with her dog. What she didn’t factor into the equation was a Scottie with a severe case of lockjaw. He’d seen the pill and knew what I was up to. No matter how hard I pried and threatened, I couldn’t get him to open his mouth. Foiled again!

Someone told me about peanut butter. I gave him a huge glob with the buried pill. He smacked and licked until the peanut butter melted and spat out the pill. To rub it in, he continued to smack his mouth long after he walked away.

Frustrated beyond belief, I called his vet and recounted my many attempts to medicate McDuff. He said, “Put the pill in his dog food.” Why hadn’t I thought of that. It worked! For a week the dog bowl was licked clean every day and the pill gone. Fooled him at last. No way is a dog smarter than I am.

Noticing that the dog bowl next to his water container was cruddy, I decided to wash it. What did I find when I lifted it up? Seven pills neatly lined in a row. He had hidden them between the dog bowl and water container all week!

Calling the vet in tears, I blurted out my finding. He laughed out loud and said, “That McDuff is one smart dog. Come to my office and get capsules to break apart and mix in his dog food.” I did and although I was skeptical, it worked. So tell me something. Why did I feel I had won the battle, but lost the war?

Life with McDuff Take a Bite Out of the Big Apple

Dog Writers Association of America (DWAA) nominated Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog for a Special Award and invited me to attend the Awards Banquet at the Affinia Manhattan Hotel in New York City where the winner would be announced. The letter I received from Sue Jeffries, Contest Chair, informing me of the nomination stated, “We had over 200 entries for these Special Awards, so to be in the running is, indeed, a ‘special’ honor!” After attending the banquet and seeing the nominees, I agree wholeheartedly and feel privileged to have been included among them.

Even though Life with McDuff was not the winner, I had a marvelous and unforgettable experience, mainly because of the wonderful DWAA people I met at the committee meeting and folks at the banquet. Sue Jeffries, Chris Walkowicz, Pat Santi, Marion Lane, and Ida Estep were super and some of the nicest people that I have ever met.

Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I believe “dog people” are special, full of love and kindness that spills over from their pets to fellow humans. I met so many of them at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on the two days that I attended. The sight of so many different breeds of champion dogs will always be with me. Hopefully, I will be fortunate enough to attend it again in the future.

Being in New York City was the icing on the cake. I LOVE NEW YORK!!! Everything about it is exciting and enjoyable to me. Riding the subway, eating pizza, pastrami and cheese cake, attending plays on Broadway, and going to museums. The hustle and bustle of the fast-walking residents. Even jumping out of the way of taxicabs to keep from getting mowed down. There’s no place like The Big Apple, and I’ve traveled a lot.

Trudy & McDuff

I write about my friend, Trudy, in Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog. She had two Lhasa Apsos that she was crazy about, but one day she said to me, “I love Jasmine and Bandit, Judy, but they’re not like McDuff. McDuff is special.” Other friends of mine felt the same way. I’m a dog lover, and I’ve liked other people’s dogs. But I never loved someone else’s dog the way they loved McDuff. I write of those special relationships in my book.

Sophisticated Lhasa Apsos and rambunctious Scottish terriers don’t mix. A half hour into a holiday visit to Trudy and David’s home with McDuff, Jasmine and Bandit begged to be put in the basement. They wanted no parts of that crazy, high-energy Scottie.

Trudy and I became close friends when we worked as legal secretaries at the Columbus, Ohio, prestigious law firm of Vorys, Sater, Seymour and Pease. Some of my dearest friends still work there. Even though I moved on to other jobs, and moved out of state, we have never lost touch. They have supported and encouraged me down through the years. A person is blessed to have only one true friend in life. I have been blessed with many.

My dear friend died of leukemia at the age of fifty-three. Even though I had moved from Ohio to Nevada, we talked on the phone and e-mailed nearly every day during her long and courageous battle. We discussed life. We discussed death. I miss her to this day.

Trudy’s husband, David, is an editor on Life with McDuff. He is the first person who read the completed manuscript. I know she is aware of the success of the book and looking down with a smile on her lips saying, “Only Judy.”