ZuZu's Weekend Visits

ZuZu knows it’s time to go to work as soon as Jim and I pull out her red therapy vest. Her tail wags with excitement—she’s ready to bring joy, comfort, and a little bit of magic to those who need it most.

This morning, we visited a small assisted living facility. It feels less like an institution and more like a home. There’s a family room, a dining area, and a kitchen that fills the space with familiar smells. You’ll see residents watching TV, dozing off in recliners and wheelchairs, strolling about with the aid of a walker, or chatting with staff. Often, a caregiver is gently brushing or drying someone’s hair, fresh from a shower. We have been here several times and ZuZu is quite comfortable with the blend of activity and stillness.

We usually begin by greeting residents gathered around tables—some working on puzzles, others lingering over breakfast, and some are relaxing in the family room. Their

hands emerge from under soft blankets, reaching for ZuZu’s soft black curls. They ask the same questions each week, sometimes every few minutes:

“What’s his name?”

“Oh—her name is ZuZu?”

“How old is he?”

One resident, who has been there since we began visiting, always cradled a baby doll. Every week, she’d ask if her baby could see the dog. She’d share a story about the baby, mingled with scattered, illogical comments. Still, she was sweet, and she adored both her baby doll and ZuZu.

Today, she wasn’t there and we were told that she had passed away. It’s heartbreaking news. We know this will happen, but it’s not easy.

One of the women, Nancy is a huge dog lover, in fact she once worked at the Leader Dogs for the Blind. She is one of Zu’s biggest fans. She will tell you all about the poodle breed in great and interesting detail, and then ask for the fifth time, “What’s his name?” My husband and I so enjoy this lovely woman!

Today ZuZu climbed up on the couch to sit next to Nancy. ZuZu’s ever wagging tail brushed Nancy right across the face! Like poodle butt and full-on fluff tail to her face!! For a second I thought I should quickly remove ZuZu from the couch, but then saw the look on Nancy’s face – priceless! She and the others nearby broke out in such joyful laughter. That was a very happy moment and one of my favorites since starting this journey!

Before we leave, we visit a few individuals who aren’t able to leave their beds and then return to the family room to say goodbye. That’s when more magic happens—residents begin to gather around us without prompting, drawn in for one last pet, a few more tricks, or to share memories of the dogs they loved and lost. Some speak clearly, recalling dogs from long ago. Others trail off mid-sentence, words becoming unrecognizable as their minds drift elsewhere. But they stay close, forming a quiet circle around ZuZu, unwilling to let go just yet. And even then, the same familiar questions return:

“What’s his name?”

“How old is she?”

By now, ZuZu is tired. She settles down in the center of this gentle fortress of wheelchairs and

walkers, ready for a well-earned nap.

Every week, one woman insists we leave ZuZu with her. “I’ll take good care of her!” she pleads. And every week, Jim smiles and replies, “You’ll have to fight Joyce for her.”

Today, she and I stage a playful boxing match that ends in a hug. I think I won—because ZuZu came home with us. But we’ll be back to see old friends, meet new ones,

and remember those who are no longer there.

Sunday Visits

On Sundays, we do a home visit with two young adult siblings, both are wheelchair users and are mostly non-verbal. Each has a full-time caregiver, and it’s hard to say who loves ZuZu more—the siblings, their caregivers, or the sibling’s parents who often stop by to say Hello.

They throw the ball, and ZuZu brings it back with delight. She performs tricks and earns laughter in return. Their father tells us how much the family loves dogs and wishes they could have one of their own—but it’s just not possible right now. So, they really appreciate ZuZu visiting.

ZuZu seems to understand that. She acts like she owns the place—trotting from person to person, fetching the ball, resting at the foot of a wheelchair. She knows exactly where the ball is kept (in a basket on the low shelf) and where the water bowl is placed just for her. For an hour or so every Sunday, she is their dog. But she comes home with us.