As of: February 23, 2024, 9:24 a.m
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Lisa Kanarek with her dog Gaia, whom she adopted after the death of her previous owner.
© Lisa Kanarek
Neighborhood help is a valuable asset, but the story of Lisa, her neighbor Sandra and Gaia goes even further: it changes an entire life.
Early the morning after Thanksgiving, I woke up to red lights flashing through the blinds.
I slipped a long, puffy coat over my pajamas and hurried outside.
An ambulance sat in my 80-year-old neighbor Sandra's driveway while paramedics rolled a stretcher into her house.
Even though I barely knew her, my neighbor's final trip to the hospital would trigger a ripple effect that would change my life and affect others she had never met.
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I remembered Sandra had a big dog, so I texted her friend Gilda.
She looked after the puppy when my neighbor wasn't there, and Gilda and I had exchanged numbers before.
Gilda was out of town and told me where I could find the spare key to Sandra's house.
In the three years my husband and I had lived next door, I had only set foot in Sandra's house twice.
The first time was a few weeks after we moved in.
I rang the doorbell and Sandra, dressed in a colorful skirt and blouse, invited me in.
I guessed she was in her late 70s. After I introduced myself, her dog came up to me, sniffed my shoes and then lay down on his side.
“I’m Sandra and this is Gaia,” she said.
“She loves it when you rub her tummy.”
I liked my neighbor immediately.
She was direct and matter-of-fact in her conversation.
“Trash is picked up on Mondays and introduce yourself to the security patrol so they know who you are if you need them,” she said as she wrote down her phone number and the security patrol number.
She told me about neighborhood festivals.
“I don’t have time for that,” she said.
“I have other things I’d rather be doing.”
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The second time I saw her was a month later when I brought her a plant.
She thanked me for the gift but didn't invite me in.
I thought of Sandra and our last conversation as I turned the key and entered her house.
The caramel and white husky strolled toward me, head bowed and eyes locked on mine.
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Since I couldn't remember the dog's name, I looked at the silver tag on her collar.
“Hello, Gaia,” I said.
She dropped to the floor and rolled onto her back so I could stroke her white belly.
I texted Gilda to ask if the puppy could stay with us until she got back to town.
"Secure.
Thank you!” she wrote back.
Over the next few days, Gilda called to tell me she was trying to find someone to look after the dog while Sandra was in the hospital.
I told her not to worry, my husband and I would take care of Gaia.
I walked with her twice a day.
A week later, when Sandra returned home, Gilda temporarily moved into the second bedroom and became her full-time carer.
As my neighbor's health deteriorated, Gilda and I became friends.
I asked her if I could continue my dog walks.
Every time I picked up Gaia, Gilda and I talked for at least 10 minutes.
During one of these conversations, she asked me a question that I wasn't expecting.
Gaia doing therapy dog yoga.
© Lisa Kanarek
“Do you want to keep Gaia when Sandra is gone?”
"She won't live with you?" I asked.
“I wish she could live with us, but we may be moving and the new farm is too small for her,” she said.
“We’re happy to adopt her,” I replied.
“We already love Gaia.”
Less than two weeks later, Gilda texted me: “The hospice nurse is on the way.
I think it's time." Just an hour after I arrived at her home, my frail neighbor took her last breath.
I waited in the kitchen as Gilda and her husband tearfully said goodbye to her.
The hospice nurse called the funeral home and Gilda's husband came into the kitchen.
He patted Gaia on the head and scratched her back.
“It’s time to bring her home,” he said.
I attached her faded orange leash to her matching collar.
As we crossed Sandra's driveway and onto my lawn, tears dripped onto my coat.
I mourned the loss of a woman I had only spoken to twice, but I felt connected to her through her animal companion who was now mine.
I watched Gaia closely for weeks, knowing that she would be sad, confused, and possibly disoriented when she moved to a new home.
A month after Sandra's death, I completed training as a doula for end-of-life care.
Gaia was calm on our daily walks, even around small children who stopped to pet her, so she seemed well suited as a therapy dog.
I completed the online training with Pet Partners, passed the in-person test, and then applied to volunteer at a local children's hospital.
On our first day in the hospital, I hid my shock when I saw a young girl with a shaved head and tubes on her arm, with a band-aid on her hand to hold the IV needle in place.
I knew the hospital specialized in treating complex cases, but I had not mentally prepared myself for what I would find behind every door.
Gaia reacted differently, she didn't hesitate to go to the bed and let the girl scratch her behind the ears.
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Now every other week I put the purple therapy dog vest around Gaia's neck and we drive across town to visit patients and their families.
Before we leave the hospital room, I give the child a trading card with Gaia's picture on the front and facts about her on the back: favorite foods, activities she likes, and her birthday.
When I couldn't confirm her date of birth, I gave my neighbor's birthday, February 14th.
More than eight months later, I am no longer surprised by the young patients we see.
I follow Gaia's example and focus on making the children smile.
They rub her back and tell me about their pets.
Recently, a little boy asked for her phone number while another said to his mother, “Look at her ID, Mom.
She’s a doctor!”
Gaia's life changed when she became part of our family.
During our walks she interacts with the children on the street (her fan club), and she makes sick children smile and laugh while wagging her tail.
She goes with us on trips and to outdoor festivals where she knows people will stop to run their hands on her fluffy back or ask her for a high-five.
My life is different too.
Meeting dozens of people during our visits resurfaced the extroverted tendencies I lost during the pandemic.
Before I knock on each patient's door, I take a breath and greet the families with confidence, knowing how my buddy will react.
I also use the same skills I learned working with Gaia as a doula for end-of-life care.
One of the first ways I connect with a patient or family member is through a conversation about our dogs.
Adopting my neighbor's dog gave me the opportunity to return the favor in a way I've never experienced before.
As we walk through the hallways of the children's hospital, I think of Sandra and hope she smiles, knowing how much joy Gaia brings to everyone she meets.
About the author
Lisa Kanarek
is a freelance writer and author of five books about working from home.
We are currently testing machine translations. This article was automatically translated from English into German.
This article was first published in English on February 14, 2024 at the “Washingtonpost.com” - as part of a cooperation, it is now also available in translation to readers of the IPPEN.MEDIA portals.