Page 43 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

Today is a big day for all of us. After months of specialized training, Lucky has completed his therapy dog certification, and this is his first official visit to the pediatric oncology ward. Thefact that we're working with cancer patients isn't a coincidence, Sean specifically requested it in honor of Diane.

"Alright, team," Sean announces, emerging from the kitchen with a small cooler bag and Lucky's therapy vest. "Ready to go make some kids smile?"

Lucky, recognizing the vest, sits up straight, suddenly all business. Clover, catching his mood, settles down too, watching with curious eyes.

A few minutes later, we head to the hospital. In the parking lot, Sean helps Lucky into his official therapy dog vest, a smart blue garment with patches indicating his certification.

"Look at you," I say, straightening the vest. "Such a professional."

Lucky's tail wags gently, his demeanor calm but alert. He knows when he's working, another trait that reminds me so much of his owner.

At the reception desk, we check in and receive our visitor badges. The volunteer coordinator, a cheerful woman named Liz who oversaw part of Lucky's certification, meets us in the lobby.

"There's our newest therapy team!" she exclaims, bending to greet Lucky. "Ready for your first day?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Sean replies, his hand finding the small of my back in a reassuring gesture.

Liz leads us through security and up to the pediatric oncology floor, explaining protocols as we go. Lucky walks perfectly beside Sean, ignoring the usual hospital distractions, food smells, other visitors, the occasional rolling equipment.

"So professional," Liz compliments. "Some dogs take months to get this comfortable in a hospital environment."

"He's a special one," I agree, feeling a ridiculous swell of pride.

The pediatric oncology ward is decorated in bright colors, with cheerful murals of forests and oceans covering the walls.Despite the cheery decor, there's no disguising the reality of what happens here, children fighting for their lives against a relentless disease.

Sean's hand tightens on Lucky's leash, and I know he's thinking of Diane. I slip my arm through his, offering silent support.

"We have six patients who've signed up for dog therapy today," Liz explains, checking her clipboard. "We'll start with Zoe, she's seven and has been here for three weeks. She's having a rough time with her latest round of chemo."

She knocks softly on a door decorated with glittery stickers and rainbow drawings. "Zoe? There's someone special here to see you."

"Is it the dog? Is the dog here?" a small, excited voice calls from within.

Liz pushes the door open, revealing a tiny girl sitting up in a hospital bed, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf. Despite the evident fatigue in her face, her eyes light up at the sight of Lucky.

"Oh my gosh, he's so pretty!" she gasps, hands clasped beneath her chin in delight.

“This is Lucky," Sean says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "And he's very happy to meet you, Zoe."

"Can he come up on the bed? Please?" Zoe looks to her mother, who's sitting in a chair beside the bed, then to Liz.

"If it's okay with your mom and the handler," Liz says.

Zoe's mother nods. "Of course. Anything that puts that smile on her face."

Sean guides Lucky to the side of the bed. "Lucky, up," he commands softly. With careful precision, Lucky places his front paws on the edge of the bed, keeping his body steady.

"You can pet him," I tell Zoe. "He loves gentle scratches behind his ears."

Zoe reaches out a small hand, her arm thin and bruised from IVs, and tentatively touches Lucky's golden fur. "He's so soft," she whispers, as if afraid speaking too loudly might scare him away.

"He is," Sean agrees, moving closer to help steady Lucky. "And he has a special talent. Lucky, head down."

Lucky immediately rests his chin on the edge of the bed, looking up at Zoe with soulful brown eyes. The little girl giggles, delighted.

"Can I hug him?" she asks.

Sean glances at me, and I nod, we've practiced this extensively. "Lucky, visit," he says.

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