Eleven years ago, I walked into an animal shelter with no intention of adopting a dog. My previous dog had just died, and I only thought it would be therapeutic to be around dogs. But like the millions before me who have adopted a pet by accident, I’d overestimated my willpower by a mile.
As it happened, a rawboned Tibetan terrier had just come in off the road. His fur was filthy and matted, and his tail was bent: a truly pathetic sight. I didn’t have the heart to let him spend the night in a cold cage.
So, I gave him the name Roger (the shelter had named the poor guy “Merriweather”), slapped a leash on his collar, and drove him home.
At the time, I was working as a literacy interventionist for students with learning differences such as dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyspraxia. These children often experienced debilitating anxiety with a pencil in their hands out of the perception of being “dumb.” While never true — students with learning differences are often among the most brilliant — the personal dimension of writing makes it difficult for them to believe otherwise. Struggling at writing hurts more than struggling at any other subject because it is our very thought process laid bare. Self-expression in adolescence is already difficult enough without a learning disorder.
As part of my work, I would visit local elementary schools and give professional development workshops on literacy instruction for teachers, and I’d work with individual students and groups who fit the target learning profile. But even the most cutting-edge techniques were useless if students experienced debilitating anxiety with a pencil in hand.
At some point, it struck me to get Roger involved.
After a few informal test trials, I got to work on the process for Roger to become a certified therapy dog, which included training that would enable him to pass a Public Access Test. Once he passed, Roger was able to join me wherever I went.
The first time I (literally) unleashed Roger on a classroom of students, it was as though he’d been trotting merrily through rows of desks since time began. He was a natural, and I understood immediately that part of my job was to give him opportunities to use his gift.
My literacy practice experienced a boost in popularity with Roger at my side. In the subsequent decade, Roger would help hundreds of students feel calm enough to enter into the learning process by simply sitting at their feet, leaning into their shins, and responding positively to their pets.
Roger could preternaturally sense where he was needed most. Once, during a visit to an elementary school, I lost track of Roger only to find him in the principal’s office sitting at the feet of a child who’d gotten in trouble.
It is news to no one that America’s youth are struggling to thrive in the post-COVID age. Cascades of studies reveal that both mental health and educational achievement continue to plummet to historic depths. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 44% of high school students report feeling “persistently sad and hopeless.” A full two-thirds of U.S. children are unable to read with proficiency. Incidences of terrible violence in schools are now so commonplace that they barely attract media attention.
The federal government’s predictable response to these dual crises (spend more money) has predictably failed to stem the tide. And while the expansion of school choice in multiple states this year is cause for hope, the depth and intensity of the crisis demands immediate attention and creative thinking.
That’s where therapy dogs enter the picture. Numerous studies in recent years have indicated improved outcomes in behavior and learning for students in the presence of therapy dogs. One study published this July out of the Netherlands found that students showed a “significant increase in self-confidence and a more positive relationship with their peers” in addition to “an improvement in their belief in their abilities to complete tasks, as well as a change in their self-image.”
Another study out of the University of California, Davis found that students who participated in a dog-assisted reading program saw a 12% increase in their reading abilities over a 10-week period, while children in the exact same program without dogs saw no improvement. Additional studies reveal a sharp increase in cognitive abilities for children in the presence of therapy dogs.
Following my decade of teaching with Roger, these numbers don’t surprise me in the least. I encourage administrators and teachers to introduce therapy dogs to their classrooms as an evidence-based (and, let’s face it, adorable) solution for an education system in free fall. A mass deployment of an army of four-legged heroes would help to reverse America’s education narrative and inspire hope for a generation.
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Peter Laffin is a contributor at the Washington Examiner. His work has also appeared in RealClearPolitics, the Catholic Thing, and the National Catholic Register.
