Pepper and Missy - my first puppy mill
foster.
Pepper - The Dog That Started it all...
The Invisible Wall

It had been a long time since we had been in a situation where we could even consider a dog in our family.  
Our busy schedules of school and work never seemed to allow us the time needed to devote to a new puppy
and all the responsibilities of a dog.  When we moved to Rhode Island in 1991, things changed.  Uprooting the
kids from the school and the friends they had known for most of their lives, leaving behind the security and
support of our families, staring over in new jobs and in a new home were all very difficult.  Of the many
changes that occurred after our move, little did I know that having a dog in our lives was to influence my life so
drastically.

About a year and a half after our arrival, when things had settled down and our new life felt a bit more
homelike, we made the decision to add a dog to our family.  Summer loomed ahead, and we had two young
boys with a lot of free time on their hands.  As most children would do, the boys promised to devote their
summer to training, working with, and taking responsibility for a dog.  As most mothers, I had my doubts.

We began our search for the perfect puppy, calling a few local shelters.  A few days before we were
scheduled to make a visit to one of the shelters, a sign appeared in the neighborhood advertising “free
puppies.”  My youngest son Mark and I decided to take a walk down the street to see the puppies.  A jumble
of energy and joy met us as we walked into the yard.  Nine puppies surrounded us, eager to see who was
visiting.  One little pup was smaller than the rest, about half the size of her brothers and sisters.  Even though
she had long legs and huge ears, she was a tiny thing with a lot of gray in her fur and muzzle.  She looked
delicate and fragile beside her broad and stocky littermates.  Although all the puppies were cute, our eyes
and hands kept going back to this delicate little girl.  She seemed shy, yet kept coming up to us leaning and
touching.  She would quietly put her paw on a knee or creep under an outstretched hand.  The owner
informed us that most of the puppies had already found homes, but she was worried about the tiny girl.  “She
looks like a little old lady,” she said.  "I’m not sure if anyone is going to want her.”  I knew that it didn’t matter if
anyone else wanted her, she wanted us and we wanted her.

We named her Pepper for her “salt and pepper” coloring.  She grew quickly into a beautiful and intelligent
lady and became an important member of our family.  Although at 50 pounds she could appear intimidating,
she was definitely not a watch dog.  Pepper was always the first to the door to see who was there and always
was eager to welcome any stranger into her home.  She loved people and seemed to feel it was her
responsibility to make every guest – from my son’s best friend to the pizza delivery guy – feel right at home.  
She was unquestionably the perfect host.  What we didn’t realize was the other talent she possessed.  One
day, while performing her “host duties” Pepper’s other talent quietly and gently appeared.

A few years after Pepper entered our lives, a dear friend was diagnosed with cancer.  I had met Joyce at my
new job.  She was a special friend.  She was one of those people you can have long, intense conversations
with where you end up solving all the world’s troubles in an afternoon.  The news of her illness had hit her and
those around her very hard.  One evening, shortly after her diagnosis, Joyce and a few friends and I got
together for our monthly “Girls Night Out” dinner.  This month it was at my house.  Of course Pepper greeted
my friends when they arrived as if each were the most important person on the planet.  However, other than
Pepper’s enthusiasm, the evening was very subdued.  All of us were trying to be supportive, but stepping
gingerly around the dreaded word “cancer” in our conversations.  There were long, unfilled silences, which
had never happened with this group before.  As the evening continued, Pepper seemed to have decided that
Joyce needed more attention than the rest of us and always seemed to be close to her.  All of us had
gathered in the kitchen where we chatted about life, work, and families.  Joyce sat on the steps that lead from
my kitchen up to the family room, a little apart from the rest of us.  She occasionally joined in the
conversations but was clearly not her usual self.  

Pepper, carefully seeming to tiptoe up the stairs, gently sat next to Joyce.  She got as close to Joyce as she
possibly could and placed a paw in my friend’s lap.  Pepper leaned her head against Joyce’s chest and
sighed, looking up into my friend’s face as only a dog can.  Tears immediately appeared in Joyce’s eyes as
she wrapped her arms around Pepper.  She whispered to Pepper, “Oh my!  How did you know how much I
needed a hug right now?”  A dog had done for my friend what none of us in that room could do.  She had
broken through the rigid and tightly drawn wall of disease and had, in one small gesture, given love and
tenderness when it was needed the most.  We were all moved that day by what we had seen in my kitchen,
but other than my friend Joyce, no one in that room was more influenced by what had just happened than I.   
Rarely had I experienced anything that had opened my eyes more than that moment.

How had Pepper known what Joyce needed?  How could a dog know that a person was ill?  Was this some
how just a coincidence, a fluke?  These were just a few of the questions that plagued my mind over the next
few days.  I decided I needed to find some answers.

Everyone knows about seeing eye dogs and their relationships with people with impaired vision.  I had
recently seen a television program about dogs that were trained to alert their owners before the onset of
epileptic seizures.  The theory is that the dog may sense a chemical change in the body right before the start
of a seizure.  I had heard the term “Pet Therapy” before and had watched a few documentaries about animals
that worked in hospitals and nursing homes with the sick and elderly.  Soon I was gathering as much
information about these subjects as I could.  I found out that my revelation in my kitchen was nothing new and
that people all over the world, for centuries, had known what working with animals in therapy could do.  I soon
discovered that my local community college offered a course in “Pet Assisted Therapy” and immediately
signed Pepper and myself up for the next session.

Probably the most widely know type of Pet Therapy is seen in nursing homes and in pediatric wards of
hospitals.  Dog food commercials now talk about how having a pet can lower your blood pressure.  During my
course I learned about a farm where teens with a history of violence cared for animals and discovered the
value of life and of all living things.  I learned about a Brahma bull in Florida that helped troubled children
learn responsibility.  I learned about llamas who visit a day care center and saw the smiles and laughs they
brought to the faces of the children.  However, what I learned most was something that I really knew all along,
something most “pet owners” come to know.  That animals, especially our companion animals, can have a
special power all their own.  They don’t need to work in a nursing home, or work with prisoners in a high
security prison for others to see that power.  That power is unconditional love.  To me, this power is most
evident in dogs.  A dog’s innate personality seems to make dogs some of the best animals for Pet Therapy.  
To a dog, it doesn’t matter what you look like.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t run because you’re sick or in a
wheel chair.  It doesn’t matter that you can’t talk or see.  What matters to a dog is love and affection and
attention.  They seem to crave it.  As Pepper and I began to work together in our Pet Therapy course, I began
to personally witness the power of unconditional love and the miracles it can perform.  

Pepper’s and my first internship in Pet Therapy was working at a center with mentally and physically
challenged young people and adults.  While most of the people attending the center participated in activities,
there was a small group who did not.  These few seemed to have isolated themselves within their disabilities.  
They seemed to have built high and impenetrable walls around themselves where they could exist safe and
secure while they peered out at the “normal” world.  Even though I had witnessed what animals could do and
had seen with my own eyes what Pepper had accomplished in my own kitchen, I was anxious and nervous that
first day.

We met in a small room at the center.  One of the center staff introduced Pepper and me to the five other
people in the room.  The group ranged in age from late teens to early thirties, each with different challenges
in their lives.  One member of the group, Ron, was bound into his wheel chair with a complicated apparatus of
belts and straps.  He had limited control of his limbs, and communicated only with a few sounds.  That first day
he kept his head down, his eyes hidden under his baseball cap.  Another member, Denny, in addition to the
other challenges in his life, was blind.  

That first day was a bit awkward for all of us.  I kept Pepper on a tight leash to help curb her enthusiasm over
meeting all of these new friends and to keep from frightening anyone.  We met each individual and I
introduced Pepper and myself.  Most of the group was excited to meet Pepper and spent lots of time petting
and talking to her.  Ron and Denny however, seemed unreachable.  The walls they had built around
themselves were high and thick.  That first day, neither one responded much to Pepper.  I was somewhat
discouraged, but was determined to keep trying.

I need not have worried.  The transformation was incredible.  Within a few weeks, a young man who could
barely move was throwing a Frisbee for a dog and laughing out loud as Pepper bounded after it and returned
to place it in his lap.  It did not matter to Pepper that sometimes the Frisbee only fell a few inches from the
wheel chair, or bounced off the arm of the chair and went careening off in an odd direction.  It didn’t matter to
Ron either.  Soon, a young man who could not see was walking a dog on a leash around a parking lot,
stopping to pet her along the way and trying his best to avoid the “yucky tongue” as he grinned from ear to
ear.  Pepper had once again succeeded where her human counterparts had failed.  Not only did the group
members interact with Pepper, but they began to participate in other activities at the center.

Because my time with the group was part of my training and internship, it was soon time to leave and make
way for another student and therapy animal.  During our last session we had a party.  I brought sodas and
cake for our human friends in the group and dog treats for Pepper.  We had invited staff members from the
center and the parents and guardians of the group members to join us.  Ron’s guardian told me she was
amazed at the changes in Ron.  She explained that on the days Pepper was at the center, Ron was always
eager and ready to get there, urging her to hurry.  He couldn’t wait until he got home to tell her about Pepper
and what they had done.  Although it was difficult for him to communicate, he worked hard at doing so.  She
was amazed that Pepper had broken through and had reached Ron when no one else could.  She told me
Pepper must be something special.

I thought about that for a minute.  In that minute I asked myself if I had found answers to any of my questions
about Pepper and her behavior with Joyce that day in my kitchen.  Just how did Pepper know my friend
needed her?  How did she know what magic thing to do for each group member to reach them when other,
trained professionals could not?  I doubt if I will ever have the answer to those questions, but I do have a
better understanding and respect for animals.  I had learned a lot of technical information – that dogs
communicate and are very sensitive to body language, that their sense of smell is thousands of times greater
than ours, and that they may be able to “sniff out” and detect cancer cells and other diseases.  With
everything I learned and had experienced, what I now believe is that somehow Pepper “saw” that my friend
was sad and depressed that day.  Was there something special about Pepper, something that helped her
break through the wall that Ron had spent most of his life building?

I agreed, yes, Pepper was special.  Pepper knew there had been a chance to get and to receive love and a
chance to make another new friend.  What was Pepper’s special skill?   She never gave up, she never turned
away from her task.  Persistence and optimism – that’s all it took – along with a wag of her tail, a lick of a
hand, the warmth of her touch.  Pepper didn’t try to break through the wall or even to climb over the wall.  
Pepper never even saw the wall.

I wrote this story about Pepper about 6 years ago.  My friend Joyce passed away a few years ago – lost her
struggle to cancer.  We lost Pepper about a year ago – she also lost a battle with cancer.  But what Pepper
showed me that day in my kitchen changed my life a thousandfold and has spread so far and wide.  Because
of her I went back to college after the kids left home.  I became a veterinary technician and am working in an
oncology department at an animal hospital.  I started working with rescue groups, fostering animals with
special needs rescued from puppy mills and abuse and neglect situations.  I work hard to help place those
special animals with special people that now have a chance to learn what I learned so long ago from a very
special dog.  That love is unconditional – that love can conquer all.  That all it takes is just a paw in the lap,
just a gentle lick on a hand, Just A Touch…of Pepper.

Debbie Fahrenholz
Shortly before she died - on those
steps she shared with Joyce
Pepper and our granddaughter
Tayla
Always smiling
Pepper's Story - How It All Began

Because You Loved Me
by Celine Dion

For all those times you stood by me
For all the truth that you made me see
For all the joy you brought to my life
For all the wrong that you made right
For every dream you made come true
For all the love I found in you
I'll be forever thankful baby
You're the one who held me up
Never let me fall
You're the one who saw me through
through it all

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith 'cuz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

You gave me wings and made me fly
You touched my hand I could touch the sky
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me
You said no star was out of reach
You stood by me and I stood tall
I had your love I had it all
I'm grateful for each day you gave me
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true
I was blessed because I was loved by you

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith 'cuz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

You were always there for me
The tender wind that carried me
A light in the dark shining your love into my
life
You've been my inspiration
Through the lies you were the truth
My world is a better place because of you

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith 'cuz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

I'm everything I am
Because you loved me
Lullaby - Goodnight My Angel
Music and Lyrics by Billy Joel

Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes,
And save these questions for another day.
I think I know what you've been asking me,
I think you know what I've been trying to say.

I promised I would never leave you,
And you should always know
Wherever you may go, no matter where you are
I never will be far away.

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep,
And still so many things I want to say.
Remember all the songs you sang for me,
When we went sailing on an emerald bay.

And like a boat out on the ocean,
I'm rocking you to sleep
The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart
You'll always be a part of me.

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream,
And dream how wonderful your life will be.
Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this
lullaby,
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me.

Someday we'll all be gone
But lullabys go on and on
They never die
That's how you and I will be.