A Tribute to Leo

6/25/2012 – 5/24/2024

It has been two weeks since I said goodbye to my beloved friend, Leo the Sheltie. Leo was a special companion—compassionate, gentle, humorous, adventurous, and an incredible empath. He was exceptionally handsome and seemed aware of it. Although he could have been challenging for many, likely taking control in most situations, as part of a bonded team, he excelled.

Leo served as a service dog to my late friend, Mark, who struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When Mark began to exhibit signs of stress, Leo would lean in and lick him, effectively calming him with remarkable skill. As a therapy dog, Leo brought joy to children at Gillette Children’s Hospital, comfort to stressed travelers at the Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport (MSP), and therapeutic support to individuals in schools, care facilities, and other environments. There are many memorable instances of his impact. For example, during a therapy session, one child enjoyed placing and removing several hair clips from Leo’s soft fur as part of her dexterity exercises. Leo displayed exceptional patience in such moments.

At MSP, I recall a tall man, appearing to be in his late 30s, who suddenly knelt at Leo’s feet, exclaiming, “I need to pet your dog!” As he ran his hands through Leo’s thick coat, the man explained that he had flown in to enter treatment at Hazelden for two addictions. As he stroked Leo, still somewhat distant in his demeanor, he remarked to himself as much as to me: “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this! What am I even doing here? But then I saw your dog and thought, ‘If I can just pet that dog, I’ll be able to do it!’” After several minutes of this interaction, the man turned to me, now calm and composed, and said with newfound determination, “I can make it now. I’ll be able to do this.” Leo frequently had this kind of impact on people. He would often stop or turn to connect with individuals I had not even noticed, yet he instinctively recognized those, human or canine, who required his assistance. Due to his serene demeanor, I often referred to him as my “Buddha boy.” His acceptance of others was both unconditional and profound.

Although many of the doors that Leo opened are now closed, I trust that “all shall be well.” I often reflect on the years of training and effort it took to form the animal-assisted therapy team that he led. He was not my first therapy dog (my gratitude extends to Honey for that), and I am uncertain if he will be my last. Regardless, it was an honor to be in service to such an extraordinary being. Although he is no longer physically present, I believe that love endures, as it is indeed the greatest of all things.