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Wearing a striped bow tie and sporting an air of canine confidence, Hurricane Joe is on the move, padding his way between buildings at the West Palm Beach cemetery where his business cards read “grief counselor.”
Like grief itself, Joe doesn’t travel a linear path. The little Lhasa Apso is blind — the result of some unknown cruelty inflicted by one of five previous owners — so he mentally maps his surroundings by scent, trial and error, and the patient voice of Gail Raines, who adopted him 18 months ago.
“Watch. Watch,” she tells him. (“I know it’s weird I say ‘watch’ to a dog who’s blind,” she says later, “but that’s his key word.”)
Raines, who is the cemetery’s office administrator, will sometimes open a door for Joe, and he’ll find himself black button nose to hinge, his progress halted by an unseen roadblock.
But with enough meandering, he always gets where he needs to be. Which, during the week, is I.J. Morris at Star of David Cemetery of the Palm Beaches.
CLICK HERE TO SEE A VIDEO OF JOE AND HIS OWNER, GAIL RAINES
The National Funeral Directors Association doesn’t track the use of animals for grief therapy in 19,000-plus U.S. funeral homes, but “anecdotally, we are hearing that more and more of our members are using animals with the bereaved,” said Jessica Koth, the organization’s spokesperson.
Some of those dogs (and the rare cat) are naturally good with people. Others are certified therapy animals. Joe recently earned his service vest through the U.S. Animal Registry.
His on-the-job duties are varied: He naps on the laps of mourners hashing out funeral arrangements and accompanies family members on graveside visits. At a Father’s Day event last month, he served as a four-legged security blanket for the old and lonely, and the young and scared.
To read the rest of Hurricane Joe’s story, go here.
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