A few weeks back, something remarkable happened as Gus and I and another volunteer, Karyl, and her sweet Labrador retriever, Phoebe, visited the junior high children at Downingtown Middle School as part of our regular visits each week.
As background, in previous visits, a boy (we will call him Andy) wanted nothing to do with Gus and, in fact, sprinted to a corner of the classroom when Gus entered through the door. His face was tinged with fear, his body was a vessel of anxiety, and he wanted to be far away as possible from my dear canine companion. The same reaction occurred for several weeks, until one day Andy walked quickly over to Gus and touched his back for a millisecond. His teacher had urged him to touch Gus in the past, but for some reason, at that moment, at that time, Andy decided to take the plunge. Everyone in the room, including Andy’s classmates, congratulated him on his success, all of us moved by Andy’s courage to do something that seemed improbable just a short while ago.
It got better. With each passing week, Andy touched Gus’s back more often and with firmer strokes until the day Karyl, Phoebe, Gus and I entered those classroom doors. On this day, not only did Andy touch Phoebe for the first time, but he also volunteered to walk her. With Karyl by his side and with his hands wrapped around the leash, he and Phoebe walked a straight line to the end of the outside courtyard. His face abeam with a brief smile, he let go of the leash when he and Phoebe came to the turnaround point and scurried back inside the classroom. He had had enough for the day. We all got it.
Forgive the cliché, but in that courtyard stroll with a sweet dog, a affirming volunteer and supportive teachers and aides, he had climbed the proverbial mountain and was approaching the summit.
Triumph.
That is Nellie’s Schoolhouse.
