Angel on a Leash (12 page)

Belle could cause a traffic jam on the Fifth Avenue sidewalks because the people in business suits would stop for their morning dose of canine therapy, too. And you know what? The encounters with the suits weren't much different from the encounters with the cardboard guys in the courtyard at the church. The only difference was that these people were dressed a little better and were rushing to get somewhere. But they were smiling when they walked away, too, even if they had to brush off a little dog hair from those suits.

I always tried to get a morning look at the world-famous St. Patrick's Cathedral, a historical Catholic church that sits between 51
^st
and 50
^th
Streets and between Madison and Fifth Avenues. One morning, Belle and I actually went into the church during morning Mass and sat in the back. The security people looked at us but let us pass. When it came time for Holy Communion, I walked up to the front of the church with Belle (she came along for the long walk up the aisle). I had never done that before, and I haven't done it since. We wanted to be respectful, but I didn't want to leave her tied up in the pew.

After Mass, back out on the sidewalk, Belle led me to someone, and I was visiting with him when I realized that she was already elsewhere at the end of the leash. I turned and found her with her head on the lap of an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He was petting her and laughing, getting the biggest kick out of her.

“What a beautiful dog,” he said. “What's her name?”

“This is Belle,” I said, “and I'm David, Belle's dad.”

“Well, hello, Belle and David. How nice to meet you. My name is Robert.”

We were in Robert's marketing area. He had his chair in a strategic, busy location, in the middle of the traffic flow at the corner of 50th and Fifth, right in front of the church. He was obviously a “regular” at this location, as many of the people who walked by greeted him by name.

Robert was an elderly (seventy-eight) black gentleman with a bad right eye, a few missing teeth, a hat that read “Jesus Saves,” and a small American flag attached to the back of his chair. He had a large paper cup on his lap, and he shook it every once in a while to remind people that he was there. Right now, however, he was giving Belle everything she was demanding. She loved it, and so did he.

“She's so beautiful,” he said.

“Well, I would have to agree,” I replied. “And she obviously loves you. Whatever you're doing, don't stop.”

“Hi Bobby,” a woman said, dropping a few coins into his cup.

“God bless you,” he called to her.

“What kind of a dog is she?”

“She's a Brittany, a bird dog.”

Someone else stuffed a dollar into the cup and said, “Have a good day.”

“Thank you. God bless you,” said Robert.

Back to Belle: “She's beautiful.” She was standing on her hind legs with her front legs on his lap and her nose in his face, giving him a little kiss.

I chatted with him a little, finding out that he lived over on Amsterdam Avenue. He tried to keep a regular schedule here, but it was obviously very dependent on the weather. He told me that he was an Army veteran and was tickled to find out that I was, too.

He never stopped smiling. He threw out “God bless yous” and “Jesus loves yous” to everyone who looked at him, talked to him, patted him on the shoulder, or dropped something in his cup.

That morning, Belle and I had a little something extra in our step as we headed down Fifth Avenue toward the office—just as we did every time we bumped into Robert on the street over the next few years.

Before the 2008 Westminster show, Saks Fifth Avenue and Westminster partnered to build a display for several of the Saks windows in the store on 50th Street and Fifth Avenue. Saks dedicated some of its windows to our show, and we helped the store put a nice display together that was in place for a two-week span before, during, and after the show.

We took James, the wonderful English Springer Spaniel who had won Best in Show the previous year (2007) to Saks on the Friday afternoon before the show for a media event that was covered by photographers, video crews, and reporters. As we stood outside at the windows, who came rolling up in his wheelchair? Robert. Remember, we were on his turf.

“Hey, David, what are you all doing here?”

I explained the event to him and showed him the media load that was with us. “Why don't you hang out and watch us for a while?”

As all of the Saks suits looked on in wonderment, I rolled Robert closer. He was smiling and enjoying it all. Some of his street “customers” walked by and said hi. “What are you doing, Robert?” one of them asked. “I'm watching this famous dog be on TV,” he said proudly.

I saw Robert a few more times that summer, once with Belle and a couple of times when it was just me, and then I lost him for a while. We seemed to be on different schedules because I could never catch him at the church, and that worried me a little bit. Finally, the following spring, Belle and I found him right where he was supposed to be. We had a great visit, as most of our visits with him were.

Not long after that, Belle's health failed, and after a short, valiant battle, she passed (June 2009). Cheri and I were devastated, and we turned ourselves to devoting a lot of time and energy to keeping Teigh alive as he fought the same battle.

One morning, a couple of weeks after Belle's passing, I got on a different bus from home. I got off at 57
^th
and Fifth and then walked to St. Patrick's. I was going there to light a candle for Belle, thinking about how she had actually attended a Mass there with me and had gone up to the main altar with me for Holy Communion. I was also hoping to see Robert.

There was no sign of him when I arrived, so I walked into the church and sat down, said a little prayer for Belle, lit a candle, and walked back out the door, headed to the office. And who was sitting there on the corner outside the church but my friend Robert, in his wheelchair, with his American flag, a donation cup in his lap, and his red hat that read “Jesus Saves.” He still wasn't seeing too well, but he was smiling and happy to have someone to chat with.

“How's Belle?” he asked me. I told him that one of the reasons I had come to the church this morning was to try to find him so I could share with him the sad news that she had passed on.

He shed a little tear. “She's in a good place now,” he said. He repeated that a few times as we chatted about her for several minutes. I had brought a couple of pictures of her for him—big ones that I knew he could see. I promised him that I would get back to the neighborhood and see him again soon.

If I hadn't had a relationship with Robert because of Belle, I probably would not have stopped to chat with him that day. As it turned out, he was smiling when I walked away. And so was I.

I knew that somewhere, Belle was watching. There is no doubt in my mind that she had made sure that Robert would be there for me—and me for him—on this day.

I found Robert again a few months later, in the fall, and told him that we were going to get a new puppy to carry on for Belle.

“Bring her to me when you get her,” he said. “I hope she's as nice as Belle.”

“We hope so, too,” I said. “You can help us train her.”

It wasn't until the following spring that Grace was old enough to make the trip to the office with me; and even then she still had to ride in a Sherpa bag for much of the journey. But she came out of the bag to be introduced to Robert, and she sat on his lap for a few minutes, getting some hugs and pets from him and a few of his people.

“She's beautiful,” he said. “Grace, you look just like Belle. I hope you are as nice as her.”

To me, that seemed like a proper anointing, a passing of the torch from Belle to Grace. It was a Fifth Avenue ceremony, presided over by Robert. Once again, I couldn't help but think that, somewhere, Belle was watching.

“ Thank you for bringing all your dogs to see me and all the other children. It makes me really happy. ” –G EORGE Y EOMANS A GE 9, R ESIDENT AT R ONALD M C D ONALD H OUSE
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In the Moment

I
f anyone lives life in the moment, it's a child with cancer. And that child's parents.

Ronald McDonald House New York is a home away from home for kids and their families who have come to New York City to get help in their battles with cancer. This “Ronald House” is dedicated exclusively to pediatric oncology, although other Ronald Houses around the world (nearly 300 of them) may have other missions as well.

In New York, one night's stay at the House is $35, and for most families, the fee is paid by a charity, a hospital, or friends. For some of these families, who spend weeks or months or even years here, that's crucial. The family must have a referral from the social workers at their hospital to be eligible for a stay at the House, where the eighty-four rooms are filled every night.

The children know that they are sick. They may not know exactly why, but they know that they don't feel well and they know that this is why they are here. What can be confusing to them is why, if they are here to get better, the treatments are often so rough on them.

Many of the families have already exhausted treatment options locally or regionally, and they have come to New York for clinical trials in the hope of curing or at least managing their children's cancers. The kids and their families have been through a lot already, and whether they come from Long Island or Indiana or California or Peru or Greece, they are here in New York City because they feel that this is the best hope for their children—a relationship with one of the foremost cancer treatment centers in the world, such as Memorial Sloan-Kettering, New York University Langone Medical Center, or the NewYork-Presbyterian Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital.