“Why do you bring your dog to work?”
It’s one of the questions I’m asked most often.
If you’ve ever visited my office, you’ve probably met Ellie, my 5 year old Golden Retriever and therapy dog. She’s been coming to work with me for years, and while she may be one of the first things people notice about my office, she’s also one of the most intentional parts of it.
Like most Golden Retrievers, Ellie assumes every person she meets is a friend she simply hasn’t been introduced to yet. She loves people, loves attention, and if you’ll throw a ball or scratch behind her ears, she’s convinced you’ve made an excellent first impression.
She has also worked hard for her job.
Ellie has completed extensive obedience training to prepare for working in a therapy office and continues to attend classes every week. Of course, she’s still a Golden Retriever. There are occasional moments when she seems to temporarily forget everything she’s ever learned. Fortunately, those moments are usually endearing rather than problematic.
Every morning she’s scheduled to work, I ask her the same question:
“Do you want to go to the office?”
About 95% of the time she’s sprinting to the car before I’ve even grabbed my keys.
The other 5%?
Well…we all have days we’d rather stay home.
When she’s off the clock, she’s exactly what you’d expect from a well-loved Golden Retriever. She spends her days swimming, chasing tennis balls, wrestling with her dog siblings, collecting more toys than any one dog could reasonably need, and convincing everyone she meets that she deserves just one more treat.
She also has another important role outside the therapy office.
Ellie is a canine blood donor. Several times a year she quietly gives blood that may one day help save another dog’s life. It’s just another example of the gentle, giving nature that has always made her special.
I have three Golden Retrievers.
People sometimes ask why only Ellie comes to work.
The answer is temperament.
One of my other Goldens may eventually join me after the right training and experience. The third is an absolutely wonderful dog, but she’d much rather chase balls than quietly sit through a therapy session.
Not every great dog is meant to be a therapy dog.
Ellie is.
But the real reason Ellie comes to work started long before she was ever born.
When I was in my late teens, I was the one walking into a therapist’s office for the first time.
I was nervous.
Guarded.
Unsure whether I wanted to be there at all.
My therapist had a black Lab mix.
I don’t remember spending every session petting him.
Sometimes I barely acknowledged him.
But I remember how different the room felt because he was there.
The office felt warmer. Less clinical. Less intimidating.
There was something about a calm dog quietly existing in the room that made it easier to sit with difficult emotions. Easier to trust the process. Easier to keep coming back.
I didn’t realize it then, but I never forgot it.
Years later, when I became a therapist and eventually opened my own practice, I thought often about that dog.
Not because he did the therapy.
He didn’t.
But he helped create an environment where therapy felt just a little safer.
That’s exactly what I wanted for my own clients.
Research has shown that well-trained therapy dogs can help reduce stress, encourage relaxation, and create a greater sense of emotional safety for many people. Simply petting a calm dog has been associated with decreases in stress hormones and increases in oxytocin the hormone often associated with connection and bonding.
Of course, no dog replaces a therapist.
But sometimes a dog can help people feel comfortable enough to begin.
Over the years I’ve watched Ellie quietly become part of countless stories.
She’s celebrated victories with enthusiastic tail wags.
She’s rested beside someone experiencing unimaginable grief.
She’s provided a welcome distraction when emotions became overwhelming.
She’s offered a comforting head in someone’s lap when words simply weren’t enough.
And sometimes…
She’s snored through an entire session without a care in the world.
Somehow, even that helps.
People often joke that Ellie is my co-therapist.
The truth is, she isn’t.
She doesn’t know counseling theories or treatment plans.
She isn’t responsible for helping people navigate anxiety, depression, trauma, grief, or life’s hardest decisions.
That’s the work I’ve spent years studying and continue to dedicate my career to.
Ellie has a different gift.
I sometimes think she was simply born knowing how to help people.
Yes, she has received years of training, and that training matters. It taught her how to work safely and respectfully in a counseling office. But it didn’t create the qualities that make her special.
She already had those.
The gentleness.
The patience.
The ability to quietly sit with someone exactly where they are without asking them to be anything different.
I chose to become a therapist.
Ellie simply became exactly who she was always meant to be.
When I think back to that nervous teenager sitting in a therapist’s office with a black Lab nearby, I realize that experience shaped far more than I understood at the time.
It shaped the kind of office I wanted to create.
A place that feels warm instead of sterile.
Comfortable instead of intimidating.
Human instead of clinical.
If you’ve ever wondered why there’s a Golden Retriever wandering around my office, now you know.
She’s there because I remember what it felt like to need that quiet comfort myself.
And because every single day, Ellie reminds me that healing doesn’t always begin with words.
Sometimes…
It begins with simply feeling safe enough to walk through the door.