Honoring My Sweet Ray of Hope

The story behind the story.

In my latest essay published by Chicken Soup for the Soul, I share the story of my 12-year-old Golden Retriever, Hope, the unexpected way she came into my life, and the many ways she’s lived up to her name. You can read my essay, “A Sweet Ray of Hope,” in Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from My Dog.

Here, I want to share the story behind the story, along with a few photos of the situations I recount.

Shesa Sweet Ray of Hope

In the story, I share how Hope’s name came to me, before I met her, while I was out running. I knew when I saw her face in an online post from the breeder, that she was the “Hope” I’d envisioned. I’d been dealing with some challenging life situations and desperately needed hope. Perhaps that’s why the name came to me. It was certainly out of character with the pet names we’d previously chosen, as my father pointed out.

“Hope. That’s a different name. Not like all the dog names you’ve chosen in the past,” said Dad, referring to the more western, earthy names we’d picked for our previous pups: Sundance, Dakota, Maverick, Cheyenne.

“Well, that’s the name that came to me, and when I met her, it fit,” I told Dad.

As our first AKC Registered dog, we wanted to give Hope a name that honored her lineage. I needed to find a name that worked with the moniker I’d already given her.

Hope’s mom’s name was Shesa Sweet Sunday. I began playing around with the Shesa Sweet prefix and finally decided Shesa Sweet Ray of Hope described my new pup perfectly.

We had no idea how much Hope would live up to her name.

A dog trainer and Dad led us to pet therapy

I began training Hope the day I brought her home. At nine weeks old, she was a quick study, picking up basic commands like fetch and sit almost immediately. At 16 weeks, I enrolled her in puppy socialization classes, and shortly after we started obedience training. During one of our obedience classes, the instructor suggested I consider making Hope a therapy dog. She felt Hope’s combination of smarts and social adeptness were the perfect combination for therapy work. I had never heard of pet therapy, but a seed was planted

A few months later, I took Hope over to visit my dad after he had heart surgery. Dad loved Hope and prior to his surgery often stopped by my house to visit her. I knew seeing her would lift his spirits. Here’s the picture of the two of them sitting on Dad’s patio, bearing the smiles that cemented in my heart that Hope would indeed become a therapy dog. Hope was just six months old at the time. Dogs need to be at least one year of age to become certified as a therapy pet.

Soothing my son

While Hope loved lounging on the couch, she never slept in our bed. She was perfectly content to snooze on her dog bed or the floor. That changed when my son went through some difficult times. In the published story, I share how Hope took to sleeping on his bed. I think she knew he needed comfort. Whenever he was in his room, napping or working on his computer, I would find Hope curled up on the end of the bed. It warmed my heart to see my sweet girl providing him with pet therapy before she even became a bonafide therapy dog.

Certified with Love on a Leash

When Hope was 18 months old, she easily passed the Love on a Leash therapy dog certification. Here she is on one of her first training visits, sharing the warm smile she always wore in her ten years of therapy dog work. She loved her job and everyone she met!

Hope was certified as a therapy dog by Love on a Leash, The American Kennel Club, and Alliance of Therapy Dogs. She also earned two Pet Therapy Advanced degrees from Love on a Leash, one for all the visits she made with veterans, and the other for her visits with teens.

As a therapy dog, Hope visited every venue imaginable, including the VA hospital, nursing homes, assisted living facilities, memory care units, high schools and colleges, the library for a children’s reading program, an addiction and pain support group, and in her final two years as a therapy dog, she made weekly visits to a hospice facility to comfort dying patients and their families, as well as staff who looked forward to showering Hope with love and treats every week.

I chose to retire Hope from pet therapy in 2024, at age twelve, when she began showing signs she wasn’t enjoying it the way she always had.

In her ten years as a pet therapy dog, Hope made thousands of visits. Well, technically, we made those visits as a team, but I often joked I was merely Hope’s chauffeur!

Here are a few pictures of Hope working over the years. I’m not sure who got more joy out of her visits, her, or the people she spent time with.

Enjoying her well-earned retirement

Hope is now enjoying retirement. At twelve, thankfully, she’s still is great shape and her health is good. We walk two miles around our mountain neighborhood every morning, and I occasionally take her on easy hikes.

Her face is almost completely white now, earning her the nickname, Sugar Face.

She has developed a few quirks, likely age-related, like hesitating before going down stairs in the dark. The vet says depth perception can become an issue as the eyes age. She barks more. The vet says her hearing may be going and she may bark because she can’t identify the noises she hears.

She’s always been a sensitive dog—it’s what made her a great therapy dog—but she has developed more fears the past few years. She hates storms and strong wind—both make her quiver and shake. We do our best to calm and reassure her.

She also seems to love her independence more these days. Most evenings she’s off in another room by herself, while we watch television, with our other “velcro” Golden Retriever, Faith, close by.

We give Hope her space. Perhaps after sharing so much of herself for so many years, she simply needs more alone time now.

Despite all this, she is still an incredibly loving dog. She often looks up at me when I walk by, a soulful gaze in her eyes.

“Do you need a hug?” I ask. She immediately sits down in front of me. That’s my cue to kneel down, wrap my arms around her back, and let her nuzzle her head into my chest. We sit that way for awhile, both enjoying the connection and comfort.

Despite her years, Hope still displays a playful, puppy side. Every evening after dinner, she wiggles her entire body and rolls around on her dog bed. We’ve nicknamed this behavior, “Wiggle Worm” and it’s a joy to watch. Other times, when she’s out in the backyard and doesn’t want to come back inside, she “play bows” when I go out to get her, seemingly inviting me to run around the yard with her.

The Chicken Soup story is my tribute to Hope

I’m grateful Chicken Soup for the Soul chose to publish my story about my beloved Hope. She has definitely earned the recognition.