All my life I have been drawn to animals. I love all animals big and small, but dogs have always held a special place in my heart. I’ve always known that I am supposed to work with those remarkable animals.

My work started when I was eleven. I had an older Labrador retriever rescue who was the victim of divorce. Her owners split and neither of them wanted the dog, so she ended up in a little country humane society in the Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but back then no one knew just what a blessing Cleo, Old Yeller, was going to be-to everyone she met.

When my family decided to finally add a dog to the household, we searched high and low for the perfect dog. We needed a dog who would be gentle with my baby brothers, adjust well to farm life, and alert us to anything suspicious. When we came upon this humane society, we drove over and hour south to visit her.

As soon as we entered the home, Cleo came bounding down the steps, tail wagging, tongue lolling, and a goofy grin from floppy ear to floppy ear. She fought to get between our legs, begging for us to scratch her back and love her the way she loved us. She trotted over to my baby brothers, who were infatuated with the talking parrot at the time, and nudged them gently with her wet, brown nose.

It was very clear she was the best choice for our home.

Cleo came home with us. At the time, she was four years old and was bursting at the seams with life. Her tail never stopped wagging and she was always game for a hike or a swim. She’d lie in the dirt and help you split, stack and cut the firewood all day, every day. She loved it when my baby brothers crawled all over her and rubbed her silky ears between their fingertips, savoring the love they gave her.

But for me, just having a farm dog around the house wasn’t enough. I wanted to show, to work! However, at the time, joining a 4-H club was never an option, and there wasn’t really much I could do to get into the showing world. Then, one day, everything changed when the local advertising magazine came in, and my dad found something.

He called me over and showed me the advertisement. It was an old black and white notice reminding the community that at the church in April, an organization called “Caring Animal Partners” would be hosting a Canine Good Citizen test. If you passed this test, your dog would be eligible to visit nursing homes.

Naturally I didn’t hesitate to polish every command Cleo knew. We practiced every single day, and when the test came, I was really nervous. What if Cleo failed? What if I couldn’t handle her well enough?

I needn’t have worried. Cleo was born to love like she’d never been hurt, and she passed all the tests with flying colors. I’ll never forget the organization giving me her certificate, her “Working Dog” bandanna, and taking my picture with Cleo. I was finally doing something I loved, and I knew Cleo loved it just as much.

Shortly after passing, Cleo and I visited a local nursing home. The residents had mixed reactions. Some wanted nothing to do with Cleo, some showed mild interest, and some were so happy to see Cleo they didn’t want her to leave. My Lab greeted everyone with a giant, sloppy smile and a tail that wagged like a jet’s propeller. She’d put her head in everyone’s lap and stare in their aging souls with her loving brown eyes. And with that gaze, I watched her ease the pain of one elderly woman.

This one woman was aging, but was still lively and cherished her independence. Olga loved to see me and Cleo every time we visited. She’d tell me all these fascinating stories about life, and then would ask me all about mine and Cleo’s lives. Cleo would lie down at Olga’s feet, panting happily as the stories were swapped.

Cleo and I visited Olga a lot. One day, Olga realized her health was declining. She would have to move up a floor in the nursing home, to a more dependent level. She was distraught over this. Angry. On the verge of tears. She was sulking bitterly while slowly packing her things when Cleo and I walked by. The nurse asked if she’d like to see us, and Olga declined. When the nurse suggested it might be good for her, she sighed and let us in.

Immediately, Cleo ran up to Olga and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek. Her tail thumped against the wall and drool dripped onto the carpet. Olga vented all her sadness to Cleo and I, and I could see the weight being lifted off her shoulders. Cleo helped her stand a little straighter that day, and by the time we left, she was feeling renewed, and her bitterness melted away like snow in the spring.

Cleo visited Olga until she couldn’t walk down those hallways anymore. As she aged, her hips gave out. Her eyesight dimmed, and tumors sprouted in her abdomen. When she was thirteen, we knew it was time to say goodbye.

The last thing I ever said to her was, “I love you Cleo. Goodnight.” And I stayed with her until the very end, because a dog who could love like that after being so cruelly abandoned deserved every ounce of love I could humanly give her.

I’m older now. I’ll be graduating high school soon. The future could hold anything, but I know that no matter what I do in life, I will always have dogs. I plan on continuing to bring dogs to nursing homes, schools and children’s hospitals. Dogs are the mediums in which I am able to channel my help to the world. I plan on being just like Cleo-doing it until I can’t walk down the hallways anymore.