Twelve men and women sit around a table agreeing on what should come next.

The subject of their discussion lays sprawled out on the floor, big, brown and unflappable.  A loud gnawing emanates from his corner.  He’s chewing on a bone, oblivious to the decision that will bring in others of his species.

The all-volunteer board is voting to introduce animal-assisted therapy to this men’s recovery house.  That means bringing dogs and trainers onboard, and shaking up, even a little, how traditional therapy works.   The professionals who run the house are convinced that canines will help the 50+ male residents – the humans – who daily are working their way back to a healthy life,

My vote is a resounding “yay.”

Sneaking peaks at Sammi, the oversized lab chewing happily on a large rawhide slab, I know she alone can’t cure addiction.

But who can?

No physician or scientist, nor recovery expert nor poet nor philosopher, has yet to find a “cure.”  Maybe Bill has.  But even his way is not guaranteed for everyone.

It certainly took my son years to find “his” cure, a recovery he works at every day – even after 12 years sober.

No question – dogs help.

When Jacob was at his worst, when late adolescence brought on a raging case of substance overuse, how many times did he lie on the floor next to two somnambulant greyhounds?  Larry and Roman were the soothing balm that calmed him when little else would.  For those few, quiet moments when he stretched out alongside their sleek, warm bodies, their innate understanding of human conditions – drugged or not –  seeped into his soul, lending reassurance, peace and love.

Even today, Jacob finds reasons to have dogs in his life.

As do I.

We may care for canines.

But canines can heal us.

Just ask Sammi.