We Took Smoke Breaks… and Found Healing

Therapy dog visits were scarce during the pandemic.

Still, I managed to find several places that would welcome us—masks, hand sanitizer, Chlorhexidine, and all. One of the most challenging places to visit (at least for me… not for Mabel 😊) was an addiction rehabilitation facility. Faithfully, every two weeks, we showed up for 60-minute visits.

We met so many people there—people trying to get their lives back. Some were there for the first time, while others had been there multiple times, still searching for a way forward.

Truthfully, this suburban, church-going girl might never have connected with this group on her own. But God gave me Mabel.

Week after week, I listened. I heard stories of broken lives—broken marriages, broken relationships between parents and children. People shared the weight of choices that had deeply affected their lives and their deep desire to restore some sense of normalcy.

Sometimes there were arguments.
Sometimes there were tears.

And sometimes, we simply sat together.

During our visits, we would even take “smoke breaks” with them—though Mabel and I didn’t smoke. We stood outside in the sweltering heat, listening as they shared pieces of their lives and their recovery journeys. Occasionally, they would ask about Mabel, but mostly, I simply held the leash for “Dr. Mabel.”

Residents would come over to talk, gently running their hands through her long golden fur. It was a privilege to hear their stories—memories of dogs they had loved in the past, or the heartbreak of pets they had to leave behind in order to pursue recovery.

One man, a veteran with PTSD, shared his dream of one day training service dogs for fellow servicemen. I still think of him often.

We always made time to check on the garden they were growing—vegetables carefully tended, a quiet reminder that life can still grow, even in hard places.

It made me pause and reflect on how God gives us simple pleasures—small, beautiful moments to ground us. Yet so often, we find ourselves believing the grass is greener somewhere else.

But Mabel… she understood the simple things.

Sitting quietly at the feet of someone detoxing.
Making steady eye contact.
Offering gentle, physical connection.
Listening without needing words.
Being fully present in the moment.
And never, ever judging.

She didn’t need words.

She simply showed up—and in doing so, she reminded me what true compassion looks like.

Even though Mabel is gone, this is the heart behind Kingdom Comfort Dogs—and where we are headed.

We all need connection.
We all need compassion.

Our teams need it.
The people we visit need it.
And truthfully, so does the world around us.

Mabel showed me that healing doesn’t always come through words or solutions. Sometimes it looks like presence. Sitting quietly beside someone in pain. Offering a gentle touch. Simply showing up without judgment.

That is the work we are called to carry forward.

And that is the legacy she left behind.

In memory of Mabel,

Sandy

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23