Betty White & Me

I'm a service dog trainer in the habit of naming pups-in-training after people whose hearts have helped shape mine. The first was Fred, after Mr. Rogers; the current one is Betty, in honor of the inestimable Betty White.

The day I picked up this precious two month-old lab with the eyes of a sage and a sweetness just as deep, I determined I would find a way for us to meet Betty's namesake. On December 19th, 2014 – via too many synchronous cosmic forces to count or effectively sort out – my dream came true, when my friends and I went to a taping of Betty's TV Land sitcom, Hot In Cleveland.

Betty White means so much to me. Not only because she is a service dog supporter, an animal advocate extraordinaire, or the Hollywood icon of the century, but even more so because, whenever I see her smile, waves of love-filled nostalgia rush over me so intensely as to bring tears.

At the sound of Betty White's voice, I am transported back to my family's small ranch-style house on West Mexico Avenue in Denver, Colorado. It's 1987, I'm ten, my sister Tina is thirteen. We are lying on the downstairs couches watching The Golden Girls, like every kid our age was on Saturday nights at 7 p.m. Mom and dad are there, too; or else mom is soon-to-be on her way down from the kitchen with dessert or a bowl full of popcorn. Our spaniels, Coco and Pete, are asleep on the green shag carpet and our orange tabby cat, Bootsie, is sprawled across the back of the couch. We are comfy in our pajamas, and safe in the innocence of our childhood. We are laughing and loving, oblivious to the painful realities to which we will awaken as adults.

We are lifetimes away from the grief-soaked nights of 2005, in the devastating months following our mom's death. Then too, my sister and I are in our jammies, curled up together watching The Golden Girls. This time though we are in Tina's apartment on her pull-out sofa, with her kitty Sylvia purring at our feet. I am twenty seven, Tina is thirty, but still, we are kids. We are two little girls whose mom is no longer upstairs making popcorn or dessert, nor laughing along with us at Betty, Bea, Rue and Estelle's brilliant comedic timing. Our hearts are in shards, never to be put together again in a way that replicates their original form.

Even – no, especially – in those moments of brutal anguish, Betty White's voice brought comfort. It was one of the very few things that could. That, and the laughter.

By introducing Betty to the beautiful dog who honors her legacy of light and love, amazingly and tangibly I was able to thank her, and for that opportunity, I thank God.