Would-be show dog finds his calling as a therapy dog for children and families in crisis

A Southwest Washington dog breeder looking for her next show dog found what looked like the ideal puppy on the internet. The purebred English Labrador lived in Poland. Further research revealed a great lineage, a perfect body and that elusive “it” quality.

She bought him for $10,000.

He arrived at Portland International Airport. She picked him up and at home gave him a thorough examination. She believed he could one day win an award at the famous Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.

“He was something else,” said Rebecca Bloom, who owns Secret Garden Labradors in Battleground. “He needed a flashy name, something royal, something the judges would remember.”

She called him Duke.

And then, it all fell apart when he was in the ring at a big dog show in Portland.

“The judge went to pet Duke’s back,” said Bloom, “the way a judge does when they inspect a dog. Duke lay down on his back, rolled over and wanted the judge to pet him.”

Nothing came easy for the dog who arrived in America with such a big heart.

Bloom and her team tried to teach Duke not to move when a judge touched him. He lay down again. And again. No amount of training would change him. Still, Bloom loved him, calling him a sweet boy. She didn’t need a pet, but she wanted Duke to have a good and useful life.

She called her friend, Lindsay Chavez, to say she had the perfect dog for her program. Chavez is the founder, executive director and trainer at Healing Hounds, a Portland organization that provides clients with service dogs. Chavez and her team tried her best, but Duke washed out there, too.

“My dogs are geared to partner with one person on individual goals and tasks,” said Chavez. “Duke wanted to love, and be loved, by everyone. I didn’t know what to do with him.”

First chance, gone.

Second chance, gone.

•••

Danielle Santilli became a volunteer puppy raiser at Healing Hounds in 2015 after the death of “Frankie,” the family’s beloved dachshund-poodle, died. Her daughter and son, then 9 and 5, wanted their mother to get another dog, but Santilli didn’t feel emotionally ready.

One day her nephew’s girlfriend showed up at her house with a puppy she was raising as a Healing Hounds volunteer. She thought it would be the perfect way to bring a dog into the home without getting too emotionally involved. She was trained by Chavez, earned her certificate and brought home her first dog.

“Our job was to get a dog used to being around people and learn how to socialize,” said Santilli, a certification supervisor for child welfare at the North Clackamas Branch of the Oregon Department of Human Services.

“Where we went, the dog went,” she said. “Grocery store, church, you name it. The dog learned how to behave. Then the dog would go back to Healing Hounds to be trained and eventually matched with a client.”

By 2020, Santilli had socialized six dogs, all of whom became successful service dogs. During a visit to Healing Hounds that year, she learned about Duke, a newcomer Chavez described as being too friendly to be focused. Santilli volunteered to see what she could do with him at her home.

“We kept working with him and he slowly became a good boy,” said Santilli. “Then we took him back to the Healing Hounds program, for the intensive training.”

Months later, Santilli and her kids decided to check on Duke while he was working in a park with all the trainers and their dogs. The animals were learning to ignore all stimuli – other dogs, noises, birds – and focus on only the needs of the trainer, as they would have to do when they were full-fledged service dogs.

“When Duke spotted us, he couldn’t contain himself,” said Santilli. “He wanted to be with us. Forget the training.”

That was Duke’s third and final chance.

No show dog.

No service dog.

Sometimes the intricate plans, detailed forecasts and sure things, simply don’t come to be. At that moment, if you’re lucky, the mystery that is the journey of life occasionally reveals a new path.

It happened to Santilli.

It was about to happen to Duke.

Santilli brought the dog home to live with her family.

•••

Santilli, 48, once wanted to be a cop but realized she wanted to focus on people not when they were in trouble, but before police would get involved.

She worked with nonprofits and enjoyed the work, but she wanted to have a bigger impact. She decided to focus on children and their families and took a job with the Oregon Department of Human Services and was assigned to the permanency division, which finds foster homes when a child is removed from a home.

Now at the agency for 17 years, Santilli is in the North Clackamas District, working as certification supervisor overseeing a team of caseworkers throughout the county.

“It’s hard to believe what humans do to other humans,” said Santilli. “The things we see, hear and must process.”

One night in 2020 when she was on-call at home, Santilli received word about a boy who had run away from his foster care. Authorities found him and took him to the Clackamas DHS office. They needed someone to talk with the boy, and it fell to Santilli.

On a whim, she decided to bring Duke with her to work. She watched how Duke calmly, and slowly, walked toward the boy. The boy told her he had not petted a dog in years and asked if he could touch Duke. Santilli said yes. Duke loved the attention, and snuggled in close, resting his head on the child’s lap.

“The boy and I talked for at least an hour,” said Santilli. “Duke comforted him the entire time. At the end, the boy asked if he could come see Duke again. That was an automatic yes.”

The encounter helped Santilli realize there was a parallel between her work and the work of a service dog. Picking the right dog for the person in need was the same as picking the right foster family for a child who had no home to go to.

She asked her district manager what he thought about her using Duke as a therapy dog to help children and caseworkers in Clackamas and Oregon City. Her boss turned her down. In January 2022, she got a new boss.

“He’d met Duke on a couple of social occasions,” said Santilli. “And we talked about my puppy raising often in clinical supervision.”

She pitched her idea again.

Santilli’s boss told her to make a formal proposal for a pilot program.

“I listed all my accreditations, and then researched what agencies in Oregon used support dogs,” said Santilli. “I found a couple district attorneys’ offices, but no one in the Oregon Department of Human Services ever had a dog.”

The pilot was so successful, the Duke therapy program is now an official part of the Oregon Department of Human Services.

“It’s all volunteer,” said Santilli. “I pay for everything. I’m still doing my full-time job. This is just extra.”

Duke comes with Santilli to the North Clackamas branch, as well as to a satellite office in Oregon City where he meets children, caseworkers and families. He only interacts with people who want to do so.

“One little boy was going through a tough time with his parents,” said Santilli. “Duke just snuggled in with him. It was a beautiful moment to watch. He’s a normal dog when we go home. That means he can’t get on the furniture.”

On average, Duke visits with more than 600 people a month.

“He has the perfect job,” said Santilli. “He’s so social.”

Thalia Gomez, a child protective services case worker, often visits with Duke.

“Who doesn’t love to pet a dog,” asked Gomez, 29. “He destresses my day better than going on a coffee break. When a human says the word ‘love,’ can we trust it? Duke offers unconditional love. That kind of love softens a hard heart.”

She has also watched him work with children.

“He doesn’t judge,” she said. “He is not there to ask questions. As caseworkers, we are looking for answers or trying to comfort in a different way. There is none of that with Duke. He is just there.”

Caseworker Andrea Andrade, 29, recently spent time with Duke.

“This week I had to place two children in our custody,” she said. “It was a hard week for me. Seeing Duke just makes me feel better. Him showing love to me makes me feel I can be myself again. Call it self-care.”

Duke is often found in the Trauma Room.

“It’s the room where we talk with the children,” said Santilli. “During an interview a child might feel ashamed to talk. But sitting with Duke makes them feel less traumatized about what is happening in their life.”

Duke’s life didn’t turn out the way anyone expected. He never won a show dog medal to wear around his neck. But he does wear an official Oregon Department of Human Services badge.

It features his photograph.

And his name.

Duke Santilli.

Just a dog with a big heart.