When my grandfather moved in with us after a minor stroke, I thought it would be a challenge to engage him. He was quiet and old-fashioned, spending his days watching Westerns and whittling wood. But then he formed an unexpected bond with our Bernese mix, Rizzo, who became his constant companion.
Every Sunday, Grandpa would sneak into the kitchen to make scrambled eggs, always sharing the first bites with Rizzo. One morning, I overheard him whispering to the dog, calling him “Hazie,” after my late grandmother. It struck me deeply; he was using Rizzo to keep her memory alive, pouring his love and devotion into the dog.
When a thunderstorm caused Grandpa to fall, Rizzo barked loudly, alerting us and potentially saving his life. In the hospital, Grandpa whispered, “Hazie saved me… she saved me again.” It became clear that his connection with Rizzo was a form of reminiscence-based coping, a way to preserve his love for Grandma.
Over time, we supported Grandpa by leaving small reminders of her and encouraging him to engage more. He began to eat better, laugh, and even hum her favorite songs. I learned that sometimes, healing comes in unexpected forms—like a dog named Rizzo and scrambled eggs.
