Thursday, December 6, 2001
Powder, a pure white lab-collie mix, is lying on a carpet beneath a cafe table. Her head rests on her left front leg. And there, atop it, is a kiss -- a perfectly formed silhouette of ruby red lipstick, planted on her short white fur by one of Sunrise Assisted Living's residents.
For almost two years, Powder has been a Sunrise resident as well, freely roaming the beautiful halls of the retirement community. As I visit, the short-haired, long-nosed mutt is carefully avoiding the commotion as the foyer, mansion-like with its large ascending staircase, is decked with velvet bows and lights. (Powder is not a big dog, nor is she little. Her size is perfect; she's tall enough to be petted from a wheelchair, small enough not to knock people down.)
There are ladders to climb and strings of lights to untangle, people in wheelchairs, visitors, a delivery man, and this day, a reporter.
"Oh look at you, sweetheart," a visitor says. She bends down to pet the pup and ruffles Powder's coat. White hairs escape into the air like a white squall. She may be a lab-collie mix, but who can say?
Best friend: Flo Knodle, who moved to Sunrise a few months before Powder, has, more than anyone else, adopted the dog. The night Powder arrived with a second dog, Shadow, from Salem Humane Society, she slept in Flo's room.
While Shadow found the number of residents intimidating, Powder did just fine. Shadow found a home with one of Sunrise's employees, but Powder found one with Flo.
"She sticks to Florence like glue," says Jacki Jones, Sunrise director of community relations. "She even follows her to the bathroom." Almost on cue, Powder gets up from her place beside the table, dodges the snarled strings of Christmas lights dangling from a gentleman's hand, walks around the half-decorated Christmas tree, and joins Flo on the balcony.
"I suppose she's like my dog in a sense," Flo says later. "But if I left, I know she'd be just fine."
And she probably would be, because many others have adopted Powder as well. New residents frequently ask if they can give the dog biscuits, then keep biscuits in their rooms. One gentleman, who initially voted against having Powder be a home pet (one of the few who voted against her admission), now lets her out most mornings. Others simply enjoy giving her hugs, and as already noted, sometimes, kisses.
But really, it is Flo that Powder usually chooses to sleep with and who Powder watches from afar. "She sleeps in my room," Flo says. "She comes up to my bed, walks around to the corner and somehow covers her head with the spread that hangs off the corner of the bed."
A Sunrise worker characterized it best. "That's her baby," she says.
Bridges generations: "All the Sunrises -- 150 to 200 across the nation -- have pet dogs," Jacki says. "A dog nurtures the spirit. Not everyone likes having her as much as Flo. But then there are those whose eyes light up when Powder comes in the room.
"And it's very nice when grandkids come to visit. Powder is an intergenerational bridge. Plus, I think having Powder here makes it more homelike."
Powder was particularly suited to Sunrise, says Jacki, as her previous owner was an elderly gentleman. "The man usually put Powder outside each day and took her in at night," Jacki says. "But neighbors noticed her tied out for days and finally called police. Her owner had died, leaving Powder stranded and half starved." Shortly after, she found a new home at Sunrise.
Residents coming in to Sunrise are able to keep their pets, so Powder is not the only animal there. Three other dogs and two cats, who mainly remain with their owners, are also community residents. The other dogs all live in the "Reminiscence neighborhood," as Sunrise dubs its Alzheimer's disease care unit.
murphy@vindy.com