Little girl in a hospital.

Very little girl. Very big hospital.

She’s just turned 2 and has been coming to Long Beach Memorial Miller Children’s’ Hospital for half her life, working on issues ranging from fine motor skills to sitting up, standing and walking; the 50-minute sessions taxing her stamina and focus.

“Amanda can be a little stubborn,” says Alison Yamaguchi, a physical therapist at Miller’s. “Sometimes it’s been difficult to get her to engage, to allow the therapists to help her.”

But there are no such issues today. If anything, Amanda Perez demands more tasks, her wide eyes and enthusiasm clearly directed at one member of the therapy team and, when from a sitting position, she not only pops up on her feet but immediately begins taking steps toward the object of her affection, Yamaguchi nearly busts.

“This is why we got a dog!” she says.

Zeta is also 2 years old. A black labrador/golden retriever mix, she is a facility dog that has been working at Miller’s since November. A facility dog is distinct from therapy animals. While the latter provide a critical service in offering comfort to patients, Zeta, by her training, is able to actually participate in a patient’s therapy.

“The difference is that as a facility dog, Zeta has had intense training, knows 40 commands and is able to integrate into therapeutic sessions,” says Shelly Forcier, one of Zeta’s two handlers.

To watch Amanda and Zeta, it doesn’t seem so much that the dog is integrated into the therapy as much as she is leading it. Although several therapists are around Amanda for the entire session, handing her objects, directing her through exercises, she rarely looks at them. Her eyes stay on Zeta. When they hand her a brush to groom Zeta, when they ask her to open containers to feed Zeta, she does it immediately, with no coaxing, unaware she is fine-tuning her motor skills and strengthening her hands. Likewise, when Zeta nudges a big red ball to her with a flick of her head, Amanda, standing up, reaches out with a squeal to stop the ball and then pushes it back.

“Zeta brings a different energy, she brings so much more engagement,” says Catherine Hewatt, Zeta’s other handler. “Having the dog to interact with patients brings them a new spark of joy and motivation. We may ask them to reach for something to build strength, well, reaching for a dog is so much more fun than just reaching for a ball.

“And even if there is no way to integrate her into a particular therapy, just her presence motivates patients who didn’t necessarily want to do therapy. It changes the whole dynamic. Zeta changes everything.”

She did for Amanda. It was just a couple of weeks before that they met. Amanda doing her usual therapy and Zeta, who came on to the Miller staff in November, walking through the therapy gym on her way to a photo shoot. Suddenly, the little girl and the dog locked on each other. The little girl smiled. Then she asked to go say hi.

“We never planned to use Zeta with her, it happened kind of organically,” Hewatt says. “She had trouble sitting up on her own but she sat up for almost 20 minutes next to the dog.”

Zeta came to Miller through Canine Companions for Independence. Hewatt and Forcier went through an intensive, two-week training session in Oceanside that had them living in barracks. The pair does not seem happy to work with Zeta, honestly, none of the therapists do. You can fake happy. What you see in them is joy. The same joy that wells up inside Amanda only to spill out across her face is mirrored by everyone in the facility; not just the therapists, but Amanda’s mother, Yvette Marin, the young man rehabbing on the weight machine, the photographer and reporter from the local news site, everyone. Though it’s not always a good thing to say in a hospital, Zeta is infectious.

“Oh, it’s not just the patients,” Yamaguchi says. “When Shelly walks the hallway with the dog, I’ve seen staff members just pop out absolutely ecstatic.”

About the only one who does not seem joyful is Zeta who maintains an air of placid industry. Her bearing being one of calm utility from which she does not deviate.

But she does get tired. Though Amanda, who had struggled to finish other Zeta-less sessions, appears that she could easily zip through another 50 minutes, Zeta needs rest. She is led away toward Forcier’s office where she has a space to sleep and toys that keep her mind engaged. Forcier and Zeta are particularly close since they go home together each night.

“I’m an animal lover but I haven’t had a dog for 30 years. I’ve got cats,” Forcier says with a laugh. “My family and I are getting used to having a dog, and we’re loving it. Even my cats are starting to like it. Well, one of them is, the other is reserving judgment.”

Yvette smiles as Amanda says good-bye to Zeta. She knows that her daughter will talk about the dog the entire drive home and for a good deal of the time before her next session.

In fact, Zeta has had such a beneficial effect on her daughter that Yvette says the family is considering getting a dog of their own.

In fact, Zeta has had such a beneficial effect on the hospital’s patients that the wheels have been put in motion to get a second facility dog to work at its outpatient facility.

But, for now, there is only one Zeta and as she is watched each step as she makes her way to the office. Everyone follows her with their eyes, smiling. Nearly at the office doorway, Zeta’s gaze is met by a little girl who has just been wheeled into the gym.

Dog looks at little girl.

Little girl smiles.