Pongo didn’t mean to startle the woman. The burn victim – whose bandages covered her physical scars and who had come to find healing for the emotional scars left by the trauma – was visiting Jinna Russell’s psychotherapy clinic for the first time.

But she wasn’t expecting to be greeted by a Weimaraner, and fear froze her to the spot. Pongo cautiously approached her, sniffing at her bandage-covered hands. They he rubbed his head against her knee and curled his paw around her leg, almost as if he was giving her a hug.

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“She was getting therapy before she even came into my office,” Russell says.

This wasn’t a random, isolated occurrence. Pongo works with Russell on a daily basis as a therapy dog in her Lake Highlands clinic. He’s certified through the Delta Society, but Russell believes her Weimaraner’s ability to sense grief and pain is rooted in his own experience.

She adopted Pongo through Weimaraner Rescue of North Texas. He had been a puppy mill dog, confined in a small cement cage and brought out only to breed. He was found with his mate and puppies under an old trailer after the owners moved and left the dogs to fend for themselves. Their skinny, malnourished bodies indicated that they had been alone for a month, at least. Recently, when Pongo underwent surgery, the X-rays revealed bullets lodged in his body.

“It’s amazing that he’s traveled the road that he has,” Russell says.

When she began her search for a therapy dog, Russell didn’t exactly know what she was looking for. At first glance, Pongo wasn’t impressive – he was skinny and weak, his coat was a mess, and he was stoic, not begging for attention like the other dogs.

“But his eyes. The way he looked at me,” Russell recalls. “He didn’t jump up, he didn’t start barking, he just looked at me like: ‘What are you thinking? How are you feeling?’ And it was just a connection.”

That was a little more than three years ago. Pongo has come a long way since then, sailing through obedience school and working through his fear of humans, but he’s still not a barky, waggy-tailed creature. Russell calls him her “zen dog.”

“It’s just a presence of calm. That is a lot of what he brings to the office – a sense of peace. It permeates the entire office space and helps to create a very healing environment,” she says.

Most of Russell’s clients are dealing with grief, trauma or end-of-life issues. Pongo helps them feel comfortable in a strange setting, which encourages them to open up, Russell says.

One teenage boy, before ever stepping foot in her office, told his parents that he would not talk, no matter what. About 10 minutes into his first session, Pongo jumped up on the couch beside him. The boy looked at him, and mentioned that he once had a dog and was angry at his parents for giving the dog to his grandparents. Pongo scooted closer and stretched out, very nonchalantly. The boy continued talking about his dog and reached over to pet Pongo, who moved even closer and put his head in the boy’s lap.

“That kiddo never shut up after that,” Russell says. “He even wanted me to call his parents in at the end of the session to see Pongo with his head in his lap.”

Pongo’s wisdom amazes Russell. If he senses a client is hurting, he’ll curl up next to him or lay at his feet. Russell says she has grown to trust her dog’s intuition and takes cues from him regarding the depth of a client’s pain.

“I think that [his past] has given him the ability to recognize pain and to recognize grief,” she says.

Pongo is also quick to acquiesce when clients want to brush him or command him to do tricks, which helps build their self-esteem, Russell says. She recalls spending one session helping a traumatized boy work through anxiety issues, when suddenly a storm blew in. Pongo is afraid of thunderstorms, and he moved next to Russell, sat up straight as an arrow and started to shake.

“This kid looked at him and looked at me and started telling Pongo verbatim what he could do to get through his anxiety,” Russell says. “It just allowed him to open up more and gave him a sense of reaching out to help, instead of always feeling like he’s being helped.”

Pongo is not Russell’s only dog. After adopting him, she began volunteering with Weimaraner rescue and fostered three other dogs. They all found homes, she says – hers. But her other dogs act more like, well, dogs. They don’t share Pongo’s peaceful energy.

“When he looks at me, he stares deep into my soul. He looks long and hard to really see what I am thinking or how I am feeling. And he is always right on target,” Russell says. “I am really convinced that he is a guardian angel or spirit guide in a dog suit who has come into my life to teach me so many things.”