Five years ago Michael Lingenfelter of Plano, Texas, was contemplating suicide.
Once a robust guy, the 57-year-old had undergone two major heart surgeries, plus a bypass procedure. Yet this husband, father of four and grandfather of seven was reeling from the physical and psychological after-effects of unstable angina.
“I lost the will to live,” he admits. “I lost my job and just sat around the house and vegetated. I was a burden on my wife, who had to quit her job and care for me. And my children were wondering how they could help get dad going again.
“Quite frankly, I bottomed out. I had a pilot’s license and I was going to take a flight by myself one day. You can figure out the rest.”
In late 1994 his doctors — a psychologist, psychiatrist and cardiologist — were at their wits’ end and becoming very concerned about their patient’s deteriorating condition. “They knew I needed an emotional jump start or the end was near. Drugs weren’t doing the job, so they suggested a therapy dog.
“When I heard that, I laughed. `You’ve got to be kidding,’ I told them. `There’s no way.’ As things continued to go downhill, I finally agreed to give it a try in the spring of ’95.”
That’s when a 5-year-old golden retriever named Dakota came into the life of Lingenfelter, an engineer for Dallas Area Rapid Transit.
Dakota leaped into this marriage with emotional baggage of his own. He was abandoned early in life and was looking for a second chance. He had his share of psychological scars, in addition to suffering from heartworm disease and a broken hip.
But goldens are versatile, resilient and popular creatures. Dakota ended up with the Golden Retriever Rescue Club of Houston, where he was rehabilitated and put up for adoption. Lingenfelter’s doctors contacted the club, which put the two together.
“Give the doctors credit,” he emphasizes. “They could see medications weren’t helping and were familiar with the success stories of dogs with patients of all ages. We both came into each other’s life at just the right time.”
Dakota was placed as a therapy dog (performing duties as part of Lingenfelter’s mental and physical rehabilitation) but eventually he assumed an entirely different and more vital role as a service dog.
“He’s my best friend and godsend,” says Lingenfelter. “He’s also my alarm clock and first-line warning system (about two to five minutes beforehand) when an angina attack is coming (which tends to occur three to four times a month).”
Dakota comes and lies next to Lingenfelter and pushes on his master’s chest with his back when Lingenfelter has chest pains. “I just plain hold on to him until the pain passes. He has taught me to pick up his breathing rate to prevent me from hyperventilating when the pain is beyond my ability to tolerate. He is truly my guardian angel.”
And if you’re wondering: No, this is not something a dog can be trained for, most experts agree. It’s simply a God-given gift some canines possess.
The first night Dakota entered Lingenfelter’s life was almost his last. “He’d pick up things, haul them around. You know, all retriever. The next morning I was ready to take him back. But we quickly established a comfort zone, and it’s been incredible ever since.”
Dakota prompted Lingenfelter to get out of his easy chair and walk, something no one had managed for two years. “The doctors encouraged me to walk more long ago, but I couldn’t get motivated,” he says. “Dakota became a pain in the neck. If I wouldn’t walk him, he’d begin whining and pacing.”
Within 1 1/2 years, the dog began to really pay dividends, forewarning his owner of an angina attack and allowing Lingenfelter time to take his medications.
Dakota gradually enabled Lingenfelter to be a “whole man again,” and by the fall of 1997 he returned to work part-time with his new partner. Lingenfelter since has graduated to full time.
Dakota’s heroics didn’t go unrecognized however. He was recognized as Service Animal of the Year by the Renton, Wash.-based Delta Society at its annual conference, Science & Magic, in Cincinnati in October.
Dakota’s life-saving time clock never quits ticking. About 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning last June, he pulled on his master in bed, attempting to awaken him and a few moments later, his wife. “My blood pressure had dropped to 68 over 40 and I was having a major heart attack,” Lingenfelter recalls. “My wife called 911, and I was able to get to the hospital in time.”
One way Lingenfelter has opted to repay his debt to Dakota and Delta is by becoming an ambassador for service dogs. He travels to Dallas area schools for special children, nursing homes and hospitals to spread the message.
“Dakota has impacted the lives of hundreds in the Dallas area,” Lingenfelter boasts. “You should see him working with the handicapped children. It brings tears to my eyes to see his love and understanding of their needs as they pet and cuddle him.”
Dakota’s heroics haven’t been limited to Lingenfelter. He has been the angina alarm clock for three of Lingenfelter’s co-workers, none of whom had cardiac problems before. Each received corrective treatment.
No one is certain how dogs’ premonitions work on matters like this.
English biologist Rupert Sheldrake in his new volume “Dogs That Know When Their Owners are Coming Home” touched on it in a chapter dealing with seizure-alert dogs.
Almost no research has been conducted on dogs’ ability to forewarn epileptics, diabetics or angina-attack victims of impending trouble.
But the three most common theories are, according to Sheldrake:
– The animal notices subtle changes in behavior or muscle tremors of which the person is unaware.
– It senses electrical disturbances within the nervous system associated with an impending seizure.
– It smells a distinctive odor given off by the person before an attack.
