A staff member working at a nursing home I visit read about Murphy, the labrador I acquired in exchange for my wife’s car (it’s a long story), and asked if she could meet him, so I took Murphy along on my next visit to the home.

We made our way to the day room where he was greeted by the staff. Murphy sat passively by my side as they fussed around him then rolled over to please his admirers. I was helping a resident with a crossword when Murphy drifted across to a lady who, following a stroke, never speaks.

I glanced across a few minutes later to see her chatting quietly with Murphy who gazed into her eyes with unwavering attention. I have no idea what she was telling him but Murphy was very impressed.

After tea, a gentleman visitor approached and asked if he could take Murphy to see his mother.

“He’d be glad to meet her,” I replied.

“What about a lead?” he enquired.

“Just ask him to heel and he’ll follow you.”

And he did, right down the hall and into a private room.

“My mother really took to Murphy,” he told me on his return. “She hasn’t smiled so much for a long time.”

There was a theme going on here. Everyone Murphy visited had a spiritual lift and spoke directly to him like I didn’t exist. (I felt like the Dalai Lama’s attendant).

I walked Murphy around the room to say his goodbyes as the residents waved and asked him to come back and visit soon. Murphy made a stately exit acknowledging his audience with a dignified bow.

On the drive home I began to seriously wonder what qualities Murphy had to generate such an uplifting response.

There’s a saying among professional dog trainers that if you stay in the business long enough you will find your dog of a lifetime.  The first time I saw Murphy at work I knew he was mine. (That’s how I ended up swapping Mrs B’s car to get him and why she never lets me forget it.)

I don’t know what passed between Murphy and those elderly residents. Why would a lady who normally doesn’t speak, talk to a dog? What made people who spend most of their days in quiet introspection smile and wave like teenagers at a concert?  I shall never know the answer …  I do know Murphy worked that same magic on me the day I met him.

I was still pondering all this when he jumped out the back of my truck, rolled over in the snow, shot into the kitchen, passed wind, then shook himself all over our visitors.

Even the Dalai Lama has an off day.