Ellis: The Therapy Dog Who Taught Me to Think Outside the Box
There are parts of the Hope’s Therapy Dogs story that people know well — Hope’s diagnosis, her courage, Pippa’s training, and the promise I made to keep Hope’s legacy alive by helping other children.
But there’s another piece of the journey that hasn’t been told properly.
It’s the story of Ellis.
And if I’m honest, Hope’s Therapy Dogs wouldn’t be what it is today without what I learned from him.
The year after Hope
The first year after Hope died, I was still learning how to breathe again, never mind how to build anything new. Grief changes you — it narrows your world, and yet somehow it also sharpens your sense of purpose.
By that point, I’d trained Pippa as a volunteer therapy dog. I knew, deep down, that dogs could reach children in a way words often can’t. I’d lived it. I’d watched it.
Then I came across a job advertisement for a behavioural special school. They were looking for someone to help them develop a therapy dog offer within the school — using the Deputy Head’s dog, Ellis.
That Deputy Head was Martyn Taylor.
And Ellis… Ellis was a working Springer Spaniel.
Meeting Martyn and Ellis
When I arrived, Ellis had already been in the school environment since he was a pup. He was two years old — full of drive, full of energy, and absolutely bursting with personality.
He was adored. Not just by Martyn, but by the children too.
But there was a clear expectation from some of the leadership that he should become a “reading dog” — the calm, steady presence by a beanbag while children read aloud.
And here’s the truth: that idea is often built around a certain stereotype of what a therapy dog “should” be. Usually something more like a Labrador — unflappable, slow-moving, content to be still for long periods.
Ellis wasn’t that dog.
He wasn’t a bad fit because he was “too much”. He was a bad fit for that role because it wasn’t aligned to his breed type, his needs, or what brought him joy.
And Martyn — to his credit — supported me.
He agreed, “Let’s do this properly. Let’s make this work for Ellis, not just for the timetable.”
That attitude matters more than people realise.
Working with the dog in front of you
So instead of trying to squash Ellis into a role that didn’t fit, we worked with who he actually was.
Ellis learned scent work and structured fetch, and we channelled his energy into purposeful, enjoyable activities that made him feel successful.
And yes… he had a vice.
Tennis balls.
Ellis believed with his whole heart that if you can fit one ball in your mouth, you can fit three. Why settle for less? (If you’ve ever met a Springer Spaniel, you’ll understand immediately.)
But underneath the comedy was something important: Ellis was teaching me — in real time — that therapy work isn’t about forcing calm. It’s about regulation, engagement, and relationship, built in a way that honours the dog’s wellbeing as much as the child’s needs.
The reality of a difficult environment
I won’t dress this up. It was a challenging school environment. Anyone who has worked in complex behavioural settings knows exactly what I mean — high intensity, high emotion, and a constant need for vigilance.
And that’s why I will always say this plainly:
A dog’s welfare is not an optional extra in this work.
It’s the foundation.
Ellis wasn’t being asked to work in a quiet, predictable setting. He was being asked to work in a place where children were often dysregulated, where routines could change quickly, and where the sensory load could be enormous.
So we had to think carefully about everything:
What does Ellis need to feel safe and settled?
How long can he work before stress builds?
What types of interaction are genuinely therapeutic — and which are simply overstimulating?
How do we protect him while also supporting the children?
Those questions became the start of something much bigger for me.
Because if we get this wrong, we don’t just risk a dog becoming unhappy — we risk damaging trust in Animal Assisted Intervention altogether.
The children loved him — and he worked so hard
Despite the difficulty, the children absolutely loved Ellis.
He was exciting, engaging, responsive — a dog that brought momentum into the room. For many of the children, that was the key. They didn’t need “sit still and be calm” as a starting point. They needed connection, movement, play, structure, and success.
Ellis helped create that.
And he worked hard. For two full years.
Looking back, I can honestly say Ellis was a catalyst in my journey to get this work right — not just for outcomes, but for ethics. For sustainability. For welfare.
He made me stop trying to copy what therapy dog work looks like on paper, and instead build what it needs to look like in real life — for real children, in real schools, with real dogs.
The decision to retire him
After two years, Martyn made a decision — and I supported him fully.
He recognised that the school environment wasn’t able to meet Ellis’s needs as a dog long-term. That doesn’t mean anyone didn’t care. It means Martyn was brave enough to put Ellis first, even when Ellis was valued and loved.
That is what responsible practice looks like.
So Ellis retired as a therapy dog.
And I’m so glad he did — because now he gets to simply be what he was always meant to be: a beloved family dog, enjoying life with his people, with his needs properly met.
He’s happy. He’s safe. He’s home.
Gratitude — and the foundations of Hope’s Therapy Dogs
This blog isn’t about looking back with rose-tinted glasses.
It’s about telling the truth: that the early roots of Hope’s Therapy Dogs were built in imperfect, demanding places — and that those places shaped the standards we now hold so firmly.
I will always be grateful to Martyn for trusting me, listening, and choosing to do what was right for Ellis.
I will always remember Ellis — the not-so-stereotypical therapy dog who taught me to think outside the box, to work with breed type, to respect energy and drive, and to never, ever compromise on welfare.
He is part of this story.
And he’s part of the reason Hope’s Therapy Dogs exists today with the values and professional standards it holds.
Because in this work, we don’t just help children.
We protect dogs.
And we never forget where we came from.
Ali Colley & Martyn Taylor
If you’re a school considering Animal Assisted Intervention, or you already have a school dog and want to develop ethical, welfare-led practice, we’d love to talk. Done well, this work changes lives — and it can be sustainable for the dogs too.