Not just any aspin

By Herman M. Lagon

Some mornings at the ISUFST Main Campus–Tiwi Site arrive already heavy. The sun is sharp by mid-morning, deadlines hover like unspoken reminders, and faces move quickly, eyes fixed on somewhere else. Then, just before lunch, a familiar shape appears near the Guidance and Testing Office. Wolfy pads in quietly, tail moving with the easy confidence of someone who belongs. Her dog tag catches the light. “I’m not just a dog, I’m a friend.” It is not clever branding. It is an accurate job description. In a campus where stress often announces itself through silence, Wolfy does not ask questions, does not demand explanations, and does not need a form signed in triplicate. She simply shows up, and that alone already shifts the room.

Wolfy is an aspin, a local dog whose breed carries more social prejudice than pedigree. Aspins are everywhere and yet often overlooked, loved quietly, dismissed casually, and rarely celebrated institutionally. That is part of what makes Wolfy’s presence quietly radical. She is not imported. She is not ornamental. She does not perform tricks for applause. She wanders toward students who hesitate, leans into staff who look tired, and accepts affection without keeping score. Sometimes it is just a hand resting on her head. Sometimes it is a short laugh after a long morning. Sometimes it is a student who walks in tense and walks out lighter, unsure why. Wolfy does not solve problems. She makes them easier to carry.

I notice these small comforts because they mirror home. We have three dogs, and youngest Gucci treats every arrival like a reunion. He slips between my legs, tail in constant motion, offering his version of a hug. On rushed days, I regret how often I miss that simple exchange. Dogs do not remind you of deadlines. They remind you of presence. I learned that earlier, too, in a previous school where Jesuit priests sometimes brought their dogs to campus, not as novelties, but as companions. Students patted them between classes. Faculty paused. Staff smiled. No announcements were made. Relief happened quietly.

There is science behind this quiet. Research has found that short, informal time with dogs can ease stress and improve mood by lowering cortisol and increasing oxytocin (O’Haire & Rodriguez, 2018; Robinson et al., 2017). It does not require long sessions. In academic spaces, ten minutes can already soften an anxious day. The absence of judgment matters. Dogs do not ask why someone is anxious. They do not rank stress. They respond to it.

Wolfy’s daily visits to the Guidance Office work precisely because they are not dramatized. She is not announced. She is not paraded. She appears as part of the day’s rhythm, much like the bell or the lunch hour. Students walk to her. She walks to them. Conversations begin that would otherwise not start. Laughter becomes easier. Silence becomes less sharp. Research consistently shows that dogs act as social catalysts, encouraging interaction and reducing barriers between people (Dagley et al., 2018). In a campus where many students carry private worries, this matters. Wolfy does not replace counseling. She softens the threshold to it.

The rise in student mental health concerns is no longer distant or abstract. Almost everywhere, anxiety and emotional strain are increasingly linked to academic pressure, household responsibilities, and lingering crises (Murthy, 2021). Universities now serve as default support spaces, ready or not. Against this backdrop, Wolfy’s presence is not a luxury. It is a practical intervention that costs little and gives much. She lowers the emotional temperature of the room. That alone improves focus, learning readiness, and human connection.

There is also something culturally resonant about Wolfy being an aspin. Our households understand dogs not as accessories, but as companions who guard, greet, and wait patiently by the gate. Aspins, in particular, embody resilience. They adapt. They read people well. They survive without entitlement. In a way, Wolfy mirrors many of our students. She belongs without insisting on it. Her inclusion sends a subtle message: care does not need pedigree. Support does not need perfection. Belonging can be local, ordinary, and deeply meaningful.

Of course, prudence matters. Therapy or emotional-support animals in schools must operate within clear guidelines. Allergies, safety, consent, vaccination, and boundaries cannot be ignored. The literature is clear that successful programs work because policies exist, handlers are attentive, and interactions are voluntary (Frontiers in Veterinary Science, 2019). Wolfy’s role at ISUFST remains grounded. She does not enter classrooms uninvited. She does not interrupt instruction. She stays within defined spaces, welcomed by those who seek her and avoided by those who prefer distance. Care, when done well, is never coercive.

What Wolfy offers, then, is not spectacle but steadiness. In moments of crisis or quiet overwhelm, dogs have been shown to help stabilize emotions and restore a sense of balance, especially when words feel inadequate (O’Haire et al., 2024). For some students, a dog becomes the safest first connection of the day. For some staff, she is a reminder to breathe. For the campus, she represents an institutional choice to take well-being seriously without turning it into performance.

The deeper value of Wolfy’s presence lies in what she makes visible. She reminds us that education is not sustained by rigor alone. Attention and humane pacing matter. Reflection teaches us that understanding does not come from constant motion, but from knowing when to pause and truly notice. Wolfy creates those pauses naturally. No memos required.

When Wolfy leaves the Guidance Office each day, nothing dramatic follows. Classes resume. Paperwork continues. The heat remains. But something has shifted, however briefly. Stress has loosened its grip. People have been seen without being evaluated. In systems built around surviving rather than resting, these gestures matter. Not all care needs a program. Sometimes it shows up quietly, with a wagging tail and a simple promise of company.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.