https://www.health.ny.gov/professionals/ems/mental_health.htm, https://www.health.ny.gov/, https://www.health.ny.gov/pro

NY State EMS Oliver, Albany, NY (2026)

09/18/2026

🚑🐾 GUYS. I AM IN A BOOK.

Dad was looking through the brand-new EMS Mental Health & Wellness Toolkit today.

Naturally, I was helping.

By “helping,” I mean I was sitting very close to Dad and inspecting every page in case there was something important he might miss.

And then…

THERE I WAS. 😳🐾

My picture is actually in the Toolkit!

I looked at the picture.

Then I looked at Dad.

Then I looked back at the picture.

Apparently I am now a published State EMS Labradoodle.

I am not entirely sure what responsibilities come with that title, but I assume there should be treats.

Once I finished being impressed with myself, Dad explained what the rest of the book was about.

The Mental Health Association in New York State, working with my friends at the New York State Department of Health Division of State EMS, created the Toolkit from the work of the New York State EMS Mental Health Fellowship.

Dad said it is supposed to help EMS agencies figure out how to start or build a peer support and wellness program for their people.

I thought that sounded pretty simple.

Find some nice humans.

Give them snacks.

Tell everybody where to find them.

Apparently there is more to it than that. 😂

Dad said if you are going to build something like this, you have to think about who is going to help, how they are trained, how people know they can trust them, and what happens when somebody actually needs support.

That part made sense to me.

Because you probably should not wait until somebody is having a really bad day to decide how you are going to help them.

You should already know.

You should already have people there.

And the people who are helping should know what to do.

I do this naturally, of course.

If one of my humans looks sad, I report for duty immediately.

Usually very close to their face.

Sometimes with a toy.

Sometimes with a paw.

Sometimes with absolutely no respect for personal space.

But humans apparently need a little more planning than Labradoodles do.

So this Toolkit helps EMS agencies figure out where to start.

How to build something.

How to make it work.

And how to make sure their people know somebody will be there when they need them.

I like that a lot.

Because my EMS humans spend a whole lot of time showing up for other people.

It seems only fair that somebody is making sure there are people ready to show up for them too.

I am pretty proud of all the EMS Fellows, partners, and humans who helped put this together for the EMS community.

And I am especially proud that my friends at the Division of State EMS keep working on ways to take care of the people who spend so much of their lives taking care of everyone else.

Also…

I am still in the book.

I checked again. 😂🐾

Dad says that is not the main point.

I understand.

But I do feel it is an important supporting fact.

📘 Download the full EMS Mental Health & Wellness Toolkit:
https://mhanys.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/09/EMS-Wellness-Toolkit.pdf

Learn more about the program and resources:
https://mhanys.org/hero/

09/13/2026

For hours, they read names.

That is one of the things I will remember most about September 11th.

Dad brought me to the World Trade Center for the 25th anniversary memorial service, and I knew before we got there that this was going to be different from most of our adventures. There would be no exploring. No important Labradoodle investigations. No wondering whether somebody nearby might be carrying snacks.

We were there to remember.

I thought I understood what that meant.

Then the names began. Voice after voice. Name after name. And they just kept coming.

At first, I did not know any of them. But then I started meeting the people who did.

Someone would kneel down to pet me. Someone would wrap their arms around me and hold on for just a little while. Someone would tell Dad about the person they came to remember.

Their husband. Their wife. Their mom or dad. Their son or daughter. Their brother or sister. Their friend.

And after a while, the names did not feel like names anymore.

They belonged to people. People who laughed. People who had families. People who went to work one morning and were supposed to come home. People who are still missed twenty-five years later.

A few of the people I met told Dad that I was the first thing that had made them smile that day.

I did not really understand how I could do something that important. I had not done anything. I had just wagged my tail. Leaned against them. Let them scratch behind my ears. Stayed for another hug when they needed one.

But maybe that was enough.

Maybe sometimes there is nothing you can do to make someone stop hurting. Maybe you just remind them, for a moment, that there is still something in the world worth smiling about.

After the service, Dad took me into the 9/11 Memorial Museum.

That is where I learned that dogs had been here before me. Hundreds of them.

Working dogs came to Ground Zero with firefighters, police officers, rescuers, and other responders. They searched. They worked. They comforted people. They stayed beside their humans during days that must have felt impossibly long.

And then Dad showed me Sirius.

Sirius was a Port Authority Police Department K-9 assigned to the World Trade Center with his partner, Lieutenant David Lim. Sirius was here on September 11th.

His partner survived.

Sirius did not.

I looked at his picture. Then I looked at a photograph of other dogs at Ground Zero, sitting beside their people.

And I kept looking at it.

Because suddenly those dogs did not feel like something from a history exhibit.

I understood them.

They probably did not understand why the world around them had changed. They did not understand why their humans were tired. Or scared. Or grieving.

They just knew there was work to do. And that their people needed them.

So they stayed beside them.

I looked down at the little patch on my own vest.

STATE EMS.

Then I looked at Dad.

And for the first time that day, I think I really understood something.

Not September 11th. I am not sure anyone can completely understand September 11th.

I understood why you stay.

Later, we stood together beside the reflecting pool. The names I had heard all morning were all around us now. There were flowers tucked among them. Hands resting on them. People standing quietly beside them.

Dad did not say very much.

Neither did I.

I just stood beside him.

Afterward, we went to FDNY Headquarters to honor the members of the Fire Department who died that day.

I met firefighters. I met the Fire Commissioner and the Fire Chief.

But mostly, I watched.

I watched people greet one another. I watched hugs last a little longer than ordinary hugs. I watched firefighters remember their brothers and sisters.

And I started thinking about all the people I had met since morning.

Twenty-five years. That sounded like such a long time when Dad first told me.

But standing there, it did not feel like twenty-five years had made anybody less loved.

Maybe that is what I had been missing.

I thought Never Forget meant remembering what happened.

Now I think it means something more.

It means a name is still spoken because somebody is still listening for it. It means a flower appears because somebody still remembers where it belongs. It means stories get told again, even when telling them hurts.

It means brothers and sisters are still brothers and sisters.

It means someone who was loved twenty-five years ago is still loved today.

And sometimes, it means a person who has spent the whole morning carrying something very heavy reaches down, puts their arms around a curly little dog, and smiles.

I went to New York City thinking Dad was going to teach me about September 11th.

Instead, all day long, people taught me about love.

The kind that runs toward danger. The kind that searches. The kind that waits. The kind that grieves. The kind that remembers.

And the kind that stays.

Twenty-five years later, they are still saying the names.

They are still telling the stories.

They are still carrying the people they love.

And now I think I understand why.

Never Forget. 🇺🇸🐾

09/02/2026

Thanks for letting me stop by and say hi! Finding EMS friends at the Fair is one of my favorite parts of making my rounds. 💙🐾

08/11/2026

🐾 Sometimes You Just Need a Better Fit 💙

Remember my cone?

Dad gave it to me because I would not stop licking something I was supposed to leave alone.

The cone worked.

I just did not work very well in the cone.

I bumped into walls. I got stuck on furniture. I could not curl up the way I normally do, and every time I tried to get comfortable, that giant plastic thing seemed to be in the way.

At first I kept trying.

Then I tried a little less.

Eventually I just stood there looking at Dad.

I think he could tell I was feeling pretty defeated.

I knew the cone was supposed to help me, so I started wondering if maybe I was the problem.

Maybe I was just not very good at this whole getting-better thing.

But while Dad was freeing me from the cone, he told me something.

Sometimes the first thing we try is not always the thing that fits us best.

Then he showed me this little onesie with animals all over it, like something a baby would wear.

I looked at Dad, then at the onesie, and then back at Dad.

I am a very serious State EMS pup. I wear an official vest, go on important adventures, and check on my EMS pack.

And now Dad wanted me to wear baby pajamas.

I was not completely convinced this situation was improving.

But Dad put it on me anyway, and after a few minutes I curled up on my bed, got comfortable, and put my head down.

And then something funny happened.

For the first time in a while, I stopped thinking about the thing that was supposed to be helping me.

Nothing important had changed.

Except I felt like Oliver again.

The onesie was doing exactly what the cone had been doing.

It just fit me better.

Dad scratched behind my ears and asked if I felt better.

I did.

A lot better, actually.

And while I was curled up there, I started thinking about how sure I had been that the cone was the problem I just had to learn to live with.

I had tried really hard to make it work because Dad said it would help me.

When it did not feel right, I thought maybe I was the one doing something wrong.

But I wasn’t.

We just needed to try something else.

That made me think about my EMS pack.

They are very good at helping other people. I have seen them do it lots of times.

But I wonder if, when one of them needs help, they sometimes try something that feels awkward too.

Maybe they talk to somebody and do not know what to say.

Maybe the person they talk to is not quite the right person.

Maybe they leave wondering why it did not make them feel better.

I hope they do what Dad did with me.

Try again.

Because the cone was not wrong.

And I was not wrong.

It just was not the right fit.

Now I am curled up in my little animal pajamas, comfortable again and feeling very much like Oliver.

I think I understand something I did not understand yesterday.

Sometimes the first thing does not work the way you hoped.

That does not mean you stop trying to feel better.

Sometimes you just need to find what fits. 💙🐾

08/10/2026

🐾 Sometimes We Just Need a Cone 💙

Dad put a cone on me.

I would like the record to show that I strongly objected.

Everything about it feels strange.

My head feels too big.

Doorways have become suspiciously narrow.

The coffee table keeps jumping in front of me.

And when I try to turn around, sometimes the rest of me does not seem to get the message fast enough.

I feel clumsy.

Dad says I need the cone because I have a spot that needs time to heal, and I keep bothering it.

I know I am supposed to leave it alone.

I really do.

But knowing what you should do and being able to do it all by yourself are not always the same thing.

That is why Dad gave me the cone.

Then he told me people sometimes need their own kind of cone too.

Not a plastic one.

That would be ridiculous.

Although I would enjoy seeing Dad try to fit through a doorway in one.

He meant help.

Sometimes, after a difficult call, something keeps bothering you even when you really want to leave it alone.

Sometimes you keep thinking about it.

Sometimes you do not sleep quite right.

Sometimes you feel different and cannot even explain why.

And sometimes the thing that might help feels strange too.

Talking to a counselor for the first time might feel awkward.

Saying something out loud that you have been carrying around in your head might feel clumsy.

Telling another person that you are struggling might feel uncomfortable, especially when you are used to being the one everybody else calls for help.

You might not know what to say.

You might wonder if you are doing it right.

You might even decide you do not like it very much at first.

I understand.

I have walked directly into three pieces of furniture today.

But the cone does not have to feel comfortable to be helping me.

It just has to give something that hurts a chance to heal.

Maybe people are like that too.

Maybe getting help does not always feel natural right away.

Maybe healing sometimes means trying something unfamiliar, being a little clumsy, and letting somebody help you while you figure it out.

And maybe the important part is not whether it feels awkward.

Maybe the important part is that you do not keep hurting just because asking for help feels strange.

I think that is what Dad was trying to tell me.

Sometimes the thing that helps you heal is not the thing you would have chosen for yourself.

Sometimes it feels uncomfortable.

Sometimes it takes getting used to.

But sometimes…

we just need a cone. 💙🐾

08/02/2026

🎡🐾 My Favorite Kind of Assignment

Dad told me we were going to the county fair for work.

That sounded very official.

So I put on my State EMS vest and got ready to help.

But somewhere between meeting a funny-looking dog (Dad called it a goat, but I think he was mistaken), seeing some really giant dogs that everyone insisted were “cows,” and accidentally sampling a little bit of fair food that absolutely, definitely was not intended for me…

…I started to wonder if this assignment was different.

The whole fair smelled like popcorn, hay, french fries, and sunshine.

Everywhere I looked, humans were laughing.

Tiny humans were running around with sticky fingers.

Grandparents were smiling.

Teenagers were smiling.

Even the helpers who were working all day seemed to be smiling.

I don’t always understand why humans gather in places like this.

But Dad smiled and said fairs aren’t really about the rides or the food.

They’re about neighbors spending time together.

They’re about traditions that get passed from one generation to the next.

They’re about making happy memories.

And when thousands of people come together, someone has to be there just in case one of those happy days takes an unexpected turn.

That’s why EMS was there.

I made sure to check in on my EMS pack while they were keeping watch over everyone. They were busy helping people, answering questions, and making sure everyone could enjoy the fair safely.

They still stopped what they were doing long enough to give me a few ear scratches.

I think checking on each other is part of being a good pack.

I also investigated the livestock, made a few new friends, and let Dad have his moment when he thought it would be funny if I became a pig.

Humans are wonderfully strange sometimes.

On the way home, I rested my head on Dad’s arm and watched the fair lights get smaller behind us.

I think that’s why county fairs are one of my favorite adventures.

They remind me that my favorite thing in the whole world isn’t really goats…

…or giant cow dogs…

…or even fair food.

It’s seeing my pack happy.

Because for one evening, my EMS pack got to protect something really special.

Not just people’s safety.

Their smiles. 💙🐾

08/01/2026

The Adventure Is Just Beginning 💙🐾

Today I got to meet some humans who are about to become EMTs.

They spent the evening practicing new skills. I watched them learn how to help people who are hurt, sick, scared, or having one of the hardest days of their lives.

There was a lot to remember.

There were patients (some of them surprisingly quiet), stretchers, bandages, gloves, and lots of thoughtful faces. Everyone wanted to get it right.

Then Dad stood in front of the class and talked about the adventure they are about to begin.

He looked around the room and told them there are almost 19 million people in New York.

But fewer than 80,000 of them choose to become EMS providers.

“That’s less than one half of one percent,” he said.

I tilted my head because percentages sound very confusing.

Dad leaned over and whispered that it would be like taking one of my favorite treats…

…breaking it into 100 tiny pieces…

…and then only letting me have half of one piece.

I tilted my head and nearly barked.

That’s hardly any treat at all.

Then I looked back at the classroom.

Every future EMT sitting in that room had chosen to be part of that tiny little piece.

That made my tail wag. 💙

Then Dad told them something I hope they never forget.

Learning how to care for patients is only part of becoming an EMT.

They also have to learn how to care for each other.

Because someday there will be a hard call.

There will be a day when they wonder if they did enough.

There will be days when they carry things home that no backpack was ever meant to hold.

On those days, they need each other just as much as their patients need them.

I thought that sounded very important.

So I climbed into one student’s lap and snuggled in close.

Dad smiled because I think I accidentally helped teach the last lesson.

Learning to care for people starts in EMT class.

Learning to care for each other starts on day one.

I think this class is off to a pretty good start. 💙🐾

07/31/2026

🐾 The Real People Inside Dad’s Radio ☎️

Dad’s radio talks all the time.

It beeps.

It chirps.

Sometimes a calm voice comes out of it, and Dad suddenly knows exactly where to go.

I always thought it was magic.

Today, Dad took me to meet the magicians.

There were rows of desks, glowing computer screens, ringing phones, and wonderful humans wearing headsets. Dad said this was where the voices inside his radio live.

I was completely fooled.

We were there to celebrate Dispatcher Wheeler, who was finishing her final shift after 31 years of helping people.

There were dispatchers, police officers, firefighters, EMS crews, flashing lights, balloons, a very tall ladder truck… and one curious labradoodle who was trying very hard to understand why everyone looked both happy and a little emotional at the same time.

Dad told me that dispatchers are EMS first responders too.

They may never ride in the ambulance, but they are often the very first person someone reaches when everything has gone wrong. They answer the phone, calm frightened people, send the helpers, and stay with them until those helpers arrive.

I hadn’t thought about it before…

Every ambulance ride begins with someone answering a phone.

Then Dad told me something else.

A long, long time ago… all the way back in the year 2000… Dad worked in this very same 9-1-1 center, and Dispatcher Wheeler was one of the people who trained him.

I did not know phones existed in the year 2000.

Dad assured me they did.

I am still gathering evidence.

We all stood outside waiting for Dispatcher Wheeler to finish her very last shift.

Dad says dispatchers spend their careers helping people they may never meet.

But today was different.

Today, the police officers, firefighters, EMTs, paramedics, and fellow dispatchers all came together to say thank you.

Thank you for answering the call.

Thank you for helping them find people on their worst days.

And thank you for always being there when they needed a calm voice on the other end of the radio.

She gave me a hug.

I think that’s a pretty wonderful way to finish 31 years of answering the call.

Congratulations on your retirement, Dispatcher Wheeler. Thank you for your extraordinary career, for helping shape generations of first responders, and for everything you did for the people who depended on your voice.

I still think it’s magic.

Now I just know who the magicians are. 💛💛

07/26/2026

🐾 Oliver’s Adventure Log: When the Helpers Smile 💙

There was a parade, chicken barbecue, strawberry social, the symphony, and fireworks.

Dad says I should not discuss whether I participated in the food-related parts of the day.

I have been advised to answer, “No comment.”

I knew a celebration this big would have helpers somewhere, so naturally, I started looking for my pack.

The helpers were everywhere, and somehow they always found each other in the crowd.

I asked Dad how first responders always found the rest of their pack.

He said they just knew where to look.

I told him I usually looked near the ambulances.

Dad said that was not exactly what he meant.

I climbed into Rescue 3, made new friends, and received a very appropriate number of pets.

Then I saw robot dogs.

For a moment, I wondered whether this AI thing Dad keeps talking about had come for my job.

But people kept stopping to pet me.

I think my position is safe.

When it got dark, I watched the fireworks from Dad’s lap inside the truck.

I was not scared.

I simply decided the truck offered a better viewing experience.

Dad held me anyway.

While we sat there, I thought about something I had noticed all day.

The helpers smiled more than usual.

They still watched the crowd and noticed every siren. First responders never completely stop being first responders.

But tonight, they also got to be people.

They laughed about old stories, caught up with friends, and stood beside people who understood without much explanation.

Even Dad seemed lighter. His shoulders were not as tight, and he laughed more.

For a little while, he was just Dad with old friends.

Dad said first responders often meet on hard days, during long shifts and moments that stay with them.

But a community should not exist only when something bad happens.

It also needs parades, music, barbecue, strawberry shortcake, and nights when the only loud thing is the fireworks.

Good days give the helpers a place to find one another without an emergency doing the introducing.

Maybe that is why they always find their pack in the crowd.

And why their smiles are easier to find. 💙🐾

NY State EMS Oliver

09/18/2026

09/13/2026

09/02/2026

08/11/2026

08/10/2026

08/02/2026

08/01/2026

07/31/2026

07/26/2026

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