Marcus is a very good boy.
He’s a four-year-old, 32kg labrador with lustrous black hair, soulful brown eyes and a bodacious bottom.
He’s sensitive and food-motivated; if given the choice between a distressed person and a tasty treat, he might have a hard time picking.
Oh, and don’t mention guide dog school; it’s a touchy subject.
When Marcus was a puppy, he began training with Guide Dogs NSW, in Australia, with the expectation that he would graduate from their world-class program and match with a person who has low vision or blindness. A noble profession for a dog but not guaranteed to all who enrol.
Marcus was purpose-bred at the Guide Dogs Centre in Glossodia – a small town at the foot of the Blue Mountains, 68km north-west of Sydney.
In April 2020, at the start of our most recent global pandemic, when Marcus was eight weeks old, he went to live with puppy raisers Alex and Alison. At this stage, Alex says he was “tiny and funny”, with – do not repeat this to Marcus – “a stubby little face and very short legs”.
He was a cautious fellow, unsure of his new surroundings. Needed to be fished out of his cage by large human hands and set upright.
He proved himself to be proficient at the basics; in under two weeks he could sit, drop, stay and come when called. He was well behaved; with the exception of one hole-digging incident, there was very little mischief. No kitchen intruding, no counter surfing, no pantry raiding.
One of his favourite extracurricular activities was sticking his face into a nearly empty yoghurt tub to lick it clean, though he was not always able to extract his head afterwards.
For six months, Marcus did training once a week via Zoom and practised his skills every day. He was given his own bed but preferred to sleep near or on top of his foster brother, Baxter, a patient chocolate lab who has welcomed and tolerated many guide dog hopefuls in his time.
Marcus was a quick learner but a slow mover. He was a “dawdler”.
In his official file, it was noted that Marcus showed an “unwillingness to work”, which, while relatable and endearing, is not ideal for a guide dog.
Rather than, say, guide someone firmly and safely without distraction, Marcus preferred sitting in puddles, playing fetch, having naps, seeking out snuggles and trying out his sweetest facial expressions in hope of securing some chicken as a snack.
After 14 months, Marcus was assessed. We do not use the word “fail” – Marcus was “reclassified” (the paperwork for this process used to include the word “rejected”, says Guide Dogs NSW’s alternate pathways manager, Sam O’Keefe, but it now says “career path change” because that’s much nicer).
Being a guide dog was not his destiny, on account of being “a bit slow” and “a sloth with a low drive to work”.
So, Marcus became a therapy dog, for which he is perfectly suited on account of being affectionate, friendly and polite.
In 2025, 39 dogs made it through guide dog training and 93 were placed as therapy dogs across NSW and the ACT. There are currently more than 650 therapy dogs at work in the community, all of them aged 12 years and younger. They have been placed in court rooms, schools, aged care facilities, rehab clinics, psychologist offices and with emergency or frontline services. Some have been placed with individuals or families affected by PTSD, autism, or mental illness.
To qualify, these dogs must demonstrate the right temperament and that they can settle and relax in various environments, respond well to handler cues and enjoy physical touch. They’re put next to wheelchairs, canes and medical equipment to test their reactions, and they’re often asked to un-learn their training not to jump up on furniture. In their new line of work, they’re usually required on laps, beds, sofas and chairs – anywhere a person might be found who needs the soothing presence of a dog like Marcus.
In 2022, Marcus was matched with oncologist Dr Lina Pugliano, who founded cancer care and rehabilitation centre Cancer Fit.
Marcus now lives with Pugliano, her husband and their two children, aged 10 and seven. It had taken two years for the application for Marcus to go through – the alternate pathways team at Guide Dogs NSW are meticulous in their matchmaking – so she kept it a secret from her kids to manage their expectations. Needless to say, the family was thrilled.
At night, Marcus has snuggles on the bed before he retreats to his own but Pugliano can hear the tap-tap of his paws on the floor as he makes his rounds to check on the children, stopping at their bedroom doors to make sure they’re safe.
Every weekday morning, Marcus goes into work at Cancer Fit with Pugliano. They stop off at a cafe on the way, where the barista sneaks Marcus a treat. Then it’s straight into clinic to greet his patients, patrol the exercise machines, check if anyone needs assurance and loop past the kitchen in case there’s any chicken to be had.
He’s never been explicitly told what to do; he follows his instincts. If someone is upset, Marcus is by their side in moments, head resting on their leg, or bottom offered up for scratches. He often sits underneath the desk during oncology consultations and otherwise offers comfort simply by asking existing calmly, stolidly, sweetly, nearby.
His only complaint about the job might be the recently enforced nutritional guidance, as outlined on posters across the clinic.
When Marcus first started there, clients would sneak him snacks and the old boy put on weight. On veterinary advice, he is now only allowed to receive treats from an approved shortlist: carrot chunks, cucumber sticks, apple slices, or strawberry tops (“not even the good part of the strawberry,” a client tells me, then confesses that she may, on occasion, defy these rules).
Marcus has his favourites (the ones who feed him) but he is generous and indiscriminate with his affection. For those in need of comfort, Marcus will be there to provide it, whether or not you have cheese in your pocket.
