New friend looks out for best friends

New friend looks out for best friend
Anorexic teen can rest assured Bruizer's fine
By Cliff Radel • cradel@enquirer.com • October 25, 2009

SYCAMORE TWP. - Joyce Carstens wants to fit Dori Reinhart with a pair of angel's wings.
She believes Reinhart's kindness is helping to save the life of her hospitalized 18-year-old granddaughter, Ashley. Reinhart is taking care of the teen's rambunctious puppy, Bruizer the boxer.

"You just don't find many people these days who go out of their way to help a stranger," Carstens said as she wiped tears from her eyes.  "By taking care of Bruizer," she added, as the 4-month-old puppy sat at her feet, "she's giving Ashley hope to get better."  Reinhart insists she's no angel.

She just runs a dog hotel.Angel or innkeeper? You decide.  Reinhart manages Best Friends Pet Care in Sycamore Township. She lets Bruizer stay there for a bargain-basement rate. She also lets Carstens cry on her shoulder.  They exchange hugs. And, they share stories about anorexia.

Ashley has been hospitalized since Oct. 10 with the eating disorder. She's dealt with anorexia for five years.  Reinhart knows what she's going through. She struggled with the illness for decades.  "It started when I was running track in high school. I was a freshman or a sophomore, right when you start beefing up. And it didn't end," Reinhart said as she stooped to pick up Bruizer, "until I had my third child 13 years ago."  While she spoke, Bruizer panted. He had just finished racing around the hotel's exercise room with his playmate, a 1-year-old Labrador retriever named Bella.

Reinhart recalled how she kept from beefing up. She counted calories obsessively. She exercised fiendishly.  "I was very competitive in track," she noted. "I ended up with a full-tuition scholarship to Ohio University. Some of my high school records still stand in New Jersey."  She tried to run away from her eating problem while she ran track. "If I would eat a big meal," she said, "I'd exercise harder." And run farther.  Stress triggered her bouts of anorexia as the disease would come and go. "It would get better," she said, "then it would get worse."  And then, one day in 1996, it went away. Reinhart attributed that happy day to "my remarriage and the birth of my third child. All of a sudden, my life went: 'Ahhhhhhhhhhh,' "she said with a relaxed sigh.  "Then I said, 'I'll have another piece of pumpkin pie, please!'  "She laughed and slapped her far-from-ample hips. "I'm making up for lost time."

As Reinhart spoke, Carstens nodded. She recalled how Ashley was doing "great in school, all A's and B's. Then her grades slipped and it was all we could do to get her to finish high school."  She recalled how her granddaughter with the fashion-model figure and face felt she was ugly and fat. She didn't want to go to restaurants. She didn't want to eat. 

This time, it was Reinhart's turn to give a been-there, done-that nod.  "I was extremely shy as a teen-ager," said the affable pet hotel manager. "I didn't want anyone looking at me either."  At 18, Reinhart was getting ready to go to college. Her parents had moved to Cincinnati. She was finishing high school in Ramsey, N.J. 

At 18, Joyce Carstens' granddaughter Ashley was taking a year off from school. Carstens thought "she had the anorexia under control." Ashley had a place of her own. And, her puppy, Bruizer.  "He was so good for her," said the grandma known as "Nana" to Ashley.  "We hide things," Reinhart noted. "We wear baggy clothes. We don't eat."  Ashley tried to hide her problems.  "But you can't hide things forever from a grandma," Carstens said. Ashley soon went into the hospital.
Carstens visits or talks with her granddaughter daily. Every conversation includes this question: "Nana, are you taking care of Bruizer?"  When Ashley first went into the hospital, her family did not know what to do with the puppy.
No family member has the time or the space to care for 26 pounds of purebred energy. Someone suggested giving the dog away. Carstens balked. She sought advice from the staff at Bruizer's veterinarian. Staffers recommended she talk to Reinhart.

"Joyce understands the bond Bruizer has with Ashley," Reinhart said. "She knows that a dog takes the focus off of yourself and puts it on something that needs to be taken care of while giving back unconditional love."  Feeling ignored, Bruizer retreated to a corner of the room. A puppy-sized puddle of urine appeared on the floor.  Reinhart shook her head, laughed and went to get a mop. As she swabbed the deck, she gently reminded Bruizer that such behavior is reserved for outside.  Reinhart was reminded that she did not have to take Bruizer as a guest. She could have said there was no room at the inn.  "But, after what I've been through," she said, "I felt compelled to help."  Her offer to help remains open-ended. Still, weeks could turn into months. Reinhart shrugged her shoulders. Carstens' eyes welled with tears.  "Bruizer gives us our daily puppy fix," Reinhart said. "That's more than enough."
C
arstens wants to take Bruizer to visit Ashley in the hospital. Her doctors say she's not up for a mug-to-face visit just yet.
When the puppy gets visiting rights, Reinhart just might go along. "I'd like to tell Ashley that there's light at the end of the tunnel," she said.  "But if her family just wants me to take care of Bruizer, that's fine, too. He'll be here until his mommy gets out of the hospital."