Finding Your Way Through: A Conversation with Christina Pellegrino

One of the things that always strikes me about career coaching is how universal work is as a human experience — and yet how differently each of us navigates it. When I tell people I'm a career coach with a particular focus on mental health and the workplace, the conversation tends to shift quickly. People open up about how they really feel about work: the struggles, the questions, the things they feel conflicted about but rarely say out loud. These conversations have a way of becoming something closer to philosophy. They bring me a little nearer to understanding the human experience, one career story at a time.

2025 was a difficult year for me personally. I lived right on the border of an evacuation area during the LA fires in January. I was laid off from a job I'd held for seven years. And the hardest of all: I lost my two beloved cats, Tintin and Cheddar. Neither passing was entirely unexpected — they were elderly and had lived with health conditions for some time — but that doesn't make it easier. As someone living with multiple mental health conditions, grief hits differently. It settles in deeper and lingers longer.

In one of my mood disorder support group meetings, after I shared some of what I was feeling, a fellow member mentioned that he'd found pet grief support groups helpful. I hadn't really considered that such a thing existed — but I'd had such positive experiences with peer support that I was willing to try.

A quick search led me to Furever Forest, an online community for people navigating the loss of beloved pets. (It's a wonderful community, and I'm certain I'll write about them more in the coming months.) Each month the community facilitates one-on-one conversations between members, and one month I was paired with Christina Pellegrino.

Christina’s warmth is evident from the very first exchange. Though we’re about 3,000 miles apart, it turned out we grew up in neighboring towns in northern New Jersey — and the synchronicity only built from there. Christina and her golden retriever Buster were a certified therapy dog team who volunteered with hospitals, libraries, and schools throughout the Cedar Grove area. She’s also the author of two children’s books, Buster and the Brain Bully and Buster and the Brain Booster, with the third book in the trilogy currently in editing. Though Buster has since passed, his legacy continues to guide everything Christina does.

Christina and Buster - a loving team.

My conversation with Christina was not only fascinating — it genuinely nourished my soul. I hope it does the same for you.

Tell me a little about yourself, and how do you typically describe what you do?

I’m someone driven to make a difference due to my own personal [mental health] struggle. That’s my driving force behind everything. Combine that with being a dog and animal lover — it all just encapsulates what drives everything I do. There are certain things I went through that I feel could have been mitigated, or at least not taken to the extreme they went to. I feel like I’m in a unique position to help people because of that. First surviving it — and then Buster became part of that story. He became my way to connect with the world, and he still is.

I’ve always had a very altruistic spirit, and an entrepreneurial spirit. I always wanted to do something of my own, and through all of my health struggles, holding down a job just really wasn’t possible. Now I’m finding my way through that — through all the work I’ve done with Buster. I’m just letting it unfold.

You have such a clear sense of mission and vision in your work. What would you say drives you at the core?

My mission is to educate children, really as young as I can, about themselves — their emotions, their behaviors — and get them to understand a bit more about what they’re feeling. I had recognized certain things that I thought were just fixtures of my personality — oh, I’m Type A, I need to be a perfectionist — and then when I started struggling, it was like: how do I be this person and also have this struggle? It added a whole other dynamic. I’m really drawn to educating kids as young as I can about themselves, and Buster has been a conduit for that, because he’s just so easy for them to connect with.

I don’t even see myself as an author. I don’t describe myself that way, because that’s not what it was about for me. It was about getting our message out. It changed my life, and I saw the impact it made on the lives we were able to touch. It was the most rewarding experience of my life, and it continues to connect me with people, even though I’m not doing therapy dog visits anymore. The experience, the books — it all just fed off each other and has taken on a life of its own.

For someone who had trouble connecting with people and had social anxiety, Buster bridged that gap. He gave me the courage, and still gives me the courage, to do things. When people share stories with me about how he affected them, I’m still wowed by it every time.

My vision is leading me toward creating a foundation in Buster’s honor — donating his books to those who need them, continuing this therapy dog work in some capacity, staying connected with that community. I have clarity on where I want to get. I’m still putting the pieces together on exactly what it’ll look like.

Tell me about Buster — how did he come into your life, and how did the therapy dog work begin?

Buster saved my life, and he continues to. When he was here, he helped my mental health. Now that he’s not here, he’s helping my soul health. I’m connecting with him in another way.

Buster was originally a family dog, and he kind of chose me. I was not the one caring for him at the time — I was very sick — and he refused to leave my side. He was drawn to me not feeling well and knew that I needed him. He would just lay on my bed, and you’d have to force him to go out. We formed this bond. And then an even deeper bond, because he had his own anxiety too — he was anxious about thunderstorms — and we bonded over both being anxious.

That’s where I first noticed: he has a capacity to heal. And I felt almost selfish keeping that to myself.

What probably originally planted the seed was visiting my grandma at her assisted living facility. It happened to be dog-friendly, so we’d bring him. People [were] lighting up just at the sight of him. He didn’t have to do anything but walk by. It’s a heavy environment, and him walking through, making all these people’s days a bit brighter just with his existence — I was stunned. The second thing I noticed was that he knew it was a more fragile community. He would be much more gentle there. He knew: okay, I need to take it easier with these people. I thought, there’s a real opportunity to make a difference here.

That’s how we got started. We became an unofficial therapy team visiting an assisted living facility as part of their Paw Pals program. The residents would have pictures of him beside their beds at night. They’d share stories of dogs they used to have. They really looked forward to seeing him.

And I thought: we need to grow. This has potential to be something.

He was about 5 at the time, and my anxiety talked me out of getting us certified for three years. There aren’t a lot of therapy dog training programs out there, and something in my head kept telling me we were going to fail the test. I let that keep me from it until I finally said: we need to do this. He was 8 years old when we started, which is when a lot of dogs are actually retiring from service work.

My mom was volunteering at St. Barnabas Hospital and I went with her. I saw they had a pet therapy program posted — they offered a six-week training and certification — and I thought: this is what we need to do. I reached out — and then I really busted an anxiety thing, because I said: I don’t think we need the six-week training, we’ll just go straight for the test. We went and we passed it.

One of the biggest things about therapy dog work is the connection between you and your dog. Being able to advocate for them, knowing what they’re comfortable with, having that language with them — that’s crucial to your success. And Buster and I had that.

What was it like bringing that work into hospitals? Can you describe what those visits actually looked like?

We ended up volunteering at the hospital as a floating team. We just said: we’ll go where you need us. So we worked a lot on the med-surg floors — people recovering from surgery. One of our very first visits was a kid with autism who’d had surgery and hadn’t smiled in weeks. We walked into the room and he smiled. His mom was in tears. It was my first day and I thought: this is one visit — one person — and we’re already starting like this? It wasn’t even us talking or petting him yet! It was just Buster walking in, and all of a sudden the energy changed.

We were one of only about six teams approved to work in the ER — a much more chaotic environment. We were there just as much for the staff as for the patients, if not more. You’d have staff who just had something intense come in, and then they’d see Buster and it gave them a second to just breathe. There was an older gentleman who hadn’t been able to sit up in days, and when Buster walked in, he popped right up. His whole family was stunned.

The three main areas we worked were the surgical recovery floor, the ER, and the cancer center. The cancer center was especially near and dear to me because I did it in honor of my dad, who I lost to that battle. I wasn’t able to be as present with him when he was sick — we were both sick around the same time — and it felt like a way to give back to him. We built real relationships there because people came back for infusions every couple of weeks.

The most memorable visit in that whole run wasn’t even cancer-related. We were at the end of our visit when we came across a woman who had a severe phobia of getting her blood drawn. She had a friend there for emotional support. I saw myself in her — I don’t have that specific fear, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re spiraling, like something terrible is going to happen. I asked if she’d like us to sit with her while she got it done. She said: you would do that? Buster sat between her legs. She held his ears and repeated his name like a mantra. Buster, Buster, Buster, Buster. She got her blood drawn. I knew exactly what was going on in her head. And the fact that I took the time to just say, I get it — no judgment — that mattered.

How did the work evolve from there — did you always imagine it expanding into schools and libraries?

I wanted to try Buster out in different environments and came across Read to Dog programs popping up in libraries — a non-judgmental listener for kids who were struggling. I reached out to some local places and it turned out my hometown library in Cedar Grove was looking for a therapy dog. People always asked: how did you train him to just lay there and listen to a book? I didn’t. He just reads the room. He excelled there immediately.

For the kids who were really struggling with reading, we did Buster’s Book Club — very simple book report forms, just one thing that happened in the story, because these were kids with no motivation to read at home. I got little keychains donated for when they hit ten books. Once we launched it, the teacher said she couldn’t get them to read at home. But suddenly there were stacks of reports waiting. They weren’t asking what they’d get at ten — they wanted to do it to make him proud.

Every time I thought I’d reached something, a whole new thing would open up.

We were just hitting our groove — hospital once a week, library every other week, rotating between classrooms — when COVID hit. I wanted an actual partnership — to see how I could help enhance the classroom, address the struggles that were actually going on. There was one girl who was terrified of dogs. I’d see her each week move a little bit closer, until finally she was hugging him. When things shut down, we did virtual visits and recorded reads with Buster so the kids stayed connected. Then outdoor visits at the park, and eventually outside the library with an outdoor heater. We didn’t stop. We continued throughout the whole thing.

I’m still in touch with several of these families today. One of the girls from our original reading session now makes my bookmarks — she’s an aspiring illustrator, 15 or 16 now. Another is a character in my second book, and I still go to all her sporting events. They’ve become family. We built this entire community around him. None of it was planned.

Even his limitations made him more relatable. His only rule was: if it’s thunder storming, we canceled. But that’s what made kids connect with him. He was this calm, loving dog who also had his own anxieties. He needs help too. His thing might be different than yours, but he’s got things that make him anxious and nervous and scared. That fed directly into the books.

Tell me about the books — how did they come out of the work you were doing together?

In writing the books, I originally just wanted to make a little keepsake for the school kids about their experience with him. But it snowballed. I had three versions of the first book before I landed on Buster and the Brain Bully. When I did, I knew: this is something. Every kid knows what a bully is. When they hear “there’s a bully inside your brain,” they get it immediately. And then the brain booster became the counterpart — things that lift you up. Hearing kids decipher that, making those connections, was just incredible. And I’m a sucker for alliteration.

When I wrote the books, I said to myself: this will be a way to carry him forward when that day comes. I didn’t know at the time how much it would matter. But the books became a catalyst for connection — people read them and it turns into something else entirely.

The third book is called Buster and the Backup Brain. The name came to me in a hard moment — I was really struggling and thought: I wish I could take my brain out and put a backup in. I wrote it before the second book, actually, as a therapeutic exercise. Writing through his character gave me distance when I was going through something. And now I just finished it.

Whatever was happening with Buster, we turned it into a lesson. That’s the difference between what we were doing and what many therapy dog teams do — I was building a community, a relationship, something that lasted beyond the visit. And this — all of it — that’s my greatest life’s work. I know it always will be.

How has Buster’s loss shaped where you are now, and what does continuing his legacy look like for you?

I was trying to figure out how to tie in the grief piece in the third book. One day I just had a dose of inspiration and wrote the ending in about thirty seconds. It just poured out.

Now I’m also working on his memoir. I’m having his kids write quotes, and I’m embedding them into the chapters. It’s written for myself more than anyone. I kind of let things take their own form, and then it comes to me: okay, this feels right.

I feel like he guided me to do all of this. He’s alongside me doing it. I’ve even claimed he helped me through his own loss, which seems insane — but I’m still wowed by it. You’re still doing it, bud! You’re still doing all the things. Even with new endeavors — I’m going to start fostering [dogs]. When one of the people at the foster organization got his book for her granddaughter, I hadn’t even mentioned the books. She looked me up and said: my granddaughter struggles with anxiety, it’s part of her reading rotation now. In the most unexpected ways, the books keep finding their way to the right places.

I have so much more courage now with the decisions I make. I used to second-guess myself constantly. Now I feel like I have him backing me up on it. He is the one who gives me the strength to do all of this.

You can learn more about Christina on Buster’s Instagram account @busters.borough You can buy her books, Buster and the Brain Bully and Buster and the Brain Booster on Amazon.

All photos are courtesy of Christina Pellegrino.