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A service dog helped a Pensacola veteran find his footing. Now he helps others do the same.

Homer lies on the floor after responding to Brian Johnson's command to sit.
Christina Andrews, WUWF Public Media
Homer lies on the floor after responding to Brian Johnson's command to sit.

Before Homer, mornings looked different.

Brian Johnson remembers getting out of bed reluctantly. He remembers medication. Anxiety. Hypervigilance.

Now mornings begin with a soft jingle from a collar.

Homer, Johnson’s service dog, wakes him up every day at seven.

For most people, that probably does not sound remarkable. For Johnson, it changed everything.

“Mornings before Homer… kind of grudgingly get out of bed,” he said. “Had to take a bunch of medications… medicate myself to the gills because of the anxiety and the hypervigilance that I suffered from.”

Johnson still takes some medication, but said he no longer relies on medication for anxiety.

Homer came into his life through K9s For Warriors, a nonprofit that pairs military veterans living with PTSD and other invisible wounds of war with trained service dogs at no cost to the veteran.

A close-up of Homer's service best. When the vest goes on, it signals it's time to work.
Christina Andrews, WUWF Public Media
A close-up of Homer's service best. When the vest goes on, it signals it's time to work.

Today, Homer does not just go home with him. He comes to work.

Johnson is a Marine veteran who deployed to Iraq during the 2003 invasion. Now 46, he said some parts of that experience never left.

“My PTSD is combat-based,” he said. “We had to do and see a lot of things that your normal run-of-the-mill people don’t see. I have seen the worst of what humans can do to each other. For years, that terrified me, and I still have nightmares about it.”

Coming home did not mean leaving those experiences behind.

Brian and Homer take a break outside Lakeview Center.
Christina Andrews, WUWF Public Media
Brian Johnson and Homer take a break outside Lakeview Center.

“When we came back, there were no supports,” he said. “PTSD was still highly stigmatized.”

Years later, Johnson said everything caught up with him.

“I went into a PTSD episode,” he said. “Called my therapist because I had no idea what was going on. I was scared out of my mind.”

After another crisis at home, he called 988. That was when something shifted.

“Living with PTSD and surviving PTSD are two different things,” he said. “I was just barely surviving.”

Treatment helped stabilize things. Eventually, Johnson and his therapist talked about another layer of support. A service dog. Johnson had one request.

“I told them I did not want a poodle.”

That request did not work out.

“They opened the gate, and I just saw this big poofy head. My first reaction was… that’s a poodle,” he said.

Homer turned out to be a giant schnoodle. Part giant schnauzer. Part giant poodle.

“It was a very emotional day. I cried my eyes out.”

Brian Johnson rests his head on Homer during a visit at Lakeview
Christina Andrews, WUWF Public Media
Brian Johnson rests his head on Homer during a visit at Lakeview Center.

Before Homer, Johnson said crowds felt impossible. He noticed a shift during training at a busy airport.

“We’re moving through a crowd… and I looked down at Homer, and Homer was just relaxed,” he said.

Johnson realized he was walking through a crowd without scanning every person around him.

“I looked over at the trainer, and I was like… I’ve never done this before.”

Today, Johnson works at Lakeview Center as a certified recovery peer specialist and is often one of the first people someone meets when seeking care.

“I explain to them who I am… my diagnosis… and how long I’ve been in sustained recovery.”

He believes that it changes things.

“They’re talking to somebody who’s already been in their shoes,” Johnson said.

Brian Johnson kneels beside Homer as they look at one another. Shannon Spann, director of Central Access at Lakeview Center, looks on.
Christina Andrews, WUWF Public Media
Brian Johnson kneels beside Homer as they look at one another. Shannon Spann, director of Central Access at Lakeview Center, looks on.

Shannon Spann, director of Lakeview’s Central Access program, said peer specialists offer something different from traditional treatment.

“Clinicians bring the clinical knowledge, the diagnosis and treatment skills,” Spann said. “Peer specialists have lived experience. They’ve gone through services and are in recovery.”

Sometimes Homer becomes part of that work too.

Johnson recalled one child who barely spoke during an assessment. Then she met Homer.

“She sat down on the floor with him… and she answered every single question without pause,” he said.

Not because a dog erased trauma. But because, for a moment, she felt safe enough to talk.

And for anyone who believes help will not matter, Johnson has this:

“Nobody is above help, and nobody is below help,” he said. “PTSD is not a death sentence. You just have to want the help. And it shows amazing courage to ask for it.”

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Christina’s career as a broadcaster spans over two decades and stretches across Alabama, California, Mississippi and Florida. Having earned a Master’s Degree in English while rising at 3 am to host a morning radio show, she now happily calls Pensacola and WUWF home. She’s an active member of St. Michael’s Basilica on North Palafox Street and visits the beach as often as possible. She’s also an associate producer in her husband, Jimmy’s, film production companies, Vanilla Palm Films and Fish Amen Films.