Smiles are hard to find on the fourth floor at Utah Valley Regional Medical Center in Provo. Except on Thursdays, because those are the days Jaro comes to visit.

Even Jaro's smiling.

Jaro, a 150-pound Newfoundland, has been visiting the pediatric ward and the cancer center at UVRMC for the past five years.

As Jaro and his owner, Brett Beasley, get off the elevator on the fourth floor, nurses peek around the corner and yell, "Jaro." His tail wags incessantly as he wanders up to them for a petting and a handout of leftover lunches.

Jaro is a therapy animal and one of three that visits UVRMC on a weekly basis. Not every animal can be a therapy animal. These animals -- including rabbits, horses and birds -- go through intensive training to screen out the unqualified. They must have mild temperaments. They are trained around wheelchairs, canes and walkers. They learn not to be frightened at loud noises or crying children. And, inadvertently, they learn how make people smile regardless of the amount of pain they feel.

As Jaro and Beasley make their way down the sterile hallway, they stop several times as children wave and giggle through their doorways. Because of medical conditions, some patients can only look from afar.

But -- for the moment -- their pain is forgotten.

Born premature, Keyontae, 5, has been in and out of the hospital with health problems since birth. He's been lucky enough that during every hospital trip, Jaro has visited his room. As soon as Jaro passes, Keyontae sits a little taller in his bed, with a grin across his face. Jaro lays his head on the side of the bed and his tail thumps against a cabinet in the corner.

"When there are so many negative things happening, Jaro's visit is a really positive thing," said Keyontae's mother. "It lightens the mood in here, even if it's just for a minute or two."

The minutes pass quickly and Jaro lifts his head from the hospital bed and makes his way to the next bedroom. Jaro's tail begins to wag before he makes it to the next door.

There is a slight gasp from the teenage girl in the next bed, followed by an immediate smile.

"He's so cute," Stevie Robinson said.

Jaro goes to her bedside and licks her hand as she giggles. Her hand moves down his back, over and over. Jaro slightly raises his head and his mouth opens as if he were smiling.

Robinson, 18, has been in the hospital for a week, and Jaro was the first thing to perk her up.

For those five minutes, the clock stopped for Robinson. She stopped counting the minutes till she was released, and the only thing that mattered was Jaro.

The last time Robinson was in the hospital for pneumonia, the dog stopped by. She remembers it well. She remembers that Jaro had sensed her pain as she leaned down to pet him and left the room. But seeing him that day was one of the highlights of the stay.

Jaro, as Beasley describes him, likes to hold back. As he enters the room, he scans the scene and waits to see whether the patients really want him there. Sometimes, as with Robinson, interacting with the animal causes too much pain.

Other times they are cuddled. One of the most memorable experiences for Beasley was taking Jaro to visit a woman with fibromyalgia. She found such comfort in Jaro that she got on the floor with him and cried for a half hour.

"Animal therapy is part of the fabric in the healing process," said Beasley, smiling. "They're miracle workers."