Posted on 06/18/2011 5:29:02 AM PDT by Daffynition
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa – A community came together to grant a homeless man his last wish.
That dying wish was to see his dog one more time.
It was a simple request, but one that meant the world to him in his final days.
People involved with the man’s last wish describe it as something they’ll never forget.
Now that he’s gone, they’ll always cherish the memories of the man and his best friend.
“She is full of energy and just brings so much love and energy into the home,” said the dog’s new owner, Kate Ungs.
(Excerpt) Read more at kcrg.com ...
I’m not big on yappy dogs, but that little guy is just ADORABLE!!
Beautiful - if sad - story.
What a lovely story...and comforting in the loss of a pet.
I will tell you a story. About 18 months ago my wife had to take my daughter to perform at a wedding in Dallas, Texas....thus leaving me home. I had worked all day and came into the house about dark. I called for a dashund, Rhett. He always came. I found him in the washing room. He was somewhat prostrate, but as he tried to lift his head to welcome me, he wagged his tail, his head laying on the tile. He was so weak. I calledf my wife and said Rhett was not doing well. It was about 10 PM. I gave him some water with a spoon and tried to get it down. As I went into the kitchen he tried with all of his might to follow me...I found him on his side in a hallway halfway between the kitchen and the washroom. That next morning at 6 am. I took him to the vet. He put him on IVs and did some blood test. He had a kidney and liver problem. My wife came in that night and I reported the vet said he was slightly improved. We went up on Sunday to see him again. When he saw my wife, he tried to lift his head, but could not...only a waggle of his tail. The vet said if he is not improved tomorrow, he advised putting him down. We went up early the next morning and he was the same. I told the vet, we needed to give him another day. The next day was the same. I conferred with my wife and daughter and they left it up to me. I took them home after telling the vet I would let him know in a few hours. I went back up to the vets and, looking at him, how weak he was,....I took a deep breath and told the vet to go ahead. I was 58 years of age...I am a trauma surgeon and have been for 30 years....I put my right palm to my forhead, tapped repeatedly on my forehead and told the vet as tears traced down my cheeks,...."I have seen a thousand people die.....what am I doing?" I took Rhett home and placed him in a grave with his own padded casket and buried him in our garden. My wife and I talk about him every day. He was a great dog.
Now you’ve got me all weepy,especially the tail wagging right up to the end.
‘Gentleman of the Jury: The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy.
His son or daughter that he has reared with loving
care may prove ungrateful.
Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith.
The money that a man has he may lose.
It flies away from him, perhaps, when he needs it most.
A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in the moment of ill-considered action.
The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles it’s cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in
health and sickness.
He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side.
He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world.
He guards the sleep of his pauper master, as if he were a prince.
When all other friends desert he remains.
When the riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is constant in his love as the sun in it’s journey through the heavens.
If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that he accompany him, to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in it’s embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.’
Senator Vest, 1870
Lovely. ***Sniff-sniff***
The great thing is he is not yappy. The only time he barks is at thunder and door bells. Oh, one other time. When one of the lovebirds gets out of their cage, he knows it a comes a runnin to tell on them.
His favorite thing to do is to set with me and my cockatoo. Whenever she is out of her cage on mt shoulder, he wants up to say hello to her and lick her beak.
This is Rollo.
When his master died, Rollo took watch on the man's grave and would not budge.
The locals tried everything to cajole the dog into coming to live with one of them.
The dog refused.
Eventually they just started feeding and watering him there, as he stood vigil over his man.
They provided shelter from the rain, cold and heat and the dog remained there for a very long time, eventually passing away, himself.
The townspeople were so touched by the dog's unwavering devotion, they had this life-size marble statue of him placed at the foot of his master's grave, where he'd maintained his long, faithful watch, all those years.
The man is long forgotten by kith and kin but I have *never* seen Rollo's memorial unadorned by flowers.
Ever...and I've been a regular visitor to that cemetery filled with incredible statuary for about 35 years.
Over a century and a half of weather and soot have streaked his fur with age and time has pitted the once-silken stone but the top of his head is polished smooth by the untold numbers of hands that have reached down and lovingly stroked it, no doubt saying or thinking "Good dog.", as I have many times.
Semper Fi, indeed.
[And Arbooz, you can bet I'm gonna be makin' myself on of those shirts. Thanks for the idea.]...:)
There’s a similar story up here:
“Outside of hartford hospital, there’s a statue of a black dog. The story behind it is that the dog was very close to his owner and after his owner got sick and had to go to the hospital for treatments, he would wait outside the hospital for his owner. during one of the owner’s treatments, he needed to be admitted to the hospital and he died there. No one could get the dog to leave the front door of the hospital. people would bring food out for him and blankets in the winter, but the dog never left because he thought his owner was still inside. He stayed on the grounds of the hospital until he died. I don’t know if the story is 100% true or not, but it really illustrates the bond between animals and humans.”
I can’t find the image of the dog/statue.
From the WaPo:
A visit to his master’s grave seems to give closure to a grieving dog
Thursday, August 12, 2010; PG15
Dear Dr. Fox:
Your recent column about how a “dog’s devotion to master can lead to the grave” is similar to what occurred with our golden retriever more than 20 years ago, when my husband died at 46 after a four-year battle with cancer. During my husband’s illness, Friday lay beside his bed, provided support when my husband walked and never left his side. Friday obviously knew that something was wrong. He was devoted to his master.
Before my husband became ill, he was a senior sports-and-news cameraman for a major TV station. Because of the nature of his assignments, my husband’s work hours were unpredictable. Regardless of the hour, Friday always knew when my husband was headed home. He ran to the front door, wagging his tail, and he sat patiently until my husband’s car pulled into the driveway.
After my husband’s death, which took place in a hospital, Friday sat at the front door all day, every day, whining and waiting for my husband to return. He stopped eating and wouldn’t leave the front hallway. He refused to play with our children, whom he loved, because “guard duty” was his only purpose. He left his post only when he needed to be walked. My heart was breaking for this dog.
After one week of watching Friday’s vigil, I decided to help him understand what had happened. Hesitantly, Friday left his post and got into the car with me. His car behavior was unusual: He paced from window to window, looking everywhere for my husband. I drove to the cemetery, and we walked together toward my husband’s grave. As we got closer, Friday pulled away from me and ran directly to the grave. He lay down atop it, closed his eyes and just stayed there, quietly. I didn’t try to talk to Friday or disturb him. He needed to grieve, too. After an hour, Friday got up and walked over to me, using his mouth to hand me his leash. He was ready to go home.
On the way back home, Friday lay quietly in the back seat. After we arrived home, he kept kissing my hands as if to say “thank you,” and he never again sat by the front door waiting for my husband to return home. He now understood. Although obviously sad, his behavior returned to normal around the children and he began eating again. In time, he healed, as did we.
L.B.J.
Lake Worth, Fla.
Oh my.
Tears pouring down my face!
thanks alot!
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. ~ Charles Dickens
Rollo doesn’t get the attention he deserves, anymore.
This tiny little, nearly an after-thought mention on the cemetery’s website is all he gets, now.
http://www.rosehillcemeteryofhagerstown.org/index_files/Page358.htm
I’m glad his story happened 150+ years ago..nowadays, he’d be dragged away forcibly by animal control.
I consider stuff like this and have already made plans.
*If* I ever get terminally ill and wind up in a hospital and it looks like I’m a goner anyway, I am to be brought -home- to die so my dogs can be with me.
I do *not* want them wondering where I went/why I left them.
Odin would be especially devastated...sadly, it is The Dobermann Way and even though he loves his ‘daddy’, he is my heart, my soul and My Dog.
[and there are those you who understand what a “My Dog” means]
When Henry Frampton suddenly died of a heart attack, his great and devoted friend, the legendary champion, “Borong The Warlock” followed him to the grave a week later..and the dog *was* perfectly healthy.
He died of a broken heart and everyone who knew the dog never questioned that.
He and Henry were inseparable...literally.
Then, I’m to be cremated and put under the tree where one of my dogs is buried.
No matter what, I will never “leave” them.
I’m sure there will be those who think that’s ridiculous, silly, overboard or whatever but after all the time I’ve been on FR, it should be abundantly evident, by now, that I don’t give a flying flip what anybody thinks about me and my dogs...:)
Check out this site....:)
http://dogsinthenews.com/en/news.php
I never heard about this...anyone else hear it?
http://dogsinthenews.com/issues/0109/articles/010914a.htm
:)
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.