Early one morning while we were eating breakfast, we heard the squeal of a train’s braking efforts followed by a terrible crash. My brother dashed out of the house, ran to the end of our lane and discovered amangledmass jammed on the cowcatcher of the massive locomotive. Parts of a car were strewn everywhere. Unfortunately, the driver of the car had died instantly.
Back in the house, we guessed there had been a crash and called the local rescue squad. But we all immediately said to each other, “Lenny didn’t howl. The whistle must not have blown!”
At the scene,my brother recognized what was left of the car as that of his buddy’s father and knew immediately the sad, sad news that would now have to be conveyed to the family. When the chief of the rescue squad arrived, my brother told him, “The engineer could not have blown the whistle for the crossing, because our dog did not howl. And he always does!”
The story of Lenny’s howling circulated rapidly around our small town as everyone shared in the grief of the wife and family. Speculation ran high as to whether the whistle had truly been blown as the engineer claimed. Some folks even came to witness the “howling dog” phenomenon and left convinced the whistle must not have sounded!
Left without the breadwinner, the family of nine was in dire straits. One of the county’s best-known and most successful lawyers decided to pursue a claim against the, by now, infamous Soo Line on behalf of the widow and children. (On contingency, of course!) The lawyer hired an investigator and recording technician. For days, at all hours, the two men frequented our yard and our home listening for oncoming trains and faithfully recording Lenny’s howl. Lenny never failed to echo with his characteristic, piercing howl the sharp wail of an approaching freight as it neared the crossing at which the tragedy had occurred. They even recorded his howling as a whistle was blown at the neighboring crossings in both directions when the wind was right. The lawyer was convinced.
The taped evidence, presented in court, along with the testimony of my family members, convinced the judge and jury. The settlement awarded to the family secured their home and future. County court records give evidence of the success of a “dog’s day in court!”
Sr. Mary K. Himens, S.S.C.M.
The Bravest Dog
Lisa smiled, watching from the back door as her husband, Mike, disappeared into the woods surrounding their Tennessee home with Sadie, his two-year-old English setter, bounding at his side.
Mike had always wanted a dog of his own, and the year before, Lisa’s father had rescued Sadie from a neglectful owner and brought her to them. At first she was pitifully timid and mistrustful. She’d cower and whimper at any sudden moves in her direction, yelp and run at the sound of loud noises.
But Lisa had combed the tangles out of the long hair of her white-and-black-spotted coat and Mike had spent hours gently coaxing and playing with her, winning her trust. With lots of attention and TLC, Sadie grew into a happy, adoring pet who shadowed Mike everywhere.
Lisa’s dad had said it right from the beginning: “If you’re good to this dog, she’ll be good to you.” And this morning Sadie would prove the power of that bond beyond all question. . . .
Sadie led theway along the familiar trail, the one she and Mike tramped every morning and evening. Sometimes she’d flush birds from the bushes, then sit watching, mesmerized, as they soared into the sky. This always amused Mike. Occasionally, she’d dive into the underbrush, lured by an interesting scent. But she’d always come when Mike called or blew his coach’s whistle.
She’s such a good dog, Mike thought, picturing her romping with his three-year-old son, Kyle, and two-year-old daughter, Chelsea. She was always gentle, even patiently submitting to their inadvertent ear-tugging and tail-pulling.
They’d walked about a third of a mile, and Sadie was off exploring when Mike suddenly felt a sharp pain in his wrist. He’d experienced similar aches recently but shrugged them off when they quickly disappeared. Probably bursitis, he’d thought. This time, however, the burning pain began to shoot up his arm like wildfire, and a wave of nausea swept over him. What’s going on? he wondered nervously, deciding: I’d better turn back.
But as he fumbled for the whistle around his neck to call Sadie, an excruciating pain slammed into his chest as though he’d been hit with an anvil. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Desperate, he gave the whistle a short blow—all he could manage before collapsing facedown on the ground. With pain searing through his chest like a burning knife, and his left arm numb, he had a terrifying thought: I’m having a heart attack—and I’m only thirty-six!
Suddenly, he felt Sadie at his side, nudging him gently with a soft, wet nose. Sensing that Mike was in trouble, she whined softly and gazed at Mike with worried eyes that seemed to ask, What’s wrong?
Mike realized Sadie was his only chance. He knew she’d never leave his side to go for help, even if he tried to send her. And Lisa wouldn’t miss them for at least an hour—maybe more. Maybe if I hang onto her, she can drag me close enough to call for help, he thought. But can she do it? Will she? he worried. With his last ounce of strength, he reached out and grabbed Sadie’s collar with his good arm. “Home, girl!” he urged.
Sadie sensed it was up to her. Slowly the 45-pound dog started to drag the 180-pound man back down the rough trail. Groaning with pain, Mike struggled to hang on. He thought of Lisa waiting at home. Lisa, whom he’d met at work when he’d moved from California six years before. Beautiful and bright Lisa, who’d quickly captured his heart with her room-lighting smile and gentle soul. He recalled their wedding day, when he’d told her, “You’ve made me the proudest man in the world.” And that feeling only intensified during their time together. Not enough time! Mike thought now. We have our whole lives ahead of us.
Sadie struggled and tugged, staggering beneath the burden of Mike’s weight as it strained her muscles. As she dragged Mike over roots and rocks, his agony grew. The viselike pain constricted his chest as he thought I’ll never make it.
Images of his children floated in his mind: little Chelsea toddling around the house clutching her precious Raggedy Ann doll. And Kyle, his constant shadow, helping Daddy work on his truck and playing catch in the yard.
I can’t die, Mike told himself. My family needs me!
Suddenly, another picture popped into his mind. The card with the family photo they’d sent out last Christmas, with Chelsea on Lisa’s lap and Kyle on his, and sitting pretty in front—Sadie, upon whose furry shouldersMike’s life now depended. But by that point he was starting to fade in and out of consciousness. Each time blackness descended and Sadie felt his fingers loosen their grip on her collar, she would stop and lick his face and whine urgently until his eyes flickered open again.
Somehow Mike managed to grasp her collar again and hang on, in spite of the crushing pain in his chest as Sadie set out once more. Rocks and vines snagged and tore at his clothes as Sadie continued to pull him over the rough terrain, pausing only occasionally as she panted to catch her breath, marshaling her strength before plowing on.
Then she encountered an even greater test: a rolling hill. One which she easily bounded up and down most days— when she wasn’t dragging a weight four times her size! Sadie paused for an instant, summoning her strength.
“You can do it, girl!” Mike urged.
With a lick of his face, Sadie set herself again and began the torturous climb, digging in her paws and straining with all her might, battling for every inch, growling with the effort.
“That’s it, Sadie!” Mike encouraged as she slowly dragged him up the slope, foot by agonizing foot, until finally they reached the top—and then slipped down the other side.
Mike spotted his neighbor’s house, but by now he was too weak and short of breath to call for help. That’s the last thing I’m ever going to see, he thought, feeling unconsciousness slipping over him.
But somehow his fingers still clutched Sadie’s collar. And she staggered stubbornly on and on, dragging Mike’s unconscious d
ead weight, refusing to stop—until finally she tugged him through the opening in the fence, across the backyard and to the foot of the steps leading to the Millers’ porch.
Once there, she barked and howled like never before.
Hearing the noise, Lisa wondered what was going on. She opened the back door and gasped, spotting her husband crumpled on the ground with Sadie hovering over him.
“Mike! What’s wrong?” she screamed, racing to his side.
Mike’s eyes blinked open. “My heart, I think,” hemoaned.
Dear God! she panicked, rushing to the phone to call 911, then dashing back to Mike.
While they waited for the ambulance, Mike croaked: “Sadie saved me. She dragged me home from the woods.”
Lisa stared in disbelief at the panting dog who still refused to leave Mike’s side. Then, still gripping Mike’s hand, she threw her other arm around Sadie, pulled her close and choked, “Good girl, Sadie.”
At the hospital, doctors discovered Mike had suffered a massive heart attack and performed emergency triple-bypass surgery. “You’re going to be fine, but you’re lucky to be alive,” doctors told him afterward. Mike knew who to thank.
And he did. When he got home a week later, as Sadie bounced around him, overjoyed to see him, Mike produced a bag of bones from the butcher. “Treats for my hero,” he said, hugging her.
Today Mike is fully recovered. He and his dog still walk together, and Mike spends many hours pitching sticks that Sadie happily retrieves. He can’t do enough for her, knowing that if Sadie hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t have made it home alive.
Lisa remains amazed that Sadie was able to drag Mike all the way back to the house by herself. She says, “I guess it just shows how strong the power of love really is.”
Sherry Cremona-Van Der Elst
Previously appeared in Woman’s World Magazine
off the mark www.offthemark.com by Mark Parisi
OFF THE MARK, ©1997 Mark Parisi. Reprinted with permission of Mark Parisi.
A Pocketful of Love
If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.
Phil Pastoret
DebbieLynn never set out to be a fashion model, it just kind of happened. Although she had other interests she wanted to pursue, it was hard to walk away from the success she’d achieved modeling. The exciting lifestyle meant Deb traveled constantly, which left little time for other interests. She’d thought about taking the gamble, quitting and trying something new, but told herself she’d model just one more year. For more years than she could count, it had been, “Just one more year.”
Everything changed the day Deb returned from an overseas modeling job and caught a taxi at the airport. Instead of delivering her home, the drunken cabbie stole her career and health in a horrible car accident that Deb barely survived. Suddenly, the “one more year” of modeling wasn’t an option. Deb was left with a kaleidoscope of disabling health problems, some caused by side effects of the drugs meant to keep her alive. She had no choice— this time, Deb had to start over, from scratch.
Although she’d had dogs as a child and had wanted a dog for a long time, her travel schedule kept her from adopting a pet for many years. Finding the perfect canine companion was now the first thing on Deb’s wish list. Not just any dog would do, though. The scleroderma racking her body left her skin so fragile, a tiny bump could tear it and cause bleeding. On top of that, secondary hemophilia kept cuts from coagulating, and Deb could die if the bleeding wasn’t stopped in time. Doctors who feared a large dog could accidentally hurt her warned Deb that two and a half pounds was the top weight limit she could tolerate. With her lung capacity so severely diminished, shedding was also a problem.
Nevertheless, Deb was determined to have her dream dog. It took her eighteen months to find the perfect two-pound Yorkshire terrier, whom she named Cosette. Her puppy had special needs of her own—because of her tiny size, Cosette couldn’t digest commercial dog foods and required a special vegetarian diet. Deb was happy to do whatever it took to keep her new companion healthy and happy.
They’d been together only a few weeks, and Cosette was only five months old when the pocket-size puppy began “acting weird.” Cosette ran up to Deb, gently pawed her leg in an odd way, and squeaked a peculiar sound Deb had never heard before. The dog wouldn’t stop—she repeated the behavior time and again. What was wrong? Deb worried the pup had gone nuts. Didn’t Deb already have enough to deal with—what if the pup she’d fallen in love with had emotional problems? Deb knew she could manage the homemade diet, but could she handle something worse?
It never occurred to Deb that Cosette was trying to tell her something, until the doctor saw themtogether. During a house call, Deb’s doctor witnessed one of Cosette’s strange episodes. Other patients of his had dogs who alerted them to health conditions, so he immediately recognized that the puppy somehow “knew” in advance Deb would suffer a health crisis. Sure enough, seven minutes later one of Deb’s dangerous migraines began.
Deb was amazed! She had heard about this ability and knew dogs couldn’t be trained to have it; they either “know” or they don’t, and it’s the bond between the pet and person that makes it happen. She’d never considered having a service animal, but Cosette had taken matters into her own paws. The pup’s ability offered a freedom Deb never expected, and allowed her to take medicine and prevent the headaches that not only were painful, but also could cause bleeding and kill her.
The doctor told Deb that her puppy should get additional training and certification so Cosette could go with her everywhere. The Delta Society, a national group that certifies therapy dogs, recommended a trainer. It took only four months for the little dog, with her inborn service-dog instincts, to be certified.
Deb had also suffered hearing loss from the accident, making it difficult for her to hear buzzer-type sounds like the doorbell, the telephone, and the washer and dryer, so Cosette learned to alert her to any of these. She also was taught to tell Debwhen something or someone approached from her peripheral blind spots.
But Cosette figured out ways to help Deb that not even the trainer anticipated. Cosette’s acute sense of smell allows her to alert Deb to tiny cuts that Deb doesn’t even know have happened. First, she pushes and pushes against Deb’s ankles to make her get down to the dog’s level. Then Cosette puts her tongue against the cut, finds a position that gives her good traction, then applies pressure. Deb says that the tiny dog can make herself feel like a lead weight. A treatment lasts for twenty to forty minutes—or until the bleeding stops, and somehow, Cosette knows when it has been long enough. Without Cosette’s skillful attentions, Deb would need to spend all day at the emergency room.
Another serious health problem Deb faces are her heart irregularities. She’s often not aware that her breathing has become shallower until she blacks out. Now when Deb’s heart skips a beat, Cosette warns her so she can take medicine in time to ward off the problem. When Deb sleeps, sometimes her heart stops altogether, until Cosette leaps into action—literally, by jumping on Deb’s chest. That almost always gets the heart going again, but if it doesn’t start right away, Cosette even knows to dial 911!
Cosette was trained to dial 911 on any push-button telephone by tapping out the individual three numbers, so she can call for help anywhere, anytime, even from a cell phone when they’re away from home. Deb leaves phones in their home always within paw-reach. Cosette has called 911 and saved Deb’s life more than thirty times during their years together.
The little dog who saves her life also helps Deb make a living. Cosette inspired Deb to create three Web sites that cater to pet lovers. Cosette’s Private Collection is a line of all-natural, botanical grooming products for dogs. Cosette’s Choice includes organic biscuits, nutritional supplements for dogs with special nutritional needs (like Cosette herself), including a Biscuit-of-the-Month Club. The third, Cosette’s Closet, leverages Deb’s experience
and taste from the world of fashion modeling to provide a specialty line of canine clothing, including doggy bridesmaid gowns, sundresses and tuxedos. Cosette, of course, has her own closetful of designer doggy togs.
Cosette wears her special outfits when she accompanies Deb to restaurants. On her last birthday, Cosette enjoyed eating rice and beans at her favorite Mexican dining spot and greeting the restaurantmanager, amember of her “fan club,” who insisted on singing “Happy Birthday” to the special dog.
Her biggest fan, though, is DebbieLynn. The former model—now successful entrepreneur—never knew she could become so attached to a dog, yet her tiny companion and service dog has become everything to her. And Deb knows the feeling is mutual; she is amazed at the depth of Cosette’s love for her. Today they live for each other.
Amy D. Shojai
Pedro the Fisherman
The most touching dog story I’ve ever heard was told to me thirty years ago by a neighbor on her return from a Mediterranean cruise.
The setting of the story is a little cove on the east side of the Spanish island of Mallorca. It was there that an Englishman, a professional diver, lived on his yacht with his dog, a springer spaniel. He had tied his yacht to a pier where diving conditions were ideal. Each time the Englishman made a dive, the dog sat anxiously on the pier, awaiting his return. One day the dog became so concerned when the Englishman disappeared into the water that he dove in after him.
Underwater, the dog saw a school of fish swim past. He grabbed a fish and carried it back to the pier. The Englishman, surprised and pleased, praised him. After that, the dog followed the man on his dives. In the course of the shared diving, the dog developed excellent fishing skills, to the man’s considerable amusement. The Englishman told the island’s residents of his dog’s accomplishments, and they came to the pier to watch. Delighted, they began calling the dog Pedro, after Peter, the fisherman.
Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul Page 28
