This is a tear-jerking tribute to two fallen police dogs, Dox and Lyon, in Brazil who died in the line of duty.
If you would like to read about the tragic story of these two brave dogs, please go to Doggie Bloggie’s NEW site, Motley Dogs to view this posting.
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This site will remain up, but I will no longer be posting here. Well, maybe a reminder or two about the move… 🙂
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The Story Begins…
In the early 1800’s a man called John Gray, a gardener, arrived in Edinburgh with his wife and son looking for work. The weather was cold, however, and the ground was hard, so there were no gardening jobs available. He took what work he could find, and became a member of the Edinburgh Police Force – a Constable.
As a condition of his job, John Gray was required to have a dog. He bought a Skye Terrier and named him Bobby (Bobby was the nickname for Constables in the Police Force). Bobby became a loving and loyal companion.
A Sad Event
Unfortunately, after a few years as a policeman, John Gray became ill with tuberculosis, and died in February 1858. He was buried in old Greyfriars Kirkyard (Churchyard) in an unremarkable grave with no gravestone.
Incredible Loyalty
For the next fourteen years, Bobby sat and kept guard over his master’s grave. He left the grave only for food, waiting patiently until the one o’clock gun was sounded, when he visited a nearby cafe which he used to visit with his master. There the owners (who changed over the years) would feed him his dinner. The last owner to feed Bobby, John Traill, had a special dish made for him (engraved “Bobby’s Dinner Dish”), which can be seen in the Museum of Edinburgh.
The gardener and keeper of the graveyard, James Brown, tried often to remove Bobby from the Kirkyard, but finally gave up and provided a shelter instead, at the side of John Gray’s grave.
Fame For Bobby
Bobby’s fame spread throughout Edinburgh. On a daily basis the crowds would gather at the entrance of the graveyard waiting for the one o’clock gun and a glimpse of Bobby leaving for his meal.
In 1867 a law was passed that required dogs to be licensed or destroyed. Sir William Chambers (The Lord Provost of Edinburgh) paid Bobby’s licence himself, and presented him with a collar with the brass inscription “Greyfriars Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 licensed”.
The people of Edinburgh looked after the faithful Bobby while he watched over his master. Bobby died in 1872.
Statue in Tribute to Bobby
Greyfriars Bobby, Scotland’s most famous dog, is not forgotton. Hearing the story, the President of the Ladies Committee of the RSPCA asked the City Council for permission to erect a granite fountain with a statue of Bobby placed on top. A statue was commissioned unveiled in November 1873 opposite the Kirkyard graveyard, on the corner of Candlemakers Row and King George IV Bridge.
Everlasting Words
Bobby’s grave can be found in Greyfriars Kirkyard, about 75 yards from John Gray’s grave. The headstone is engraved with these words:
Greyfriars Bobby – died 14th January 1872 – aged 16 years
Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all
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Post script: There are stories to the contrary about Bobby. But personally, I like to believe this one. Why not? Because there is no harm done in believing this version.
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“It is strange for me to be writing this article while I have feelings of both sadness and joy in my heart. Nevertheless, it is something which must be done.
Roselle was born on March 12, 1998 at Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California. After her time with puppy raisers she went back to Guide Dogs for the Blind for training. I think I first met her on November 22, 1999. It was obvious from the very beginning that we were a perfect match. Roselle was my fifth guide dog. I could tell that she would be an excellent guide from our very first walk together. What took me a few days to discover was that Roselle was also quite a character; I constantly referred to her as a pixie.
On September 11, 2001 Roselle and I were in our office on the 78th floor of Tower One of the World Trade Center when the tower was struck by American Airlines flight 11 which had been hijacked and was being controlled by terrorists. All I want to say here is that Roselle did an incredible job. She remained poised and calm through the entire day. I would not be alive today if it weren’t for Roselle.
In 2004, Roselle was diagnosed with immune mediated thrombocytopenia, a condition which caused her body to attack her blood platelets. Through medications we were able to control the disease and Roselle was able to continue guiding. As usual, she worked like a trooper and never once exhibited pain nor discomfort.
In February 2007 during a normal checkup we learned that some of Roselle’s kidney values were changing for the worse. It was decided that the medication regimen on which Roselle had been placed as well as the stress of guiding were the causes for her kidney value changes. Roselle retired from guide work in March of 2007.
In 2010, Roselle began exhibiting some chronic back pain. We immediately took Roselle to her vet and started her on a treatment of acupuncture, some other back adjustments, and herbs which altogether mostly eliminated her chronic back pain.
Earlier this year [2011] we noticed that Roselle was beginning to have a harder time standing up on her own, although once she was standing she loved to continue her daily walks. She stopped playing tug bone with Fantasia and Africa, but she still enjoyed lying in the sun, eating, kissing everybody in sight, and barking at the doorbell. Her ability to stand on her own grew worse throughout the first half of this year.
Last week she began exhibiting some other signs of distress and pain. On Friday, June 24, 2011 she had to be taken to her vet as she had begun vomiting blood. It is suspected that somehow she had developed a stomach ulcer. Also, it was discovered that her red blood cell count had dropped significantly. Friday evening she was taken to the Pet Emergency and Specialty Center where she was well known and would receive over night care. She had spent many hours with Doctor Harb and the other staff working through her IMT issues. They had also helped her in January 2009 when she developed gastric torsion and had to undergo emergency surgery to untwist her stomach.
Yesterday, Sunday, June 26, we visited her in the evening only to see her condition continuing to deteriorate. She was in a lot of pain and discomfort. There was no one cause for her discomfort, but Doctor Bowie of the PESC felt that some of her immune mediated related conditions had returned in addition to the possible stomach ulcer. After much consultation and discussion we all came to agreement that the best thing we could do to help Roselle was to assist her in crossing the Rainbow Bridge and go to her friends Linnie and Panama. At 8:52 last evening she crossed the bridge and, I am sure, is now more comfortable and has all the doorbells she wants to bark at.”
This was posted on June 28, 2011, by Mike Hingson. For the full story, you may visit his website here.
May you rest in peace, Roselle.
“I am an animal rescuer.I am an animal rescuer.
My work is never done, my home is never quiet,
my wallet is always empty…
…but my heart is always full.”
~ Unknown
Doogie after recovering:
As I lay dying in a pool of dirt and mud
I felt a hand touch my matted fur
My old eyes looked up and saw
An angel with sad eyes staring down at me
The hands stroked my fur and the unfamiliar
touch puzzled, yet comforted me
Can it be that I have already died,
Released from the never-ending agony
of chains, neglect, bones grating cold ground?
Yes, my rescuer has picked me up from this backyard hell
And bathed my skinny, dirty, bony body
Released me from the heavy chains and the fleas
whose bites I long ago became accustomed to
I have little time left
But in a dog’s world, a hint of kindness,
a soft touch, a kind word and a warm blanket
overshadow the years of suffering when no one cared
Can you see the love and gratitude in my eyes?
As I lay dying, I looked up
and saw kind eyes looking back at me
An angel rescued me from backyard hell
And paved my way to eternity.
For Tammy
Who gives me the strength and courage to rise above my own fears and limitations—Patti Ragsdale
I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea,
You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.
Read the rest of this entry »
‘Watch out! You nearly broadsided that car!‘ My father yelled at me. ‘Can’t you do anything right?‘ Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn’t prepared for another battle.
‘I saw the car, Dad.. Please don’t yell at me when I’m driving.’ My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then, turned away and settled back. At home, I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn’t lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day, I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age or when he couldn’t do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor’s orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned and then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon, I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day, I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, ‘I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.’ I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one, but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world’s aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
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