He was fading fast—low oxygen, high fever, barely conscious. But through it all, he kept whispering one name: “Murphy… Murphy…” We assumed it was a family member, maybe a son or an old friend. But when a nurse gently asked, he managed to say, “My good boy… I miss my good boy.”
We called his daughter. Her voice cracked as she explained: “Murphy is his 13-year-old Golden Retriever. He’s staying with my brother while Dad’s in the hospital.” Touched, the head nurse made arrangements. Hours later, Murphy padded quietly into the room—tail wagging, eyes alert, sensing something important. He walked up to the bed and rested his head on his owner’s chest.
Walter’s eyes fluttered open. For the first time in days, he smiled. With a trembling voice, he whispered, “Murphy… did you find her?” His daughter froze. “Her?” she asked. Walter, still looking at Murphy, nodded slowly. “He was looking for Isla.”
Isla had been their first Golden, who passed years ago. It was something Walter had always wondered—if dogs somehow find each other beyond this life. That day, he seemed at peace. The next morning, Walter passed gently, with Murphy still by his side.