Casey, a small black and brown spotted Dachshund (Weiner dog) was brought into the Koning family in
the early summer of 1998. She was two years of age. Her first owner was pregnant and preparing to
start a family that included only one of her two dogs, apparently Casey was the choice to be put up for
adoption. My mom got wind of this and we went out to see the little animal. She was a bit yappy, but in
all, seemed to be a very sweet dog. It did not take long for a decision to be made with regards to this
adorable pup, and after a short visit, Casey was in the car coming home with us.
I lived with my mom on a part time basis; work in theatre production had me moving around a lot. I was
there with them for pretty much the entire summer and then in and out, going to wherever work
dictated. But this story isn’t about me, nor is it really about the transition of Casey integrating into our
world. The dog becoming a permanent fixture in this family went well, she adapted great. But it is what
she did for my mom when she was hurt and fighting for her life that I find pretty damn remarkable.
Over the years Casey made quite a good companion for mom in our large Century home in the north off
of the shores of Lake Simcoe. My grandparents had purchased the house in the 1950’s after moving to
Canada from their home country of Germany; but they have since passed away. In fact, my grandfather
had just passed on from a bout with Cancer only months prior to the adoption of our new family
addition. My dad had also passed on back in 1986.
Casey had helped fill our home by the lake with laughter and happiness. Many times I came home to
find my mom having an out loud conversation with the Dachshund, who just sat there, staring, and
seemingly taking mental notes. Unfortunately in 2008 we lost Casey to Spinal Tumors and Cancer. It was
hard to see her go, but she left us with some fond memories. In my mind, she had accomplished her
greatest achievement, something truly magnificent, before her departure at the age of twelve.
In August of 2001 my mom was out walking by herself, it was a very hot day, and she was overcome by
heat. She had passed out onto the road and hit the back of her head hard enough to render her
unconscious for a time. Fortunately, some neighbors saw her and called 911. My mom had suffered a
traumatic brain injury.
I remember pacing back and forth in the hospital emergency ward as the Doctor’s and Nurse’s frantically
worked away, trying to figure out what best to do in order to help and what exactly it was that they
were dealing with. Was it an Aneurism? A Stroke? After scans and MRI’s it was finally narrowed down to
a blood clot on the left side of her brain which was slowly cutting off oxygen, and it needed to be
removed; quickly! She was transferred at this point in time from one hospital to another that specialized
more in brain surgery.
For the life of me I cannot say which was worse, the emergency room chaos that night, with the grim
cloud of uncertainty shrouding over us, (over me) or the moments sitting at my mom’s side after her
surgery as she lay in a coma. Thoughts about whether she would ever wake up from this horror plagued
my mind on the occasion, but I tried to remain optimistic for the most part. Seeing, every day, the left
side of her head shaven of hair and replaced with medical sutchers and staples, was, to say the least,
difficult.
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The Rescued Rescue Dog – by Mark Koning
July 29 2012
After a month my mom had decided to open her eyes and re-join the living world. But immediately I
could see, we could all see, something was wrong. The eyes were open, but inside seemed vacant. She
did not talk or move. Sure, she had just woken up from a month long sleep. Sure, she had received a
traumatic, near death, blow to the head. But still, things weren’t right. When she was moved into a
semi private room and more and more family and friends came by to visit, no improvements were
made. When she was transferred back to the hospital closer to home, where hopefully therapy could
start, no improvements were made.
My mom suffered from short term memory loss, some physical ailments, (mostly down the left side of
her body) and obvious depression. But her biggest challenge was a disability called Aphasia; a
communication disorder. My mom could not speak; and it very much seemed like she did not want to
either. It was as if she had given up.
But then one day as my sister and I were tacking up the latest ‘get well’ cards and some family photos,
the nurse who came in to see my mom every evening, gave us a great idea. We were asked about the
small black and brown spotted dog in the picture.
“Bring Casey in to see your mom,” we were told. “It can’t do any harm.”
Casey was pretty okay at home without mom’s presence, but she knew something was up. She was a bit
lethargic, concerned, discontented, dissatisfied, troubled, uneasy; all of the above basically. She didn’t
put up a fuss or cause any mayhem, but she was not her normal, yappy, friendly, energetic self.
So one day my sister and I brought Casey with us for our visit. I took her for a walk around the hospital
grounds so she could get a little familiar with the area and also so she could use nature’s bathroom
before we went in. My sister headed upstairs to see my mom and get her into a wheelchair to meet us
out in the hall by the elevators.
Anticipation grew on both ends as the elevator rose with me inside, Casey in my arms. When the doors
opened there was a moment of surprise and stillness. I then suddenly felt Casey start to squirm, yapping
quietly with glee, her tail banging back and forth against my body. My mom’s eyes grew wide, her face
lit up, and tears of joy actually formed.
I had no plans to draw anything out and I immediately walked over to mom’s chair and held Casey in her
lap. My mom had shown a few signs of improvement by now, so it was no real shock to see her hand
move over to stroke at her dog. But the enthusiasm of the moment was total bliss; and absolutely
beautiful! I will never forget Casey licking my mom’s smiling face.
After this my sister and I made frequent trips with Casey. Our lovable canine friend did not always join
us on hospital visits, but the occasional union of these two could not be passed up. Not only was it just
so darn adorable to witness the love between owner and pet, but the motivation it seemed to give my
mom was something incredible. She seemed to be determined to be able to go home with her dog, and
it propelled her into physical, speech and cognitive therapy.
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The Rescued Rescue Dog – by Mark Koning
July 29 2012
Mom’s visits home started slow. First it was just a day, then an overnight, then a few in a row, and finally
a permanent move back to our homestead by the lake.
Therapists came on a weekly basis to work with my mom and they all loved to see Casey. The admiration
between the two was contagious. Self guided physical exercise became a regular thing for my mom as
well, and she always did her routine with Casey by her side; the little four legged canine cheerleader
with a wagging tail.
“Casey” was one of my mom’s first words and over time, similar (but also a bit straining) conversations
took place between the lady of the house and her pet.
Casey was also somewhat protective of her owner/patient and kept a close eye on her with whatever
she did. The dog pretty much had always followed my mom around, but this was different. Her head
was held high with her eyes focused. And cuddling, gently, was probably the best therapy.
When Casey passed away in 2008 it was hard on all of us, but most especially on mom. This little but
powerful dog had offered to her owner some of the best love during a most crucial time. A big part of
my mom’s recovery I know, is thanks to Casey. They say that a dog is man’s best friend, obviously that
applies to woman too. I say, not only can a dog be your best friend, but also your spiritual healer; and
prove to be the most beneficial medicine out there.