We feared Walter wouldn’t survive the night. His oxygen was low, his cough worsening, yet he kept whispering one name:
“Murphy… Murphy…”
At first, we thought he meant a son or friend. But when asked, he whispered, “My good boy… I miss my good boy.”
His daughter confirmed it—Murphy was his 13-year-old Golden Retriever, left behind while he was hospitalized. With the nurse’s help, Murphy was brought in. The moment he climbed onto Walter’s lap, resting his chin on his chest, Walter opened his eyes for the first time in days.
“Murphy, did you find her?” he murmured.
He then revealed how, years earlier, Murphy had led him to a missing girl named Lizzie, saving her life when no one else believed him.
Days later, Lizzie herself appeared—grown, with a daughter of her own. Reunited, she told Walter, “I wouldn’t be here without you.” He smiled and replied, “It’s Murphy.”
Murphy stayed by Walter’s side until his passing, faithful to the very end. At his funeral, Lizzie placed a stone in the garden:
Murphy — Guardian Angel. Good boy, forever.
