Monika Turkiewicz

A simple truth…

The Dog Who Refused to Let the Deer Die Alone

No one witnessed the first moment.

Early one morning, on a quiet road near the forest, a young deer was struck by a car.

The driver didn't stop. The road went silent again, and the deer lay badly injured at the roadside, barely able to breathe.

For a while, it was alone.

Then a stray dog emerged from the trees.

Thin. Soaked from the rain. Silent. No collar.

No fear.

He approached carefully and lay down beside the deer. He pressed his body against the injured animal to keep it warm.

Gently, he licked its face. And he stayed.

Cars passed by.

The cold crept in.

Hours went by.

The dog did not move.

On his way to work, a man noticed the dog who refused to leave the roadside. When he got closer, his breath caught in his chest.

The dog had rested his head across the deer's neck, as if protecting it... or comforting it.

The man called animal control and a veterinarian.

When help finally arrived, the dog stood up for the first time. He stepped back. Looked once more at the deer. Then at the people.

As if he understood the deer was no longer alone. 

The deer survived.

Recovered.

And was released back into the forest.

The dog never returned to that road.

The man took him home.

Today, the dog sleeps in a warm house. And whenever he sees a deer in the distance, he stops... and watches for a long time.

Some connections don't need words.

Just a ❤️

Bobbie who walked 2500 miles in 6 months across America to find his family

In August 1923, a two-year-old collie named Bobbie was separated from his family during a road trip in Wolcott, Indiana. After days of searching and newspaper ads brought no answers, the Brazier family returned to their home in Silverton, Oregon, believing they had lost him forever. Six months later, a thin and injured dog appeared in Silverton with worn-down nails and battered paws.

Against all odds, Bobbie had traveled roughly 2,500 miles on his own to find his way back home.

Millie - First Dog of US

“In 1992, President George H.W. Bush's English Springer Spaniel, Millie, became famously overweight, so much so that the president reportedly sent a light-hearted memo to White House staff about her expanding waistline. Millie's weight gain became part of the public's affection for the First Dog, highlighting both the challenges and humor of pet care even at the highest levels of office.”

If only Millie's owner knew of 99 k challenge 😜

See photos- Kiki’s face looks like Millie’s 😊

Thank you ❤️

A beautiful story about Barnaby ❤️

"Ma'am, you don't want Cage 4. He's enormous, nine years old, and can barely stand. You wouldn't be adopting a pet. You'd be adopting a goodbye."

I signed my name anyway.

"I'm seventy-three," I said, taking the leash.

"I've been counted out before."

That was the day Barnaby entered my life.

Barnaby is an Irish Wolfhound—really a gentle giant sewn together from gray, worn-out years. He weighs nearly as much as a grown man and smells of damp air and forgotten winters. When he walks, the floor answers him-thump, scrape, thump-as if even the building knows he's tired.

My son Mark, a lawyer who trusts rules more than instinct, panicked when he saw Barnaby stretched across the bookstore floor.

"This is a disaster," he whispered. "What if he bites someone? What if he collapses?"

"Barnaby doesn't bite," I said. "He listens."

For two weeks, Barnaby barely moved. At night, doubt crept in. Maybe loving this late only invited grief.

Then came Tuesday Morning Book Club.

A young boy named Leo tripped beside Barnaby. He stutters. Anxiety shakes his whole body. Barnaby lifted his massive head, sighed deeply, and rested his chin on the boy's leg.

Leo reached out. The shaking stopped.

"He likes me," Leo said.

"He loves you," I replied.

Leo read to him-slowly, imperfectly.

Barnaby listened without impatience.

Without judgment.

From then on, everything changed.

People sat beside Barnaby and told him things they'd never say aloud. They called his rug the Confessional. Tears fell into gray fur. Silence healed what words couldn't.

Once, a man complained. "Why care for something that won't last?"

"Because," I said, "life isn't measured by how long it stretches. It's measured by how much love it can hold."

Barnaby rises slowly now. His medicine is expensive. His time is short.

But every morning, he waits by the door, offering people permission-to slow down, to breathe, to be enough.

We are all walking each other home.

Some of us just have fur, four legs, and less time.

Love does not expire.

And sometimes, the oldest hearts know exactly how to hold yours.

Why…