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A Flower For Tony

Virginia, TX, USA
October 2003

Hi everyone. I’m Virginia, eighteen years old. Before getting to the paranormal part of my story, I really must give some background info, so bear with me. Ever since I was a little girl, I had always wanted a Pug dog. I have always loved dogs, and there hasn’t been a moment in my life where I’ve not owned at least one dog.

Well, one day, when I was twelve years old, I was at a neighbor’s house only two doors down from my house when my mom called to say she was coming home from running some errands. "I have a friend of mine with me I’d like you to meet," she said. "His name is Tony." I thought it a bit odd at the moment, but when she finally got home she came over to our neighbor’s house with a little off-white ball of fur in her arms. A tiny head with big eyes and a scrunched- up nose poked out, sniffing the air. This was the friend, a Pug puppy named Tony.

Well right then and there I fell in love with that tiny, round little puppy! Oh, was he cute. Turns out, he was born the day after my twelfth birthday, so we always included Tony in my parties. He soon became my best friend, watching TV with me before bed and sitting outside with me as I swam. One time I had gotten out of the pool and was heading for the door inside when I heard a splash! Tony had rounded a corner too fast and had fallen in the deep end of the pool. Now, we rarely let him swim unless someone was right there with him, due to his pushed- in nose. Without a second thought I dropped my towel and plunged into the pool, pulling Tony out in time. I don’t think he ever forgot that. Also, we had a potted patch of yellow flowers outside, next to our door into the kitchen from the backyard; they looked a lot like yellow daisies. Every once in a while I would go out, find the nicest one, come back inside with it and say, "I have a flower for Tony!" and stick it in his kennel with him. Tony would sniff it a bit, and then try to eat it! "No, no, no," I’d laugh. "You don’t eat the flower, Tony!"

One night in June of this year I stayed up late, watching TV as six-year-old Tony sat next to me. Finally, at one in the morning, I decided it was time for bed, since I was to go to the movies with a friend the next morning. I told Tony to get in his kennel for the night, and he did; I crouched down next to the door to give his ear a scratch when something told me to call him out again, so I did. I played with him for a few minutes, giving him a big hug and a kiss. He was so happy and playful. When he got back in his kennel I closed him up and said, "You’re my good boy, Tony. I love you." With that I went to bed. The next morning my mother called up to me at about eight thirty. I could detect slight worry and panic in her voice despite the fact she was keeping her cool as best she could. "Ginny," she called, I think Tony’s sick." "Well, okay," I thought. "Maybe he’s just sick to his stomach. Nothing medicine can’t cure, am I right?" Nope. Because when I went into the kitchen, where Tony and our Chocolate Lab slept at night, the smell just about knocked me out. Tony wasn’t in his kennel; he had gotten sick all over the kitchen floor. Maneuvering across the kitchen, I rounded the corner and into the utility room to find Tony lying on the floor, panting and foaming at the mouth. He was in a waking coma. Mom and I wrapped him in towels; Mom had called the vet, whom we were friends with (she owns a bunch of pugs), and she said she’d be waiting for us. So the two of us leapt into the car: Mom drove, and I held Tony in my lap, talking to him. I started thinking that this might be his last ride in the car. He always loved rides in the car.

We dropped him off, and rode home in silence. My friend’s dad picked me up a short while later, and I told my friend what was happening. The two of us saw our movies, and after the second one was over I checked my phone messages. Mom had called, and she told me that Tony had died at the vet’s office. There was no chance for him. We were thinking he had gotten into something poisonous. I couldn’t help but sit down and bawl my eyes out, right there in the middle of a crowded mall.

The pain never went away after that. We sent him to College Station, where Texas A&M University is located, to have an autopsy done on him to help determine cause of death. Mom and I had to drive out to pick up his body in a cooler inside a cardboard box. Right after he died the vet had taken his paw and made a paw print in clay for us, and also taken a clipping of his fur from behind his little ear. We had Tony cremated, and his remains now lie (along with the fur clipping) in a little wooden box on my windowsill. The paw print and Tony’s collar are with it.

Anyway, about a week after he died, it was still so hard for us to even think about him without crying. Then something very odd happened?.. because one morning I woke up and forgot, thinking about having to get up to feed Tony, and then I remembered. I pulled myself out of bed anyway, trying not to cry, when I looked down. Someone had dropped a yellow daisy by my bed. I checked my door and it was locked from the inside. My younger brother had spent the night at a friend’s, and my mom’s room was downstairs and on the other side of the house. There was no way that daisy could have gotten there, but it brought me great comfort.

Virginia, TX, USA
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