I’ve been visiting hospitals with my therapy dog, Riley, for a while now. His cheerful energy and gentle presence usually bring smiles to every room we enter. Patients light up, reaching out to stroke his golden fur or laughing at the way his tail never seems to stop wagging.
But one afternoon, something different happened—something I’ll never forget.
A nurse guided us into a quiet room where an elderly man named Mr. Callahan lay motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His expression was distant, and the room felt unusually still.
“He hasn’t said much lately,” the nurse whispered. “Maybe Riley can help.”
With a gentle command, Riley carefully hopped onto the bed and rested his head on Mr. Callahan’s chest. The room remained silent… until Mr. Callahan took a deep breath. Slowly, one hand moved toward Riley, coming to rest on his back.
And then, in a raspy voice, barely above a whisper, he said, “Good boy.”
Everyone in the room stilled. It was the first time he’d spoken in weeks.
But what he said next took us all by surprise.
“Marigold…”
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