Me. Yeah. Frightening. I know.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Mr. Howell's dog...
Paranormal? I like to think so. True? Most definitely.
When I was younger, and still living at home, my Pop’s best buddy was Bill Howell. Mr. Howell was an old bachelor. He lived in the same house he was born in. He was somewhat older than Pop. Maybe 10 years. He lived alone, except for his dog; a nondescript mutt of a bit more than medium size. But she was fiercely protective of him. If she didn’t know you, you WEREN’T getting into the house. Period.
Mr. Howell’s house was situated directly across the street from the graveyard, where his parents were buried. There was an open spot right next to them, where he one day intended to be, himself. He could look out his front door and see their headstones, standing beneath the cool shade of a maple tree.
One day, we received a phone call. Mr. Howell was ill and needed help. Pop and I raced over to his house. Pop went inside and made me wait, because I had never met the dog before. She wasn’t good with strangers. In a minute, he called me inside. Mr. Howell was sitting in his chair, the dog laying across him, protectively. He was stroking her fur. We called the ambulance. They arrive quickly, and Pop held onto the dog, as they loaded her Master up and took him away.
Mr. Howell it turned out, had advanced stomach cancer. He wouldn’t be coming home. Pop made arrangements for the neighbor to take the dog. He wanted to bring her home, but he was scared because she was not used to multiple people. The poor animal never saw her Master alive again. Mr. Howell passed away in the hospital a few weeks later.
It was summertime, when they buried him across the street from his family home, next to the graves of his parents. We went to the funeral and to the graveyard for the burial. Pop was sad. He had known Mr. Howell for many, many years. They worked together at Sheildalloy Metallurgy. We stopped at the neighbors house, and Pop checked on the dog, and gave the man his phone number, in case there were any problems. A very few days later, Pop got a phone call.
“Mr. Hall, you better come over here.”
“Why? What happened?”
“There’s something you need to see. I’m not sure what to do about it…”
We went over to the neighbor’s house. He was waiting outside for us when we got there.
“Where is she? What did she do?” Pop asked, noting the paleness of the neighbor’s face.
“Come on.” So saying, he walked down his driveway and crossed the street, into the graveyard.
He stopped and pointed beneath the spreading maple tree. There she was. Laying atop the freshly turned dirt of her Master’s grave.
“What should I do?” the neighbor asked quietly.
Pop stood there, tearing up.
“Leave her be. Bring her home at night to sleep. But if she wants to come here and be with him during the day, just let her be. If the caretaker has an issue, have him call me. I’ll take care of it.”
That was the way it went. As far as I know, Mr. Howell’s dog spent the rest of her days, laying faithfully on her Master’s grave.
Anyone who says animals can’t love, has no soul themselves.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
My Pop, WWII and his love of animals...
During WWII, my father was stationed in the European Theater of operations. He was a member of an Anti-Aircraft unit. That didn't mean they saw no ground fighting.
He told us this story; One night, he was in a foxhole, waiting out the shelling from the Germans nearby. Over the sounds of shells hitting and bullets whizzing, my father heard a dog, crying piteously, somewhere in no-man's-land, between his foxhole, and the German lines. Disregarding his fellow soldiers telling him he was an idiot, Pop crawled on his belly, out into the warzone, trying to follow the sound of the dog. He found the animal, after searching for a period of time. It was (of course) a German Shepard. NOT an American style Shepard. THIS, was a Nazi Police dog, that had become separated from it's handler. It was huge. Pop crawled up to the terrified dog and spoke to it in German. He got ahold of it's collar and leading the dog, crawled, back to his foxhole.
That was that. Pop had a dog. It went with him everywhere; on patrol, to the mess tent, to the latrine. Pop saved him and he KNEW it, and showed his devotion accordingly. Unfortunately, the dog only knew German. The Captain of Pop's unit confirmed by the animal's tags, that it was indeed a Nazi Service Dog. My Pop was the only one who could communicate with the animal. Which lead to some disturbing situations with his buddies in the unit. It was not uncommon for them to not be able to get back into the foxhole, or tent, or bombed out farmhouse they were staying in, unless my father called off the dog. lol.
Pop fully intended to bring this massive animal home with him. He had already informed Mom and his own family. The Captain of the unit was going to assist him with the paperwork.
One day, Pop can back from an errand, and the dog was gone. No one knew anything. Pop knew one of them had killed his pet. He never did find out who. My father would tear up when he told this story. It took a lot to move my father in such a manner. I know he loved that dog.
He told us this story; One night, he was in a foxhole, waiting out the shelling from the Germans nearby. Over the sounds of shells hitting and bullets whizzing, my father heard a dog, crying piteously, somewhere in no-man's-land, between his foxhole, and the German lines. Disregarding his fellow soldiers telling him he was an idiot, Pop crawled on his belly, out into the warzone, trying to follow the sound of the dog. He found the animal, after searching for a period of time. It was (of course) a German Shepard. NOT an American style Shepard. THIS, was a Nazi Police dog, that had become separated from it's handler. It was huge. Pop crawled up to the terrified dog and spoke to it in German. He got ahold of it's collar and leading the dog, crawled, back to his foxhole.
That was that. Pop had a dog. It went with him everywhere; on patrol, to the mess tent, to the latrine. Pop saved him and he KNEW it, and showed his devotion accordingly. Unfortunately, the dog only knew German. The Captain of Pop's unit confirmed by the animal's tags, that it was indeed a Nazi Service Dog. My Pop was the only one who could communicate with the animal. Which lead to some disturbing situations with his buddies in the unit. It was not uncommon for them to not be able to get back into the foxhole, or tent, or bombed out farmhouse they were staying in, unless my father called off the dog. lol.
Pop fully intended to bring this massive animal home with him. He had already informed Mom and his own family. The Captain of the unit was going to assist him with the paperwork.
One day, Pop can back from an errand, and the dog was gone. No one knew anything. Pop knew one of them had killed his pet. He never did find out who. My father would tear up when he told this story. It took a lot to move my father in such a manner. I know he loved that dog.
Monday, February 7, 2011
It followed me home... *sigh*
This one is True!
My wife worked in the office of a septic system company, out in Hammonton, NJ for a while. The job was not bad, but it was a bit of a drive, and most of what she made ended up going in the gas tank to get there and back. The business was family owned and run, and was located on the homestead property. One of the brothers lived in a house on site; a small mansion that was Civil War era. It had been the home to the County Judge. The Judge was the man who had originally had the place built. He had a wife and several children, some of whom apparently did not survive their childhood.
The owners of the septic company knew my wife was "Sensitive." They asked her to come to the house, as they had repeatedly had encounters with the Judge in different locations. She agreed, and took me along to run gear.
We covered the whole place. Ended up in the Attic, which had been the children's bedroom area. Still had the original mid-1800s wallpaper on the walls. I remained there, with my nite-vision video camera, trying to elicit a reaction from someone. I explained what the piece of gear was, that I was holding, what it did, and that it was not anything to fear.
One floor below me, in the master bedroom of the house, my wife had the K2 meter and was having an active conversation with the judge. She called me down to video-tape the back and forth response. I immediately abandoned my attic spot and hurried down to her. As soon as I entered the bedroom, all activities ceased. Sometimes, I think the Paranormal just doesn't LIKE me. I don't know why. I've never been rude to anyone deceased, as far as I can remember...
Eventually, we packed up the gear and headed home. THIS is when the story gets interesting.
Along about 3am, I am asleep in the chair in the computer room. Suddenly, I come awake to the sound of the TV in the living room, playing as loud as it can go. A commercial for the Garden Weasel. I was annoyed, wondering why on earth she would have the tv on this loud this LATE. In irritation I walked into the living room to...dead silence. The tv had shut itself off as I stepped foot into the room. I checked to make sure the remote had not been in a position to turn the tv on, either by falling off something or by something falling on IT. Nope. That was in the clear. So, I turned and walked into the bedroom to wake the wife. She wouldn't wake up. Which was out of character, since she was a lite sleeper. Neither did our dog Jack wake up. THIS unnerved me more than the tv did. I sat up in the computer room, awake for the rest of the nite. Before I left for work in the morning, I wrote a note for her to call me, saying merely that we had had a "visitor".
Later in the day, when she did call, I explained what I had experienced. As she sat there taking in my story, something began rattling the living room closet doors.
She did NOT take well to paranormal tom-foolery. When I finished describing what I experienced the night before. She simply said ,"Right. I'll take care of it." She then hung up the phone and got out the sage bundle. She smudged the entire house and ended in the living room.
"I have no problem with you being here, if you intend to live peacefully. But you may NOT be a disturbance here. If you're going to wake us up and be a pain in the ass, you can leave, NOW."
There was a loud BANG on the ceiling plaster, just above her head. And whatever it was, left. When I got home after work, she said she was fairly certain that whoever it was, had followed ME home, from the investigation earlier the night before.
Why me? Because I had spoken so nicely and earnestly. *sigh* Apparently, it had been one of the Judge's children. They were interested in the gear I carried and had followed me home. The tv remote had apparently been too big of a temptation to resist.
Since that time, I've had no further experiences in the house. Yay? ;)
My wife worked in the office of a septic system company, out in Hammonton, NJ for a while. The job was not bad, but it was a bit of a drive, and most of what she made ended up going in the gas tank to get there and back. The business was family owned and run, and was located on the homestead property. One of the brothers lived in a house on site; a small mansion that was Civil War era. It had been the home to the County Judge. The Judge was the man who had originally had the place built. He had a wife and several children, some of whom apparently did not survive their childhood.
The owners of the septic company knew my wife was "Sensitive." They asked her to come to the house, as they had repeatedly had encounters with the Judge in different locations. She agreed, and took me along to run gear.
We covered the whole place. Ended up in the Attic, which had been the children's bedroom area. Still had the original mid-1800s wallpaper on the walls. I remained there, with my nite-vision video camera, trying to elicit a reaction from someone. I explained what the piece of gear was, that I was holding, what it did, and that it was not anything to fear.
One floor below me, in the master bedroom of the house, my wife had the K2 meter and was having an active conversation with the judge. She called me down to video-tape the back and forth response. I immediately abandoned my attic spot and hurried down to her. As soon as I entered the bedroom, all activities ceased. Sometimes, I think the Paranormal just doesn't LIKE me. I don't know why. I've never been rude to anyone deceased, as far as I can remember...
Eventually, we packed up the gear and headed home. THIS is when the story gets interesting.
Along about 3am, I am asleep in the chair in the computer room. Suddenly, I come awake to the sound of the TV in the living room, playing as loud as it can go. A commercial for the Garden Weasel. I was annoyed, wondering why on earth she would have the tv on this loud this LATE. In irritation I walked into the living room to...dead silence. The tv had shut itself off as I stepped foot into the room. I checked to make sure the remote had not been in a position to turn the tv on, either by falling off something or by something falling on IT. Nope. That was in the clear. So, I turned and walked into the bedroom to wake the wife. She wouldn't wake up. Which was out of character, since she was a lite sleeper. Neither did our dog Jack wake up. THIS unnerved me more than the tv did. I sat up in the computer room, awake for the rest of the nite. Before I left for work in the morning, I wrote a note for her to call me, saying merely that we had had a "visitor".
Later in the day, when she did call, I explained what I had experienced. As she sat there taking in my story, something began rattling the living room closet doors.
She did NOT take well to paranormal tom-foolery. When I finished describing what I experienced the night before. She simply said ,"Right. I'll take care of it." She then hung up the phone and got out the sage bundle. She smudged the entire house and ended in the living room.
"I have no problem with you being here, if you intend to live peacefully. But you may NOT be a disturbance here. If you're going to wake us up and be a pain in the ass, you can leave, NOW."
There was a loud BANG on the ceiling plaster, just above her head. And whatever it was, left. When I got home after work, she said she was fairly certain that whoever it was, had followed ME home, from the investigation earlier the night before.
Why me? Because I had spoken so nicely and earnestly. *sigh* Apparently, it had been one of the Judge's children. They were interested in the gear I carried and had followed me home. The tv remote had apparently been too big of a temptation to resist.
Since that time, I've had no further experiences in the house. Yay? ;)
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