The Dog Who Rescues Cats: True Story of Ginny, The – An Inspiring Memoir About a Disabled Man Finding Purpose Through a Shelter Dog's Sixth Sense - Softcover

Gonzalez, Philip

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0060927801 ISBN 13: 9780060927806

Verlag: Harper Perennial, 1996

Inhaltsangabe

Philip Gonzalez had lost all interest in living after an industrial accident left him disabled. A friend suggested he adopt a dog.Reluctantly he went to the shelter, where Ginny, a badly abused one-year-old pup,quickly won him over. Philip realized immediately that Ginny was no ordinary dog--she had an amazing sixth sense that enabled her to find and rescue stray and ailing cats.There's Madame,who is completely deaf; Revlon, who has only one eye;Betty Boop,who has no hind feet;and Topsy, a paralyzed kitten whom Ginny found abandoned in an empty building. Ginny and Philip have now rescued and found homes for over 200 cats, and they have over 60 "outdoor cats" whom they visit and feed twice daily. Even more than extraordinary, Ginny's angelic mission has given Philip a sense of purpose and a new lease on life. You will never forget the true adventures of Ginny, the dog who rescues cats.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Philip Gonzalez, Ginny, and their cats live in New York.

Leonore Fleischer has written more than fifty novelizations of films, including Rain Man and A Star is Born. She and her five cats live in upsate New York.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Dog Who Rescues Cats

True Story of Ginny, theBy Gonzalez, Philip

Perennial

Copyright © 2004 Philip Gonzalez
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0060927801
Philip

This is the true story of the most amazing dog I've ever known. Yes, I admit I'm prejudiced because I love her so much, but I'm not alone in making this claim. Just about everybody who has ever met her says she's unique; they always tell me that they've never even heard of a pup like her. This dog has been written about and talked about by many people; part of her inspirational story was even published as an article in Good Housekeeping magazine, but there is still a lot left to tell. This little dog has changed a lot of lives, human as well as animal lives. Beginning with mine. Especially mine.

This is the true story of my dog. Her name is Ginny.

My name is Philip Gonzalez. I was born forty-five years ago in Mayaguez, Puerto Rico, but I was brought to New York when I was only seven months old, and I never went back. All my life has been lived near the Atlantic Ocean, first in Far Rockaway and now in another beach community in Long Island. We were a large family of children. First came the three boys, of whom I was the youngest. Jose, Peter, then me, then my three sisters, Nancy and the twins, Maria and Marguerita.

We were a close family, even though there was thirteen years' difference in ages between the oldest, Jose, and the youngest, the twins. We did a lot of things together as a family. Because we lived near the ocean, we spent a lot of time at the beach all summer, but we also went to street fairs and carnivals, watched the fireworks together on the Fourth of July, and planned picnics and cookouts. Since all six of us brothers and sisters had a lot of friends, our apartment was usually overflowing with kids of all ages.

I would definitely call my childhood a happy one. I was an active boy, and loved sports, especially the ball games the neighborhood boys played in the streets--stickball and handball--but I also played racquetball and paddleball on courts. I was too small and lightweight for football, but I always enjoyed watching it.

When I was nineteen, I went into the service, joining the U.S. Army. I served in Vietnam, and yes, I saw combat, but I don't like to talk about it. It was a dark episode in my life, one that I would much rather not remember. Also, my mother died in 1971, while I was in 'Nam, and one of my brothers died suddenly the year before, so that was another reason to try to forget that sorrowful time.

How I came to ship out to 'Nam is a strange chapter in my life. Because I volunteered for the service without waiting to be drafted, I had my choice of serving in Vietnam or Germany. I didn't have a death wish, so naturally I opted for Germany.

I did my basic training at Fort Dix in New Jersey and had started on AIT, Advanced Individual Training. My brother Peter came to see me the day before my regiment was to go out on bivouac. It was visitors' day at the camp, and Peter brought along Jose's little daughter, Cindy, our niece. We had a good time together, but Peter appeared to be upset at the thought that I might be ordered to 'Nam.

"No way, man," I assured him, "I'm going to Germany. Guaranteed."

Peter shook his head. "I don't like it. If they send you to 'Nam, I'm gonna tell them to take me instead."

I was touched at Peter's concern and his affection. The two of us were closer together in age than I was with any of my other siblings, so there was an especially strong bond between us. Peter was my closest friend in the world, and it made me feel good to think he felt the same way about me.

The next day we went out on bivouac, sleeping in tentsin the woods and eating field rations. That night I was walking through the woods to my tent, when I stumbled over something. It was a freshly dug grave. Not a real grave, of course, but a hole in the ground some of the guys had dug for a gag. They'd erected a make-believe headstone on it that read rest in peace, g.i. joe. Even though I recognized it for a joke, the "grave" made me uneasy.

When I got to my tent, something dark and large leaped out at me, scaring me half to death. It was a toad, a really huge one. It shouldn't have startled me, because there's nothing uncommon about a toad in the woods, but remember, I was a city boy who'd never seen one up close.

As I tried to go to sleep that night, I could hear thunder and see lightning for hours. The whole night struck me as pretty creepy--first the grave, then the toad, and afterward, the storm. Like a Halloween night. I didn't close my eyes until very late, and I slept for only a few hours.

When I woke up the next morning, a lieutenant was walking down the line of tents, yelling, "Peter Gonzalez! Who's Peter Gonzalez? Is there a Peter Gonzalez here?"

"My name is Philip Gonzalez," I called out. "And I have a brother named Peter."

"Then it's gotta be you. Your brother died last night." Just like that. No warning, no preamble, no sympathy.

I went into shock. Peter? Dead? How was this possible? "H-how? Wh-what happened?" I could only stammer.

"Automobile accident. Better get back to the base. You're going home for the funeral."

I handed over my rifle and climbed into a jeep, back to Fort Dix. I changed into my class A's, my best uniform, and headed for Far Rockaway on the bus. I didn't stop to call home, because if I had, I would have missed the next bus. As it was, I made it only by a whisker. I was so numb I wasn't even thinking. I'd seen Peter only yesterday, alive and well, and now he was dead! It didn't make sense. What if he'd died on the way home from the army base? I'd feel guilty about that all my life. Had there been an auto accident? And what about little Cindy? Had she been injured? All the way home, those questions preyed on my mind.

When I got home I discovered that Peter had not died in an accident. He'd passed away with a sudden heart attack, although he was very young. It was a sad day for the Gonzalez family when we buried Peter. And my mother didn't outlive him for long. She died the following year.

When I returned to Fort Dix, I volunteered for Vietnam. I can't explain why; it was just something I felt I had to do. Probably I had lost interest in my own life; maybe I'd even developed that death wish I hadn't had earlier. But I know that I felt guilty about being alive when Peter was dead.

But the strangeness didn't end there. At Thanksgiving, they shipped us out, destination Vietnam. Not on a ship, but on a military transport plane. They call them Military Airlift Command, or MAC, flights. On the way to 'Nam, we made a landing at Anchorage, to refuel and to pick up four more passengers. The MAC flight was completely filled, and the four new guys outranked us, so three of my buddies and I were bumped and left behind on the ground to wait for the next transport. We were wearing jungle fatigues, and it gets pretty damn cold in Anchorage in November, so as you can imagine we weren't too happy about the bumping, and we grumbled and complained about it between chattering teeth.

Our plane took off without us, and as we stood on the tarmac watching it go, the aircraft made a sudden veer and headed straight for the earth, where it crashed. A fireball erupted, and between the crash and the flames every life on board was lost. By a quirk of fate, just one of those things, the only men spared were the four of us left behind on the ground.

The army hustled us onto a plane and flew us to Elmendorph Air Force Base without even letting us call home to tell our folks we...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Harper Perennial
• Erscheinungsdatum: 1996
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0060927801
• ISBN 13: 9780060927806
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 176
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: HarperCollins Publishers, Product Safety Manager; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; HarperCollins, Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper; Dublin 1; D01 C9W8; Irland