This kind of human is a [dy.ing] breed unto itself….sad but true…what an incredible brother and man.

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When Carl Lindgren [di.ed] in Tucson in March, his family sorted out the house, the truck and the fishing boat in about a week. Nobody wanted Otto.

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Otto had been Carl’s shadow for 12 years, a bloodhound with ears like dish towels and bad hips. Carl’s sons both lived in apartments. Otto went to the county shelter with a note on his file asking for an extra week, and a niece called the one person she thought might answer.

Herb Lindgren is Carl’s older brother. He lives alone outside Salina, Kansas, about 1,100 miles away, and he’d turned 84 in January. His daughter told him flat out he wasn’t driving to Arizona. He’d had cataract surgery in the fall and only drove in daylight.

Herb called the shelter that afternoon. The woman who answered said Otto had stopped eating and spent most of the day lying with his nose against the kennel door. Herb asked her to hold him until Saturday.

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He left Wednesday morning in his 1999 Ford pickup with a quilt folded on the passenger seat. Herb drove only while the sun was up and stopped every two hours to walk around the truck. He spent the nights in motels in Amarillo and Albuquerque.

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He’d only seen Otto a couple of times a year, at Christmas and on fishing trips. Everybody in the family had always said the brothers sounded exactly alike on the phone.
At the shelter a kennel worker walked Herb back to the last run. Otto was lying against the door with his eyes closed. Herb crouched down as far as his knees allowed and said, “Hey, old man.”

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Otto’s head came up. He got to his feet on those bad hips and let out a long bloodhound bay that brought two other staff members out of the office.
The shelter waived the fee. Out in the parking lot Herb opened the passenger door, and Otto tried twice to climb in before Herb got his arms under the dog’s back end and helped him up onto the quilt.

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Herb drove the 1,100 miles home the same way, in daylight, with Otto’s chin on the armrest between the seats. Somewhere in New Mexico he started telling the dog stories about Carl. He told the one about the ice-fishing house that sank and the one about the Buick they wrecked in 1958, and he kept going until Kansas.

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Otto sleeps on the rug beside Herb’s recliner now. Herb has kept paying for Carl’s old cell phone so the voicemail still works. Some nights he calls it and puts it on speaker, and Otto lifts his head at the sound of the voice.

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What a blessing that he was able to do this for Otto.
What a man. He was definitely raised diff than todays youth!
Animals should not be thrown away when someone dies . They are in a way an extension of that person. ONLY the old people can identify. Because you reach a certain age it’s just easier for others to forget you.

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