I never thought a simple afternoon walk would almost end my life — or teach me the hardest lesson of my 74 years.
My name is Harold “Hal” Thompson. I live alone in the same small house outside Asheville, North Carolina where my wife Margaret and I raised our two boys. She passed from cancer six years ago. Since then my only real companion has been Buddy, our 11-year-old golden retriever. He sleeps at the foot of the bed every night. He follows me from room to room. When the loneliness gets too loud, he puts his big head on my lap and looks at me like he understands everything.
Last October 17th was a crisp fall day. I felt good. My knees were a little stiff, but nothing unusual. I put on my old red flannel, grabbed Buddy’s leash, and we drove to our favorite trail in the Pisgah National Forest — the one Margaret and I used to walk every Sunday morning.
We’d been walking about 40 minutes when it hit. A sharp pain in my chest, like someone punched me. My legs buckled. I went down hard on the rocky path. Buddy immediately started whining and licking my face. I tried to stand but my left arm wouldn’t work right. I remember thinking, “This is it. I’m going to die out here and no one will find me for days.”
I managed to pull out my phone to call 911, but there was no signal. The battery was at 23%. I whispered to Buddy, “Stay with me, boy. Please stay.” He did. He curled up against my chest, keeping me warm as the temperature dropped. Every few minutes he would lift his head and bark into the darkness.
Fourteen hours.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I talked to Margaret in my head. I told her I was sorry I never updated the long-term care insurance coverage after she passed. I told her I was scared of ending up in a place where they wouldn’t let me keep Buddy. I cried like a baby while my dog stayed right there, never leaving my side.
At dawn I heard voices. Two young hikers heard Buddy’s barking and came running. They called rescue. The paramedics found me still on the ground, Buddy’s head on my chest. One of them later told me, “That dog saved your life, sir. He kept you warm and kept calling for help.”
The ride to the hospital was a blur of lights and sirens. They diagnosed a serious heart arrhythmia and mild hypothermia. I spent five days in the cardiac unit. The doctors said if Buddy hadn’t stayed with me and alerted those hikers, I probably wouldn’t have made it through the night.
Then the bills started arriving.
Medicare Part B costs covered most of the hospital stay, but the ambulance ride alone was $1,840 after my deductible. The cardiac monitoring, the tests, the new medications — the out-of-pocket hit was $4,700 in the first month. I sat at my kitchen table staring at the statements with Buddy’s head in my lap, wondering how long my retirement savings strategy could handle this.
The real gut punch came during the discharge meeting.
The social worker gently explained that because of my heart condition and the fall, living completely alone was no longer safe. She mentioned assisted living costs in the U.S. — a nice place near me was $6,400 a month for the level of care I would need. Most facilities have strict pet policies. Buddy would have to be rehomed.
I cried right there in the hospital bed. Buddy wasn’t just a dog. He was the last piece of Margaret I had left. He was the one who woke me up gently when my heart raced at night. He was my reason to get out of bed every morning.
A financial advisor consultation two weeks later confirmed what I already feared. Without long-term care insurance coverage (the policy we let lapse in 2019 to save $142 a month), another big medical event could wipe out everything. The advisor looked at Buddy sleeping at my feet and said softly, “Many people in your situation end up having to make impossible choices.”
I came home from the hospital and spent days just sitting on the porch with Buddy. I took that shaky selfie of the two of us in the forest the day the rescue team let me go back to the trail to “close the circle.” I look at it every single day. My face is dirty, my eyes are red, but Buddy is right there beside me — the hero who refused to leave me.
Last month I made the hardest decision of my life. I put my name on the waiting list for a small assisted living community that allows pets on a case-by-case basis. It’s more expensive, but it’s the only way I might keep Buddy with me. The application asked for a “pet deposit” of $1,500 and monthly pet rent. I paid it without hesitation.
I don’t know how much time I have left. The doctors say my heart is stable for now but I need daily monitoring. Some nights the fear still wakes me up — fear of another episode, fear of losing the house Margaret and I paid off together, fear of Buddy being taken away if I have to move suddenly.
But every morning when Buddy puts his paw on my chest and looks at me with those big brown eyes, I remember that cold night in the forest. He didn’t leave me. Not for food, not for comfort, not for anything. He stayed.
So now I’m staying too — fighting to keep our little family together as long as I can.
If you’re over 50 and reading this, please do two things for me.
First, hug your dog (or cat) a little tighter tonight. They love us more than we deserve.
Second, look at your long-term care insurance coverage today. Don’t wait until a night in the forest forces you to learn the lesson the hard way.
Buddy saved my body that night.
I’m trying every day to save our future.
The forest taught me that real love — the kind that stays when everything else falls apart — is worth every single sacrifice.
And I still have a little time left to prove it.