Frank Hertz had already made the journey no father should ever have to make.
His son, Staff Sergeant Daniel Hertz, had died in Germany at only 34.
Frank traveled to Dover to accompany him home.
There were forms to sign, arrangements to make and a grief so large that ordinary details seemed almost impossible to think about.
Then, somewhere on the flight back to Nebraska, one thought stopped him cold.
What about Kaiser?
Daniel’s German Shepherd was still in Germany.
And suddenly Frank understood that his son had left someone else behind.
Kaiser had been part of Daniel’s life for years
Daniel had bought Kaiser as a puppy during one of his postings in Germany.
The large German Shepherd followed him through multiple assignments and became part of the rhythm of his daily life.
Home meant Daniel.
Daniel meant home.
When Daniel died, Kaiser remained at his apartment near the base while others made sure he was fed and safe.
Frank had barely met the dog.
In fact, most of what he knew about Kaiser came from a couple of video calls with his son.
That did not matter.
Kaiser belonged to Daniel.
And Frank knew he could not leave him behind.
Bringing him home was far more complicated than buying a plane ticket
Kaiser weighed around 90 pounds.
Flying a dog that size across the Atlantic required veterinary paperwork, vaccination records, import documentation and an airline willing to transport him.
There was also the matter of timing.
The next suitable cargo space was weeks away.
So Daniel’s platoon sergeant, Mike Bauer, stepped in.
He brought Kaiser into his own home while the arrangements were made.
Every night, he sent Frank a short video.
Often, Kaiser was lying near the door.
Waiting.
Dogs do not understand casualty notifications.
They do not understand why a uniform, a scent and a familiar voice suddenly disappear.
They only understand that the person who always came back has not returned.
Frank learned everything he needed to learn
At 79, Frank was a retired high-school shop teacher.
He was not someone who spent much time dealing with international pet transport or complicated online paperwork.
So he adapted.
His granddaughter helped him set up email.
Frank began calling pet-transport companies, veterinarians and airport cargo offices.
He wrote down every detail on a yellow legal pad.
Flight numbers.
Certificates.
Names.
Phone numbers.
Anything that might get Kaiser one step closer to Nebraska.
The process ultimately cost thousands of dollars.
Frank chose to pay it from the money left after Daniel’s death.
To him, there was no question about whether it was worth it.
This was Daniel’s dog.
Then the crate arrived in Chicago
Five weeks later, Kaiser finally landed in the United States.
Frank and his wife had driven hundreds of miles from Nebraska and stayed near Chicago overnight so they could be there when the cargo facility opened.
Eventually, a handler wheeled out a large plastic crate.
Inside was the dog Frank had promised himself he would bring home.
He knelt on the concrete floor and opened the door.
Kaiser did not immediately leap into his arms.
He came out carefully.
He circled Frank.
He smelled his hands.
Then his clothes.
He was meeting a stranger.
But perhaps not everything about that stranger was unfamiliar.
Frank’s wife says her husband’s voice sounds remarkably like Daniel’s.
Kaiser moved closer.
Then he pressed his nose into Frank’s neck and stayed there.
Kaiser sleeps in Daniel’s room now
The journey ended in Nebraska.
Kaiser now sleeps in Daniel’s old bedroom, on the floor beside the bed.
And every evening, Frank goes into that room.
He sits on the edge of the bed for a while.
Kaiser stays nearby.
Then Frank turns out the light.
There is no way to bring Daniel home again.
Nothing can make that room what it once was.
But one living piece of the life Daniel built overseas made it back.
A dog who had waited by a door in Germany.
A father who refused to leave him there.
And now, at the end of each day, they sit together in the room of the person they both lost.
