Dagmar Gudmundsson wasn’t looking for a dog when she first met Tyrion. At 21, she had just moved into her first apartment alone in Los Angeles.
Life felt uncertain—new job, new city, and far from home.
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But when she walked into a friend’s house and saw a tiny Maltipoo pup no bigger than a slipper, something clicked.
“He waddled over and bit my shoelace,” she had laughed. “That was it. I was his.”
From that day on, Tyrion—named after the clever Game of Thrones character—was her constant companion.
For seven years, they went everywhere together: hikes, cafes, long drives. Dagmar called him her "little shadow."
“He’s been with me through every high and low,” she’d say. “Tyrion’s my heart.”
But in March 2024, that heart was nearly broken.
One morning, Dagmar noticed something strange. Tyrion wasn’t running to the door like usual when she grabbed his leash. He just sat there, confused. By that afternoon, his back legs had stopped working completely.
“I thought maybe he’d hurt his paw,” Dagmar remembered. “But then he just collapsed. I picked him up, and he was limp.”
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The emergency vet visit turned into a whirlwind. After tests and scans, the diagnosis came in: granulomatous meningoencephalitis—GME. A rare autoimmune disease that attacks the brain or spinal cord. In Tyrion’s case, it was his spine.
“I’d never heard of it,” Dagmar said. “They told me there was no cure, and I just—I broke down in the waiting room.”
But giving up wasn’t an option. Tyrion’s spark was still there, and Dagmar refused to let it go out.
With a mix of acupuncture, physical therapy, and gentle daily routines, Dagmar poured everything into his recovery. Some days, he twitched a paw. Other days, he seemed still and tired. But he kept trying.
Then one day in therapy, Tyrion took three steps. Wobbly, uncoordinated—but steps.
The vet technician gasped. “Did you see that? That’s spinal walking.”
Spinal walking meant Tyrion’s body was finding new ways to move—even if the brain wasn’t controlling it.
Dagmar cried in the car that day, not out of sadness, but hope.
“He was trying so hard,” she said. “How could I not try just as hard?”
Soon after, Dagmar got him a custom dog wheelchair. When they strapped him in, Tyrion froze. Then he took off down the hallway.
“Go, Tyrion, go!” Dagmar cheered, running beside him.
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He barked once—a happy, squeaky sound she hadn’t heard in weeks.
From that day forward, Tyrion became a little Instagram star.
Dagmar started sharing their story online—his ups, his setbacks, his zoomies in the wheelchair—and the world responded.
Messages poured in.
One follower wrote: “I cried watching him walk again. Thank you for giving us hope.”
Another said, “Your love for Tyrion reminds me to never give up on my senior dog.”
Seeing the impact, Dagmar turned their journey into something bigger.
She launched Wag & Wheel, a small business offering accessories for disabled pets—and donating part of the proceeds to rescue groups.
“I just wanted to help dogs like Tyrion feel included,” she said.
“They’re still full of life. They just need a little help.”
Today, Tyrion still uses his wheels, still goes to therapy, and still chases birds—though they’re always much faster.
Dagmar smiles watching him.
“He’s not broken. He’s just different,” she says. “He taught me that healing doesn’t always mean returning to who you were—it means becoming who you’re meant to be.”
Have a story like this? Email us at hello@nostalgicgrandma.com and share a moment that reminded you the world still has good in it.
Disclaimer: This story was inspired by real events, originally reported by People magazine. It has been retold in our own words to inspire hope. Images used are illustrative and do not depict the actual individuals involved.
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