When I pulled up, a tall, lanky man waved me in. “She’s over there,” he said. I squinted toward a dark corner with a single hanging lightbulb shining down on a little pile of hay. The tiniest puppy looked up at me and blinked her eyes twice, wagging her tail ever so slightly. Born to an impressive pedigree of showdogs and dog models, she was the runt of her litter. Weak, scrawny and sickly, she was no match for her much stronger siblings. On the long ride home that night, she kept whimpering and throwing up — I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into but we had our whole lives ahead of us to figure it out. Nearly 20 years later, there isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t thank me for saving her life. And, in many ways, she saved mine because I can’t imagine where I’d be without her by my side.
