A neighbour felt my rescue dogs didn’t belong in our neighbourhood as I was taking them on a typical walk. What occurred showed her, and a few others, that kindness has a way of standing its ground.
I’m 75 years old, born and reared in Tennessee. I’ve spent most of my life taking in the ones nobody else wanted. When I was younger, I didn’t intend it that way. One broken and forgotten item at a time, it simply occurred.
When I was younger, I didn’t intend it that way.
As a girl, I initially saw injured birds by the water. Then it was stray cats when my husband and I acquired our modest house. After he departed, it became dogs.
Not the cute ones crowds lined up for, but those that people muttered about. The fearful ones. The injured ones. The ones who had previously learned what it felt like to be left behind.
That’s how Pearl and Buddy came to be.
After he departed, it became dogs.
They were small rescue dogs, both under 20 pounds, both unable to utilise their back legs.
Pearl had been hit by a car, and Buddy was born that way. The rescue group equipped them with wheels, and that changed everything.
My dogs don’t walk or run like others; they roll.
Leave a Comment