MY DOG SAVED MY LIFE!

JILL WONDERED HOW SHE WOULD GO ON … UNTIL SHE MET HARRY

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Jeez, look at you,” my girlfriend said. “You hardly smile. You used to be hilarious but I haven’t heard you laugh in weeks.”

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I worried I would die. When I lost my husband, I wondered how I would live. I needed something to make life worthwhile. Somehow, I ended up with Harry.

Not the dumbest dog in the world, but not the smartest either. A friend called out Harry on day one: “He’s a dropout dog, not a university dog.” And he was. He wouldn’t sit or stay. Plain refused to fetch a ball.

“Wotsya dog up to?” a guy at the park barked as I picked up the ball for the thousandth time. The short answer was, “Not much,” – but where to start with a pup like Harry?

To my untrained eye, he wasn’t quite the dog he was meant to be. Chest too thick, ears that flopped and a stomach that expanded when he was in the same room as food. Harry’s vet had none of my misgivings. He wrote “very lovely puppy” in spindly letters on Harry’s vaccination record.