The card on her kennel read “12 years old – special needs.” The shelter staff warned me she might only have weeks left. But when that scruffy terrier mix lifted her head and licked my fingers through the bars, I stopped hearing their warnings. My soon-to-be-ex-husband’s protests faded too.
“You’re throwing away ten years for a dog that’ll be dead by Christmas?” Mark yelled as he threw clothes into bags. I didn’t argue – just carried Maggie to her new bed by the fireplace. That first month, I slept beside her on the floor, hand on her ribs to feel each labored breath.
Then something beautiful happened. With medication and care, Maggie started greeting me at the door. Her once-dull eyes sparkled when I brought home new toys. We took slow walks around the block, then eventually hikes in the park. She became my reason to get up, my companion through divorce papers and lonely nights.
When Mark saw us a year later – Maggie trotting proudly beside me, my new partner laughing at something I’d said – his sneer turned to shock. The dog he’d called a “waste of time” was now the reason I smiled every morning. Some angels have four legs and wet noses.
