Six years ago, when my family fell apart, we rescued an overweight pug named Danny from an animal shelter who was about 6 or 7 (they weren’t sure of his age). Danny was not the prettiest guy, with his missing teeth and odd shape, but we fell in love with him instantly because of his beautiful disposition. He was not having much luck with adoption, but we had to have him.
He was the sweetest fur baby. Obese at over 30 pounds – a typical pug weighs about 14 pounds – my kids, who were 7, 8 and 15, whipped him into shape walking him, playing with him and even teaching him to jump through hula hoops! This was a dog who could barely walk without his tummy dragging on the ground when he came home.
Within six months he was trim, happy and loved. At night Danny slept with the younger kids; he brought them security and love during a difficult time. They returned the favor.
Unexpectedly Danny became ill just two years after we got him and passed away. We were devastated, and I struggled with how to make sense of our loss. What I tell my kids when we talk about his short time with us is this:
We gave Danny an amazing two years when he needed us most. And he did the same for us.