When I Went to Take Him Home, He Was Gone
I knew he was destined to be mine the instant I went into the shelter and saw him—a 4-month-old Great Pyrenees who was missing an eye and a paw.
I was drowning at the time, in the lowest depths of my existence. I was left so broken after my parents died in a car accident that I made two attempts to take my own life. Selecting him felt more than just getting a dog; it was a covenant between two souls, one lacking a piece but the other whole. We were best friends ever after I gave him the name Frankie.
Frankie was more than simply a pet; he was my anchor in an endless storm and my savior. He offered me unconditional affection and steadfast allegiance, which filled the vacuum left by my parents’ absence. Since I knew he would always be there for me, I set up cameras in my house so I could keep an eye on him and make sure he had water and food in case I had to remain late at work.
