By Bob Chochola. All rights reserved.
’Twas the morning after Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring – until the phone rang at 6:30am. It was my friend, doggie sitting my two beautiful K-9 friends for the holidays, informing me that my dog Taz (named after a favorite cartoon character) had had a seizure and was lying “stiff as a board” and unresponsive on her living room floor. I rushed to the scene.
In July of 1992 I was a married man with two small step-daughters. My wife (now my Ex) and I were on vacation, on our way to Hayward, Wisconsin’s Chippewa Flowage to do some fishing and camp in a tent for two weeks. We had recently discussed getting a puppy for the girls, ages four and one. On the ride up north from our home in Chicago the subject was discussed further.
I remembered a shelter [...]
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