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A Dying Gift
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Me and My Dog
By Margaret M. Marty There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love.
~Thornton Wilder Out of the blue he said, "I think it's time we get that puppy you've been wanting for so long." He was wrapped in a furry lap robe, sitting in the glider I had moved into the kitchen so he could be near me while I prepared meals. His black hair had turned to silver, his voice had lost its clarity, and the sparkle had faded from the dark brown eyes that had shown his love for me through forty-eight years. I knew that he knew it wouldn't be many more months before the cancer won and the chemo treatments would become ineffective. For several years I had been begging to have a puppy, but his response had always been, "Not until you retire, because I don't want to be the one getting up in the night with a whining pup!" Now I had given up my job, not because I was of retirement age, but because I needed to be home to care for him while he battled the monster lurking in his bone marrow. (Keep reading) | 
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