Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield Read Free Book Online Page B

shiny. At first, the luster was just on his head, but gradually the glossiness moved down his entire body until little Boston gleamed from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. Though never beautiful, he became so alert and merry, so trusting and affectionate, that the mere sight of him was a delight.
    Obviously my experiment in love was an unqualified success. Except for one thing. In the giving and getting of so much love, I had come to adore Boston.
    I hoped that Mike would be captured by Boston’s charm, too. And while he agreed that the extra attention given Boston had produced a fascinating effect, Mike’s interest was mainly academic.
    As he grew, Boston became ever more responsive. I never walked in a room without his volunteering a hello. I never said, “How are you, little Boss?” that he did not answer.
    After dinner, Boston liked to sit on my shoulder and watch the soap bubbles pop while I washed the dishes. He was in his usual spot one evening when Mike walked in and heard us “talking.’’
    “You’re going to miss him when he goes,” Mike said.
    I wheeled from the sink. “Oh, Mike . . .”
    Mike looked steadily back. I saw from his expression that this was a test between us. Would I keep my word to him or did I value a little black kitten more than his wishes? During our relationship, Mike and I had had our troubles learning to trust. I couldn’t jeopardize the confidence I had struggled so to gain.
    “Yes,” I said as evenly as I could. “Yes, I am going to miss him.”
    Soon all but Boston went to new homes. When Mike came home with word of a church fair that was requesting kittens be donated for sale at a pet table, it was obvious that these were to be my last days with Boston. Now when I cradled him in my arms, it was often tears on my cheeks that he patted. “Oh, little Boss, it’s going to be so empty without you,” I would tell him, and his eyes would narrow with the effort to understand my distress.
    Mike called at noon the day Boston was to go to the fair to remind me that a description of his age, sex and food preferences was to go with him. “I’ve already typed it up,” I said. Mike asked me to read it to him. I had included this final note: “Boston has been handraised with an unusual amount of loving attention, which has made him extraordinarily intelligent and responsive. He is gentle, wise, perfectly behaved, loves all games, likes to ride in the car, has a large vocabulary and is a devoted companion. Please treat him with the great affection he will give you.”
    Mike was silent for a moment. “You’ve made him sound like an exceptional creature,” he said.
    “He is,” I said and hung up.
    I was in the kitchen getting dinner that night when Mike came home. Boston went to the door to greet him but I couldn’t; I was fighting too hard not to cry. It was a long time before Mike joined me. When he did, he was carrying Boston, who had a big red ribbon tied around his neck. Silently, Mike held out an envelope. Inside was a Christmas card and written on it was: “It’s only November, but let’s give ourselves a Christmas present.”
    I reached out to hug Mike through my tears.
    “If you can be big enough to let him go,” he said, “I can be big enough to let him stay.”
    Jo Coudert

©Cathy. Distributed by Universal Press Syndicate. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Heartstrings
    D ogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made.
    Roger Caras
    People spend their whole lives searching for love. I was no different. Until one day I decided to look in the cages at the local pound. And there was love, waiting for me.
    The old dog was considered unadoptable. An underweight beagle-terrier mix, he had been found running along the road on three legs, with a hernia, a damaged ear and BBs