The Shelter Dog Who Gave Away His Blanket and Changed Everything

might’ve been a laugh or a sob.

“That’s him,” he said. “That’s my boy.”

My chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Barnaby had been his.

Barnaby was now mine.

And Barnaby also belonged to himself in a way no paperwork could capture.

“Harold,” I said carefully, “I want you to know something.”

“What?”

“I’m not mad at you,” I said. “I was mad at a story I made continue reading …