They Called My Dad a Dog Killer—Then His Truck Revealed the Truth

you’re flipping them for fighting rings.”

I looked at my dad. I wanted to defend him, but a knot formed in my stomach.

Because Mrs. Higgins was right.

For three years, I’ve watched Dad bring home the “hopeless” cases. The scarred Pit Bulls, the three-legged Shepherds, the dogs scheduled for euthanasia. They live like kings for six months. Dad hand-feeds continue reading …