|"Gal's Best Pal"|
She would always remember that day at the pound. The rows upon stacked, metal rows of dogs yipping, puppies howling. And then, the cage at the end, left wedged against the wall, where the tiny puppy sat. He was pudgy and eight weeks old at best. How his sad eyes lifted and his tail wagged at her, "Hello." How she couldn't resist taking him home.