It was an average day in June of 2007 when I met a dog named Brandy. I’d been at work when I received a call that there was a one-year-old Black Lab mix that was in a kill shelter a little over an hour from where I lived. A rescue group was working tirelessly to find her a foster family so she wouldn’t be put to sleep. Having worked with rescue groups most of my life, I understood the need and the desperation. Large, black dogs tend to be the last to get adopted. Brandy was living on borrowed time.
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