At seventy-five, I’ve spent my life caring for things others discarded, from injured birds to stray cats, and now, dogs like Pearl and Buddy—small, disabled rescues with wheelchairs. They’ve brought me joy and purpose after losing my husband.
One day, while walking them, my neighbor Marlene, always well-put-together and controlling, insulted my dogs, calling them “disgusting” and demanding I get rid of them. She even threatened to have them removed.
Rather than confront her, I quietly gathered support from other neighbors who’d shared similar complaints about her. A few days later, an animal control officer arrived, responding to Marlene’s false complaint. But with the neighbors’ support, the officer dismissed it as unfounded, warning Marlene about harassment.
Soon, the neighborhood rallied behind my dogs. More people started joining our walks, and we passed Marlene’s house with laughter in the air. She stayed silent, and I realized, as Pearl’s tail thumped beside me, that no one would ever tell us we didn’t belong again.