A Dog Named Blue
By Hilary Walker
Blue chose me. I adored him from the start and was thrilled when he made it clear to his previous owner that he wanted to go home with me that day.
We’d moved to England from Italy but my husband still worked on the Continent. Glen would fly over whenever possible on weekends, but mostly I was alone with our three-year-old son in a centuries-old Cotswold stone house in the middle of twenty-six acres. I did not enjoy my dark walk to the stables for the nightly check on our four horses.
I decided a big dog was in order, a fierce-looking pet. Scouring the ads, I saw a couple of Bull Mastiffs for sale and drove over to see them. They rushed to the wire fencing of their outdoor kennels with KILL! written all over their faces. These were no pets!
In despair
