“Her name is Chrissy. She’s three years old,” said Brenda. Chrissy gave the softest wave of her tail, and Autumn stuck her fingers through the bars of the cage. Chrissy sniffed and then nuzzled Autumn’s hand. The dog was white and charcoal gray with a tuft of white like a halo over her forehead.
“She’s so adorable. How did she end up here?”
“Her pet parent died yesterday,” Brenda said. “He lived alone and Chrissy sat next to his body overnight, until a friend found them and called 911.”
Autumn gasped.
“How did he die?”
“From what I hear, a heart attack.”
She connected with Chrissy’s circumstances, her own parents lost to her in a sudden, tragic accident three months earlier. Autumn was the only survivor. She leaned closer and whispered, “Poor baby!” Chrissy blissfully closed her eyes
