IT WAS COLD that Tuesday night in January, even for Butte, Montana. I was at my mom’s house, cleaning up after dinner, when my sister, Penny, called from Southern California.
“I can’t believe there are no shepherds here for adoption,” Penny said.
We’ve always been a German shepherd family, and Penny wanted a young male to continue the streak. She’d visited all the shelters in her area. Not one had a shepherd.
“It’s going to work out, honey,” Mom said.
By the time we hung up, it was 25 degrees below zero and snowing hard. I bundled up for the mile walk home with my German shepherd–wolf mix, Duke, who accompanied me to Mom’s every week.
“Something tells me you should walk down Park Street tonight,” Mom said, patting Duke…