A story of love, but a sad one nonetheless.
When I was 20, I got a job working for a veterinarian. I was in community college and pretty sure I might want to be a vet when I grew up, so I decided working for one would be a good way to get my feet wet, so to speak. The vet who owned the practice was sort of a blow hard. I was a receptionist by title, though I was often invited into the backroom to help the techs, and once he publically yelled at me for 'talking to clients too much'. Yes. Apparently I, the receptionist, was too friendly.
But blowhard though he was, he had a soft spot for strays, and it's to this crack in his armor that I owe one of the greatest joys of my life to date: