Being Boswell

JEFF

I am baby-sitting my friends dog, Ruby, this week. Ruby is a love. She is a rescued dog, (always the best), goes to University of Pittsburgh each Tuesday as a therapy dog (for homesick freshman) and she lost a front leg to cancer last year. As I write this she is on the couch with me (don’t tell Tom) snoring. I love reaching over to rest my hand on her.

My dog, Jeff, died unexpectedly, last October. Tom and I had gone to NJ for the weekend to visit my mom who was in the hospital. My son, Landon, watched Jeff. He called that Friday night concerned, “Mom what’s wrong with Jeff?” He explained Jeff had fallen down and peeed himself. I had no idea what was wrong, but figured I would take him to the vet on Monday. Saturday morning the phone rang. Continue Reading

Patricia Boswell

JEFF

I am baby-sitting my friends dog, Ruby, this week. Ruby is a love. She is a rescued dog, (always the best), goes to University of Pittsburgh each Tuesday as a therapy dog (for homesick freshman) and she lost a front leg to cancer last year. As I write this she is on the couch with me (don’t tell Tom) snoring. I love reaching over to rest my hand on her.

My dog, Jeff, died unexpectedly, last October. Tom and I had gone to NJ for the weekend to visit my mom who was in the hospital. My son, Landon, watched Jeff. He called that Friday night concerned, “Mom what’s wrong with Jeff?” He explained Jeff had fallen down and peeed himself. I had no idea what was wrong, but figured I would take him to the vet on Monday. Saturday morning the phone rang. Continue Reading

Patricia Boswell