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It was only two weeks after my grandfather died of mesothelioma when my dog, Dinger, pitter-patted his way into my life. We had freezing temperatures the night before when my father found him curled up under my aunt's car in the morning. He was a chubby little pup, all black with big paws. I had come home that day from classes and found him asleep in a cardboard box in my parent's living room. I fell in love with him instantly and truly felt it was no mistake that he came into my life.

The first nights he slept huddled in a blanket in the cardboard box next to my bed. I would sleep with one hand in the box so he would not cry. As he grew he became to look more clumsy and loveable. If surviving freezing temperatures was not enough for him to overcome, at two years of age he was diagnosed with parvo. After four nights at the veternarian's office for treatment, he was finally able to come home.

Five years later now and no matter what kind of day I've had, I come home and see that tail wag and everything negative in the day becomes irrelevant. He reminds me that life is more about enjoying it and having fun and even playing in the mud. To come to me at such a time when I lost my grandfather and for him to overcome two obstacles that could have killed him is a miracle and a blessing.

Oddly enough, my second grandfather passed away a month and a half ago and a second dog came wandering into my life. Equally with a challenge to overcome such as my first dog. This new addition only has three legs.

Learn more about this author, Cristy Valley.
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