Valentine’s Day, year one. A stuffed puppy for my love. I promised her a real one soon.
Year two, a surprise allergy had changed our plans. I bought her another plush dog anyway as a sign of my commitment. And it stayed that way for the next twelve years.
This year, I was running late. Work had devoured all my time, leaving me empty-handed. I considered borrowing one from our shelf and replacing it later.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to.
Bursting through the front door, I found her at the table cuddling a newborn puppy.
“Allergy shots,” she said, grinning.
The Weekday One Hundred 