“Mamma,” said Susie Dean, one summer’s morning, “may I go to the woods, and pick berries?” “Yes,” replied Mrs. Dean, “but you must take Rover with you.” Susie brought her little basket, and her mother put up a nice lunch for her. She tied down the cover, and fastened a cup to it.

The little girl called Rover — a great New found dog — and gave him a pail to carry. “If I bring it home full, mamma,” she said, “won’t you make some berry cakes for tea?” Away she tripped, singing as she went down the country road.

When she got to the woods, she put her dinner basket down beside a tree, and began to pick berries. Rover ran about, chasing a squirrel or a rabbit now and then, but never wandering far from Susie. The pail was not a very small one. By the time it was two thirds full, Susie began to feel hungry, and thought she would eat her lunch. Rover came and took his place at her side as soon as she began to eat. Did she give him some of the lunch? No, she was in a selfish mood, and did no such thing. “ There, Rover, run away! ” she said; but Rover stayed near her, watching her with his clear brown eyes. The meat he wanted so much was soon eaten up; and all he got of the nice dinner was a small piece of bread that Susie threw away. After dinner, Susie played a while by the river. She threw sticks into the water, and Rover swam in and brought them back. Then she began to pick berries again.

She did not enjoy the afternoon as she did the morning. The sunshine was as bright, the berries were as sweet and plentiful, and she was neither tired nor hungry. But good, faithful Rover was hungry, and she had not given him even one piece of meat. She tried to forget how selfish she had been, but she could not do so, and quite early she started for home.

When she was nearly out of the woods, a soft sound in the underbrush attracted her attention.

She looked at Rover with tears in her eyes and wanted to say so much.

My sister-in-law Carol said she’d already picked out a kitten for me. I agreed to go with her… just to look. I made no promise to take one home. After all, only two months had passed since I lost my beloved calico cat, Mandi. Maybe I needed to be pet-free for a while.

When we got there, three of the four kittens remained in the litter. Carol picked up one and handed it to me. The beautiful face and white fur on the right side of her nose reminded me of a clown-like mask. How could I resist? Then another kitten, with an evenly balanced white face, jumped into my lap and purred.

Driving home in my British sports car proved difficult with two mischievous kittens. One clung to my left arm and shoulder, watching the fast-moving scenery outside. The other paced back and forth from my lap to the passenger’s seat, making it hard for me to shift gears. Both mewed in a loud duet(二重奏) of protest. Of course, I hadn’t brought a cage. I had not planned to take home a kitten — or two.

The clown-like-masked female earned the name Squeakette with her tiny voice squeaking about each new discovery as she explored her new home. The male, lacking only a black tie in his formal clothes, took the name Sebastian for my favorite composer, Johann Sebastian Bach.

A few weeks later, a neighbor helped me carry down my six-foot artificial Christmas tree from the attic(阁楼). I thanked him with a batch of cookies, and then set up the tree in the comer of my living room.

Sebastian and Squeakette knocked it down before I opened the box of decorations. After setting it upright, I straightened the few bent wire branches back into place. As I checked for any other damage, a quick flash of black-and-white fur passed by me. Up they went, branch by branch. The tree danced around as the two kittens took turns climbing it together. Sebastian made it to the top a moment ahead of Squeakette.

He lunged at me from the top, paws stretched out like wings.

Sensing their interest, I found a smaller Christmas tree for them.

I took a job as a receptionist for a vet almost five decades ago. As a keen animal lover, I accepted the position on the condition that I wouldn’t have to assist with any wounded animals. I couldn’t bear to see any creature in pain. It killed me to see the poor animals suffer.

At the end of my first week, we were closing the office for the day when a young man ran up to us holding a severely injured Doberman Pinscher puppy (杜宾犬) in his arms and begging us to save his life. The four-month-old pup had been hit by a car out of the blue.

The doctor and I ran back into the operating room. The only place the skin was still attached to this poor little animal’s body was around one shoulder. It was on the edge of dying, with awful blood and frightening bones. The vet worked tirelessly for what seemed like hours, stitching (缝针) him back together again. I stood in the clinic’s crowded waiting room, praying that the little puppy would pull through.

It turned out that was the easy part. The puppy had broken multiple bones, including his spine (脊椎). If he survived the next few days, we were quite sure he would never walk again. What followed called for great care and patience in the long term, but the vet was too occupied to handle the puppy.

That day forever changed my life. After the operation, the vet mentored me, and I became his assistant in all things medical. One of my first jobs was to give that Doberman puppy daily physical therapy. With mixed feelings, I accepted whatever came to my way—to attend to the puppy until its recovery.

The following weeks witnessed I bonded with the Doberman in the clinic.

A year later, a huge Doberman broke loose and rushed toward me while I was walking home.