Esquire (USA)

I probably don’t need to tell you that my first impression of Mr. Bowditch wasn’t good.


I thought he was a bad-tempered grouch, and it was no wonder he was living alone; a wife would have killed him or left. But when he looked at the aging German shepherd, I saw something else: love and dismay. You know that saying about being at your wits’ end? Mr. Bowditch’s face said he was there. He must have been in excruciati­ng pain, but right then all he could think about—all that he cared about—was his dog.

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