Pierson

Word was that this wily dog had been living in Pierson Park for about 3 weeks. I learned this in January and spent three days visiting the park trying to catch him. With no collar, no chip, and no newspapers, fliers, or online reports about anyone missing him, I named him Pierson (after the park) and took him home. In less than a week, I knew he belonged--and he knew it too. The next 13 years were full of adventures, and our togetherness remained strong through significant life changes (a child, four moves, the loss of another pet). Cancer claimed him this year at the estimated age of 14. He has peacefully crossed the rainbow bridge, but he’s still in my heart.