By Jack Canfield

Animals carry out the goodness, humanity and optimism in humans and communicate on to our souls. This joyous, inspiring and enjoyable fowl Soup assortment relates the original bonds among animals and the folks whose lives they have replaced. resembling the dolphins who helped a paralyzed girl heal whilst medical professionals provided little desire; the puppy who introduced lifestyles right into a failing marriage; the kitten who helped a mom mourn; and the flying squirrel who taught a guy the facility of laughter.

Packed with megastar pet-lore, fowl Soup for the Soul relates the unconditional love, loyalty, braveness and companionship that purely animals own. similar to our bushy, feathered and four-legged neighbors, this enthralling publication will carry a grin to any puppy lover's face ... and it is housebroken!

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Extra resources for Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul: Stories About Pets as Teachers, Healers, Heroes and Friends

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Dick wasn’t lonely any more, and I had watched a warm bond of friendship growing stronger over the years. In fact, it was something more—the old man seemed to depend on Frisk. And now this. Well, I thought, as I walked back down the passage, it was the sort of thing that happened in veterinary practice. Pets didn’t live long enough. But I felt worse this time because I had no idea what ailed my patient. I was in a total fog. On the following morning I was surprised to see Dick Fawcett sitting in the waiting room, the cardboard box on his knee.

At one point, my husband and I decided to relocate from our New York apartment to a new home in New Jersey. After we were there awhile, our neighbor, whose cat had recently had kittens, asked us if we would like one. We were a little apprehensive about Sam’s jealousy and how he would handle his turf being invaded, but we decided to risk it and agreed to take a kitten. We picked a little, gray, playful ball of fur. It was like having a road runner in the house. She raced around chasing imaginary mice and squirrels and vaulted from table to chair in the blink of an eye, so we named her Lightning.

Always keeping his distance, he tolerated other pets and endured the activities of our busy family, but his love for Becky never wavered. Then the spring came when our neighbor told us he’d shot and killed a she-wolf and grazed her mate, who had been running with her. Sure enough, Ralph returned home with another bullet wound. Becky, nearly fifteen years old now, sat with Ralph’s head resting on her lap. He, too, must have been about fifteen and was gray with age. As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back through the years.

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