Dog Who Owned Me
My life changed on a Friday, just after I’d turned eighteen and recently moved into a new life. That’s how I liked to think of it. After leaving the modest village where I’d grown up, I’d moved to the modest town where I’d be attending community college. I wanted to be a graphic artist or something, I wasn’t really sure, but I liked art and I was kind of good at it anyway. So those were the kind of classes I took while I worked part-time at Sears, dressing mannequins and putting up decorations and displays, stuff like that. It wasn’t a bad job, even if it only paid for my rent and just enough food to keep me from starving. My parents sent me a little every month and I’d be okay, except I …