He’s a three-legged yellow Lab. His front left leg is gone, leaving behind a thick scar and a personality bigger than most dogs with four legs. He rides shotgun like the truck belongs to him.
I got Mooney after my best friend from the Army, Bennett, was ki.lled overseas.
The funeral felt unreal—just a blur of uniforms and quiet voices I barely registered. After the service ended, one of the guys from our unit approached me holding a leash.
At the end of it stood a skinny yellow Lab wearing stitches and a plastic cone.
“Stray got hit by a truck near base,” he explained. “Bennett wouldn’t stop pestering everyone until they fixed him up.”
