I struggle to write this story. Although a work of fiction, it is unbearably difficult for me to imagine what Tilly's life may have been. Researching puppy mills leaves the imprint of their distress on my heart and in my head. So the good news for you, my reader, is that after this installment I must move on her with story to a more positive place. As Tilly grew her coat became long and where it should have been silky it was matted. Her vision was sometimes blurry from eye infections and her tummy was always empty. Eventually, she was moved out of the pen where she had made friends with the other pups into a new space. She could see row after row cages with dogs, some small like her and others like monsters. They howled until her ears hurt. She knew they were tired and hungry just like her. Each day when the man came and dumped food into the little dish she shared with two other dogs, she pounced and gobbled every morsel she could. Despite her small size, her heart was big an