The day after Christmas 2004, my brother and I decided to go sledding on the hill that ran down to our school buildings. I was ten, and he was seven. That morning as I woke up, however, I had a strange feeling. I felt a sense of foreboding, warning me to take caution. Because of this, we brought our trusty dog, Shadow, along. We were sledding, and one time, my brother pushed off extra hard and flew down the hill. He was going too fast and was going to run into the wall of the school. But I was too frightened to call out. Shadow, however, wasn't. She let out a shrill bark, which was the only time we had ever heard her bark, and this surprised my brother so much that he turned his head to look at her just before crashing into the wall. I ran to him and found him unconscious. Luckily an adult had seen what happened and called an ambulance. The paramedics said my brother had a concussion but would be all right. If he had hit the wall looking forward, however, he might have had brain damage or even died. Shadow's one and only bark in her lifetime was crucial and most likely saved my brother's life. She taught us that angels sometimes wear fur coats. And I learned to trust those little...
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