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I still can’t believe it, to be honest. My 79-year-old mother-in-law—who lives alone and whose health isn’t exactly stellar—just got herself a puppy. Not an older, calmer dog. Not a cat or a goldfish. A full-blown, zoomies-every-hour, chew-everything-in-sight, needs-to-be-potty-trained puppy.
When she told me, I thought she was joking. I laughed. She didn’t. “He’s my new best friend,” she said, practically glowing. “He’ll keep me active.”