Free Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield

first aisle and didn’t quit until I reached the other side of the store. The items couldn’t be pulled off the shelves fast enough. Just the essentials, I thought. Just food that will last a couple of weeks and sustain their meager existence. Peanut butter and jelly. Bread. Canned food. Juice. Fruit. Vegetables. Dog food. More dog food (forty pounds, to be exact). And chew toys. They should have some treats, too. A few other necessities and the job was done.
    “The total comes to $102.91,” said the checker. I didn’t bat an eye. The pen ran over that blank check faster than I could legibly write. It didn’t matter that the mortgage was due soon or that I really didn’t have the extra hundred dollars to spend. Nothing mattered besides seeing that this family had some food. I was amazed at my own intensity and the overwhelming motivation that compelled me to spend a hundred dollars on a total stranger. Yet, at the same time, I felt like the luckiest person in the world. To be able to give this man and his beloved companions a tiny bit of something of which I had so much opened the floodgates of gratitude in my own heart.
    The icing on the cake was the look on Wayne’s face when I returned with all the groceries. “Here are just a few things . . . ” I said as the dogs looked on with great anticipation. I wanted to avoid any awkwardness, so I hastily petted the dogs.
    “Good luck to you,” I said and held out my hand.
    “Thank you and God bless you. Now I won’t have to sell my dogs.” His smile shone brightly in the deepening darkness.
    It’s true that people are more complicated than animals, but sometimes they can be as easy to read. Wayne was a good person—someone who looked at a dog and saw family. In my book, a man like that deserves to be happy.
    Later, on my way home, I purposely drove past that same corner. Wayne and the dogs were gone.
    But they have stayed for a long time in my heart and mind. Perhaps I will run into them again someday. I like to think that it all turned out well for them.
    Lori S. Mohr

Priorities
    I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.
    Jean Cocteau
    The conditions were ideal for a fire.
    The parched hillsides that outline the San Francisco Bay area provided the fuel, and the hot gusts of wind would breathe life into the flames. It was a dangerous combination.
    On Sunday, July 7, 1985, an arsonist lit the match—the only missing ingredient—and ignited a disaster.
    It started as a small fire in the mountains above Los Gatos. Fire crews responded quickly and predicted an easy containment and no property damage. The fire prompted little concern among the residents of this mountainous community as they went about doing what they normally did on a Sunday afternoon. After all, fires, earthquakes and mudslides were part of the way of life in the mountains, the price one paid for seclusion.
    Monday morning, as usual, the mountain dwellers descended from their wooded enclaves for jobs in the valley below as the winds picked up and the temperature climbed into the nineties. By the end of the day, the Lexington Hills fire had been upgraded to a major wildfire.
    When the residents of the area tried to return to their homes after work, they were stopped. No one could go back. At the roadblock, there were many emotions—fear, anger, despair and panic. Many people were frantic with worry about their pets.
    I was one of the volunteers who made up the animal rescue team in our area. As the rescue team made its way to the front of the crowd at the roadblock, we hoped that the police would let us through. When they finally agreed to let us go into the area to look for pets, we set up a table at the Red Cross shelter and began the process of taking descriptions of pets and addresses.
    We worked as late as we could that night and returned at daybreak to continue. It was a large area and the fire was spreading—almost faster than we could move to