My golden retriever, Abby, is a worker and every day she would fetch the paper and take it to her master. In 2007, my husband passed away and as Abby had done before, she took the paper to the bed, but her master was not there. With a mournful cry she searched the house. Finally, Abby took the paper to the bed and laid her head on it. All I could do was bury my face in her fur and cry. Still with a servant’s heart, she has been reassigned to laundry detail. Folding underwear is her specialty.

— Shirley Greenfield