The Bog

In the midst of my land there is a thick, swampy grove where no human goes. It is a haven for snakes, root rot, mosquitoes, burrowing critters, and fox. On my walks, I give it a wide berth. In my mind, I figure it to be where wild things go to peacefully leave this world.I call it the Bog.On the day that cries of a wounded animal drew me into the Bog, I was no different than you. Now, I understand the choices that dogs make and how they were selected to be man’s best friend. I understand the source of their soul and their place in the hereafter. I see then as messengers and guardians. I understand the depth of their love as they seek little more than our friendship. And I understand their willingness to defend us in death.No one has been able to tell this story until now, because no one, other than me, has met Napoleon!I challenge you not to open the covers of this book—unless, you are willing to face your dog in a new light.