During summer vacations, I volunteered at the vet's and saw many dogs. Minnie was the funniest-looking dog I'd ever seen. Thin, curly hair barely covered her sausage-shaped body. Her bugged-out eyes always seemed surprised, and her tail looked like a rat's tail.
Her owners brought her to be put to sleep because they didn't want her anymore. However, I thought Minnie had a sweet personality. "No one should judge her by her looks," I thought. The vet spayed her and gave her necessary shots. I then advertised Minnie in the local paper: "Funny-looking dog, well behaved, needs loving family."
When a young man called, I warned him that Minnie was strange-looking. He told me his grandfather's sixteen-year-old dog had just died, and they wanted Minnie no matter what. I gave Minnie a good bath and fluffed up her scraggly hair. Then we waited.
An old car finally drove up. Two kids raced to the door, scooped Minnie into their arms, and rushed her to their grandfather waiting in the car. I hurried behind to see his reaction.
Inside the car, the grandfather cradled Minnie and stroked her soft hair. She licked his face. Her rat tail wagged so quickly it seemed it might fly off. It was love at first lick.
"She's perfect!" the old man exclaimed.
I was thankful Minnie had found a good home. That's when I noticed the grandfather's eyes were a milky white color—he was blind.