Harry wasn't just a dog; he was a whispered promise, a beacon of resilience, and the very heart of Hugs for Harry. He was an angel, a guiding star, who stole my heart with a quiet strength that belied the horrors he'd endured.

Imagine a tiny, broken soul, terrified and scarred, a victim of the cruelest of human depravity. Harry was a bait dog, used and abused in the dark world of dog fighting, a world that left him toothless and his spirit shattered. When he arrived at the shelter, his body bore the marks of unimaginable pain, but beneath the scars, a flicker of hope remained.

I spent countless hours earning his trust, gently coaxing him from the shadows of his trauma. And slowly, miraculously, Harry began to heal. He blossomed into a love-bug, a gentle soul who radiated sweetness. We shared joyful days, raising funds for the shelter, where children would cover his wiggly, orange and white body with lipstick kisses during "Kiss the Pitt" days. He became a symbol of hope, a testament to the power of love to overcome even the deepest wounds.

Then, without warning, on a day I wasn't there, they took him. They euthanized him, and no one could explain why. My heart shattered, the light dimmed. Harry, my precious boy, was gone. But his memory, his spirit, lives on in Hugs for Harry.