My best friend so happens to be 150 pounds of drooling, loveable canine: my Mastiff, fittingly called "Tank".

Tank came into my life two years ago in a bad moment of my life; he's been my therapist and healer, as he's helped me get over losing my mother, who died unexpectly from a brain aneurysm.  She was only 50 years old, way too young.

When Mom died, I felt my world come crashing down around me.  I became majorly depressed: I didn't care whether I lived or died.

Daddy became concerned, so he suggested I see a therapist, who, in turn, suggested that we get a dog to help us with our grief.  So that is when Tank came into our lives.

While he will never replace Mom, Tank has helped Daddy and myself heal.  We still miss Mom badly, but life is a lot better with Tank in it.

Tank may be huge, but he has the heart and personality of a lamb.  He is one of the sweetest, most gentlest dogs I have ever had the pleasure of konwing.  He thinks he is a puppy or better yet a lap dog.  He is rather clumbsy in nature, with a goofy, good-natured expression on his face a lot of the time.  He loves to play and be the center of attention.  With his size, it's not hard.

Whenever Daddy thinks of his wife (or I think about how much I miss Mom), Tank seems to sense our sadness.  This is when he will become extra loving and supportive: he won't leave our side for a second.  This is good, because we need something or someone to be around.  We don't have to think so much about the loss we've suffered.  It's also beneficial for both our overall health.

Well, I hate to go, but Tank needs to go outside to do his thing (and check his "pee-mail", no doubt), so I'll tend to that.  I hope you liked reading about Tank; he's a superhero with paws!  He's the best thing that could have ever happened!!