Jack wheeled himself to the end of the treadmill and waited anxiously. The vet emerged carrying Buddy in his arms and gently placed him by the treadmill.
Buddy rose tentatively from his haunches, stumbling at first but then finding his footing. He took one hesitant step forward, then another and incredibly broke out in a light sprint down the treadmill. From one side, he looked like a normal dog but from the other, his new prosthetic limb stood proud.
Eighteen months earlier they’d stumbled into that unmarked minefield in war-torn Eritrea. The quiet hiss of escaping gas was the only clue of his impending doom. The explosion blew his legs clean off but Buddy was unscathed and had dragged him almost back to safety before a second mine claimed his paw.