When Harry Met Minnie: A True Story of Love and Friendship by Martha Teichner
You don’t have to be a dog lover, (or, more specifically, crazy about bull terriers) to appreciate this informative, graceful, and compassionate story. It is much more than a tale of doggie love; it describes the best of humanity: our empathy, compassion, and ability to promote a sense of community.
The author of When Harry Met Minnie: A True Story of Love and Friendship is Martha Teichner, who resides in New York City, works as a correspondent for “CBS Sunday Morning,” and has owned a number of pet bull terriers (Piggy, Goose, Minnie, and Harry). Her story begins when one of her pet bull terriers dies, and she is searching for another that will get along with her remaining pet, the divine Miss Minnie. This search leads to a turn in the road and her forming new connections with Harry, Carol Fertig, Stephen, and a host of other amazing friends.
Ms. Teichner’s life is full of travel, celebrations with friends, and hilarious adventures like taking Harry and Minnie to the Blessing of Animals at St. Peter’s Chelsea. She excels at writing about relationships: the random way in which they begin and the reality that they must one day physically end. She reminded me that if we are living fully and selflessly, grief and heartache will always be part of our narratives.
I highly recommend When Harry Met Minnie: A True Story of Love and Friendship and thank Martha Teichner and Goodreads Giveaway for this beautiful gift!
Throughout the novel, the author visits iconic settings in New York City. In this quote, she describes St. Peter’s Chelsea where she took Harry and Minnie to be blessed on the feast day of St. Francis, patron saint to animals.
It always feels like a secret. Once, I suppose, it was considered imposing. It is, after all, built from stone, Manhattan schist, New York City bedrock. You can climb on great hunks of it in Central Park and, if you look hard, catch a glimpse of it out the windows of subway cars as you pass through tunnels blasted through it. Manhattan schist held up the city’s early skyscrapers. Whoever built St. Peter’s Chelsea did it by hand, sorting through piles of stones, tons of stones, laying big ones next to small ones, gray ones next to tan ones, in no particular pattern. The stonework is a wonder. The stones are weathered and dull now. The church seems to be peering out from behind a curtain of leafy old trees and is guarded by a tall wrought-iron fence, as if it’s hiding. But its tower gives it away, a stack of stocky squares rising above the treetops, containing a bell, and on each side, a clock, best seen from Ninth Avenue, where you can look up and check whether the visible faces agree on what time it is. [Kindle Version, p. 105]
