Some people claim that they have known from childhood what their life's calling is. Not until the fall of my sophomore year in college did I realize what I really wanted to do with my life. I do not owe this realization to keen personal insight or a riveting revelation, but to a simple creature who stumbled into my life one crisp October afternoon. The sun that day was still bright as it dodged behind trees and began its descent to the horizon. The bite of autumn made me walk with a mixed feeling of contentment and restlessness. With my mind in a daze, I didn't see the tan-and-black-spotted shaggy mutt following me. I finally noticed the little fellow when he playfully swatted my leg with his wagging tail. He had a raggedy beard and bushy eyebrows that seemed to rise in anticipation when I bent down to pet his head. "Go home, Shaggy," I told him. He didn't listen, and kept following me until I arrived at the intersection of Columbus and Elwood, a block away from my apartment. I crossed the street. Interested in a bag of food scraps lying next to the corner wire