The little black dog I pulled off the streets a few weeks ago kept escaping & running back to the house where he was abandoned. Once, he climbed through a few inches of car window when I was doing an errand & traveled about 3 miles back to the house, even crossing a major road to get there. But the neighbors said they didn’t take care of him since he belonged to a family that moved & they wanted me to take him. His old caretakers called him Blacky but I call him Rocky for no special reason except that it rhymes with rock star. KInda.

It’s freezing temps here now & if I hadn’t happened across him, he might not have survived outside. He has a little lucky star over his head. He doesn’t run any more since I’ve plugged up all the escape routes but he isn’t trying to either. He’s taken a liking to little Mac & they nap & cuddle together. He also comes when I call & loves to be held like a baby. He used to be afraid to come in the house but now hustles in with all the rest. This is the good part of rescuing dogs–seeing them transform into loving & being loved. We won’t talk about the sad parts today.