，hedidn’，.
“comeon.”Isaid，hopingIwouldn’，wherehelayonthecoldcementandclosedhiseyes.
-typeexhaustsonmyoldHarleyDavidsonrattledthewindowsinthebarasIrodebacktothebar.
Thebarmaidopenedthecansformeandsaidthedog’，buthesmelledlikedeathandlookedevenworse.“Goodluck.”.
，.
.
Thenextnight，whenIbroughthisfood，，，butnowhehadafriendandhisappreciationwasmorethanobvious.
Ididn’.
.
Thelocalveterinarianwasstillathisoffice，soIborrowedapickuptruckfrommyemployerandloadedthelimpmongrelintothecab.“Isthisyourdog”thevetaskedaftercheckingthepitifulspecimenthatlayhelplesslyonhisexaminingtable.
“No，”Isaid，“he’sjustastray.”
“He’sgotthebeginningsofdistemper，”thevetsaidsadly，“Ifhedoesn’thaveahome，thekindestthingwecandoisputhimoutofhismisery.”
Iputmyhandonthedog’.“He’sgotahome.”Isaid.
Forthenextthreenightsandtwodays，thedog—InamedhimShep—’tdoit，butwheneverItouchedhim，histailwaggedslightlyattheverytip.
Atabout10：，，Iwasnearlyflattenedbyajumping，.
Withtime，themangystarvingdogthatnearlydiedinmylivingroomgrewintoaneighty-poundblockofsolidmuscle，，whenlonelinessanddepressionhavenearlygottenthebestofme，ShephasreturnedmyfavorbyshoweringmewithhisunbridledfriendshipuntilIhadnochoicebuttosmileandtrademymelancholyforafastgameoffetch-the-stick.
WhenIlookback，’tlonelydriftersanymore.I’dsaywe’vebothcomehome.
