Rooster came from a kill shelter down South as a puppy with a damaged eye and a nervous but cute disposition. He was brought to New York where he stayed for two years in a shelter, overlooked.
Untrained and impulsive, he wasn’t an easy fit and admittedly I wasn’t sure if I even wanted a pet. When they let us take him for a walk he nearly threw my back out he pulled so hard. I believe Rooster fought his way to a home and because of our care, our community, and especially KJ’s ultimate belief in his potential, for just over a year he had a family.
Not really knowing how to be a dog, to sit and stay at first, his personality and inherent silliness emerged with each day. He was proud of his accomplishments.
With his tender stoicism and red wisp of an eye, I saw Rooster as a mythic hellhound, nobly surveying the landscape like the ghost of another era, resurrected from the beyond in search of a home.
Rooster died today and while having his own life and dreams is, for me, symbolic of second, maybe even third chances. Not only for him, but for us. We can grow and we can learn to love again. Hope is not lost.
