I am 78 years old and I want to keep my name unknown. I had gone to a shelter because there was a festival where shelter dogs were adopted. When I reached there, it was tragic because the shelter worker was loading cages into the truck. One of the shelter team members told me not to come next time as the festival would be over. I was talking to someone when I saw a large cage with a dog in the truck. I went to him, and I could see his sad eyes. I asked the team member what happened to him. They said he hasn’t been adopted and keeps going back; no one adopts him—bad luck for the poor dog.
When I looked into the dog’s eyes, I felt like he was saying he wanted food and to please adopt him. I told my son I would bring him home, and he looked surprised but then said okay, mother. When we got home, we named him Blue Heeler. Now he is with me all the time, day and night, sleeping on my feet. Blue Heeler is now a family member; he has seen a lot of sadness and has been in a cage, and as long as I am alive, he won’t leave this home.