“He has eyes like the ghost of a little Victorian boy,” my partner said. Here in our home is a wisp of a dog, just weeks off the streets and thin as a dime. He’s a foster, and he still has quite a few rough edges, but we’re working on it. We take it one walk at a time.
On one trip around the block, he barked at a woman in her garden. She looked up, startled.
“He’s a foster,” I apologize. “He’s only just been rescued from El Paso, and he’s still learning how to be a dog.”
Her eyes soften, and she wants to try to pet him. He lets her once she puts down the trowel. ...