Was on death row at the Downey pound in Los Angeles. Skinny, lethargic, and filthy, he was leaning on to the cage door when I first saw him. Even with matted fur full of feces, there was still so much beauty in his red coat. His eyes gave him away, and he stole our hearts. When we took him to the vet, he suggested that we take him back to the pound. “He’s not a sweater that doesn’t fit,” I exclaimed, “He’s my dog!” And the vet fixed him! We are so glad he did. He has been the best dog in the world.