Gracie had been badly abused when I fell in love with her on Pet Finder. Her caring rescue team had welcomed her not once, but twice, and kept her for a month until they found the right home for such an anxious girl. I was warned that on leash she might not even walk to the end of the driveway with me. A friend who lived near the rescue somehow convinced them I was the right home, I drove four hours to meet her, and she immediately jumped out of a van and to my side where she stayed for the next five years. She went anywhere willingly with me, but was beside herself if left in the car. She trusted very few men, at first shaking with fright if there was even a workman's van on the street. She needed a year with me before she could go down to my basement. Who knows how she had been mistreated to have that level of fear. Between rescues she had evidently lived on the street for seven months. Yet she never became aggressive; just terribly frightened. Gracie saw me through a lot: care of a spouse with Alzheimer's, a divorce, a rented floating home, a purchase and infinite repairs on a little house. I'd had her only a year when she was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer. Expected to live three to six months, she lived another four years. Such courage. Such loyalty and devotion. She never did learn to play. Still she had a good life with me, as well loved as a dog can possibly be.