The day I reached for him, he flinched but didn’t run. Slowly, hesitantly, he let me clip a leash onto his collar. He trembled as I helped him into my car, and as we drove to the vet, I promised him a new start.
Roscoe was severely malnourished, but the vet assured me he could recover with care. I asked for a name suggestion, and when the vet said Roscoe, it stuck. But as we adjusted to life together, I realized something—Roscoe wasn’t just surviving; he was learning to trust again.