He opens his eyes and sees that the people are sound asleep. He lays there for a moment in peaceful serenety. Gone are the days when he would sleep fitfully in a cold barn, wondering if the people would remember to feed him. Gone forever are the hurts that once plagued his ribs, his paws, his face. He's home now, and as the sun peeks through the blinds, and the big one stirs while the little one with the soft voice remains sleeping he remains still, and pretends to be sleeping, and hopes that this feeling will last forever.
For every dog who made it home there are thousands waiting. 9000 homeless pets are euthanized every day simply because nobody wants them. Mr. Wilson is home, and here he will stay for the remainder of his days. There will be lots of those, and every one will be lived to the fullest, for somehow, some way, I truly believe that he knows just how fortunate he is.
And so do we.
Time to get up, little man, we've got a day to spend together.
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