It was late September 2007. My trips from Maine to Long Island, NY were becoming more frequent and longer in duration due to my mom's terminal illness.
The night before this one visit, my mom called. Tearfully she told me about a little puppy that had been tied to her fence with a wire. The wire was around his neck and it was so short that he was unable to touch the ground with his front feet. She was able to untie him and bring him in to her house. I told her that I would leave early the next day and would contact a local homeless shelter and bring him there when I arrived.
The next day came, the drive was horrific and what at best was a five hour drive turned into an eight hour one. My mom met me at the door of her home in Roosevelt with her old dog and this dirty little ball of fuzz with legs.
I knew right away that I would be taking this puppy home, taking him to my vet, and ultimately finding him a new home.
My mom called him "Rocky", because of his rocky start in life. He was malnourished, had parasites and the worst ear infections that the vet had ever seen. He shadowed my every move and fearlessly played with our two (130 and 140 lb) dogs.
My mom passed away the following January. I did find the puppy his forever home. He now lives in our hearts and under our roof.
Our other dogs come from pedigreed stock. They have their registered names, and call names. It was only fitting that "Rocky" have a fancy name as well, in spite of his humble beginnings. So "Roosevelt's Own Rock-A-Billy" was coined ........and it fits, doesn't it?