Ah yes. The gentle brown eyes, begging for a pat on the head or a scratch behind the big floppy oozing ears. The soft unwashed fur, redolent of the dead skunk he rolled in; the ragged tail, cut short by a train because he moved too slowly, tentatively wagging, showing him unsure of a welcome; the breath that slays buzzards on a gutpile a hundred meters away; the unidentified stuff stuck between his teeth; the return to your lap of whatever it was he ate for dinner; the drool; the veterinary bills -- howEVER could we throw him out, alone, into the cold, dark, cruel, misunderstanding world?