All of my pets have been second or third hand. Clancy (also a Wonder Dog), was a sweet, polite, quiet dog at the pound that wasn't my first choice, but was the recommendation of the shelter manager. She was right, he was the Perfect Dog. I had him for nearly 15 years and he was ever the perfect gentleman.

This was Bandit's webpage on Petfinder that Jason fell in love with. He came to us from Tennessee, a frightened, distrustful, formerly abused dog that wouldn't leave the house with Jason for the first nine months we had him. These are Bandit now. He still won't leave the house with Jason for longer than it takes to pee, but that's because he's a snively, snotty, slimy-nosed Mumma's Boy. He is not the Perfect Dog, but I love him anyway.

The Stupid Cat (aka Caitlin) was dumped in the campground at the park that I worked at ten years ago (and where I once again work). I should have known she was mentally defective when I found her, she was starving to death in a campground full of fat, simple-minded, slow-moving rodents. I wasn't going to keep her, animal control just never answered the phone. She came home just for the night. They never come home just for the night. I now know that, and haven't brought another one home since. Besides, Kitty doesn't play well with others.

All three of them were strays and treated pretty poorly, based on how they were found, yet I've received nothing but affection from any of them.