Around midnight my Belgian Shepherd named Catcher was barking his head off. I walked outside with my flashlight and my Yard Hook and I soon spot a dog that has wandered into the yard. He was thin and looked sickly but I didn't want to just turn him away.

I gave him a bowl of chow and he looked like he was so hungry that he was swallowing but not bothering to even chew the food. I take Catcher back into the house and since my wife Suzanne is now awake, I tell her about it.

I described him as a cute and determined little Foxhound male, about 9 months old. Suzanne laughs and says, "He's never going to leave, now." I tell her that if he's still around in the morning, I will take him to the shelter. She says that he'll just be put to sleep if I do. I think about it for a while and sleep restlessly not sure what I will do.

I get up in the morning and don't see the dog. I get dressed and find out that by this time Suzanne has fed, bathed, wormed, and treated the dog for fleas and ticks. He was lying comfortably in one of the dog kennels and chewing on a nice, juicy steak bone.

We called the local shelter to let anyone who's looking know that we found him. My wife looks at me and asks, "If no one claims him, I want to keep him. But what will we call him?"

I said, "I think that we should call him Lucky."