Fisher

About a month ago the beautiful Pug pictured above was found roaming the streets of the high desert. Victorville for those of you familiar with the high dessert. We will never know for how long, why or what his origins are. Perhaps he was a run away. Perhaps he was a cast off in a foreclosure. A Good Samaritan picked him up and delivered him to a friend he knew who had a sister who was very involved in rescuing dogs. The Good Samaritan and her sister, a woman named Donna, began their rescue magic. He was “fostered” in the sister’s house who got him micro chipped, neutered, cleaned up and checked out. One vet thought he was two years old, another said he was one year old.

Three weeks ago or so, they showcased the mysterious dog they called “Taz” at one of those parking lot adopt-a-pet shin digs in Orange County where my brother, who has a soft spot for pugs, found him. My brother was very taken in by the whole story and immediately called me saying this was my dog. I wasn’t sure, but went ahead with all of the paperwork. OK, somewhere along the line I got excited. The “foster” mom assured me he was good natured and didn’t cause any problems.

I officially adopted him the night after the LA Lakers won the finals and decided to name him Fisher, after Derek Fisher. While I am not a huge Laker fan, from what I know of Derek Fisher, he like my dog, has overcome amazing odds and time and time again has proven himself a resilient and admirable man. When he jumps or even acts surly in the least (which he doesn’t do often), I like to chide him that he isn’t named Kobe. He divides his time between rooting around in the back yard, napping or following me around.