I first saw her when she was seven weeks old with her mom and litter mates in a small flat in England. She's now a teenager. We were both beaten up by the same man. Seeing her hit gave me the courage to leave that loser forever. We both were homeless together. We both saw our shelter home burnt down. We both survived the cross-Atlantic plane ride to America -- a new country for her but the land of my birth.
She's slowed down a bit and has far more white on her face than in this photo from ages past, but still as wonderful as ever. She's learned to share me with Hugo, a powderpuff Chinese Crested. She loves everybody -- except the vet. She's Pony, my dog and the best thing that ever happened to me.
Happy birthday, Pony. And hopefully there will be many more to come.
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