Bringing Rosy Home

The first day of my blogging routine:
We adopted Rosy in April 2004 when she was eight weeks old in Nebraska. She had been born in a puppy mill. My family really got a stroke of luck with her, because even though she didn't get along too well with other dogs or children (even older children and teenagers), she was in much better shape than the rest of the dogs. Rosy was determined healthy by vets and was put up for adoption. She needed more socialization than any other dog we had met. She growled whenever someone lightly petted her and bit often. She was a giant fluff ball, looking more like a poodle than a cockapoo. Her tail was docked far too short (and we don't support nor find docking tails cruelty), and it was a definite sign that they had not done it properly. It was barely an excuse for a tail, more of a stub, and the only behavior you could from it was excitement, wagging, but it barely happened. She broke my skin with her teeth by evening and stayed away from us as much as possible. On the second day I had her, while I was going to school, she rocketed out the door and we had to chase her down the street.
By the time she was six months old, Rosy wagged her tail at strangers and showed her real personality: an intelligent, lively little dog that loved everyone she met. She was fiercely loyal and a great watchdog. We loved her so, so much and she was even allowed to sleep in our beds because she didn't shed. Rosy turned into a great dog with a temperament to match.