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Tell me which photograph of my sweet Ramona from Oklahoma, that you like the best.

Ramona was a rescued dog. My sister and I were driving down highway 41, when we noticed a sign for free puppies. Windy was newly pregnant. We pulled my sister's mauve colored Alero into the muddy driveway and figured it was worth the risk. If her soon-to-be husband left her, she would be a good single mother anyway. I had already brought home 3 cats at this point, so I figured I could pull off a dog. (I didn't have any children yet.) Besides, there wasn't any harm in just looking. We had no idea what lay in store for us when we walked into that trailer.

The house was a pit. Gross. Smelly. And over ran with kittens. I was looking around past the multiple ashtrays and empty beer cans, trying to spot the puppies. While trying to hold our breath, we followed the man with the mullet out the back door. Oh. My. In the backyard were multiple pens. I stood there amazed as sheep, goats, rats, bunnies, an enormous pig, dogs, and 2 puppies looked back at me. Desperate.

The puppies were both females. They were in a pen about the size of a large coffee table with 3 other full grown dogs. Being trampled. The man handed Ramona to me and Lexi to my sister. The dogs were limp. The stomachs were literally crawling with all the worms inside. They looked so sad, yet so hopeful.

That was that. We certainly weren't going to leave those puppies there. Couldn't do it. I remember sitting in the car and thinking that these dogs might not make it to the vet. They were that bad.

The vet didn't seem too optimistic. But both dogs pulled through. And here she is now, nearly 6 years later. She follows me everywhere. She listens so well. She will occasionally chew up the forgotten Pez dispenser if we aren't careful. But I love her. She protects us. She plays with us. She loves my boys.

My Ramona from Oklahoma.
(This is where we got her name.)