I’ve always loved dogs. But as a young man working hard each day to make ends meet, I often feel overwhelmed just taking care of myself. I value my freedom, and I thought a dog would take that from me. So I didn’t want to become responsible for one – not even for a few days. But then I met Rocky. It wasn’t love at first sight. He was nearly frozen with fear. He had cherry eyes. He wouldn’t walk on a leash. He urinated when nervous. But he was also adorable. You could see in his eyes that he just wanted to be loved. And when I saw the look on my girlfriend’s face as she held him in her arms, stroking his velvety coat, and whispering into his ear, I knew resistance was futile. “It’s OK,” I told myself. “It will only be for a few days.”

Days turned into weeks. But far from feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for Rocky, and far from feeling as if my freedom had been revoked, I felt liberated – liberated from my own self-centeredness, liberated from the worry that I didn’t have enough. Every time I looked at Rocky, I felt love, pride, and a sense of fullness. In just days, the little guy had blossomed from a frightened young dog barely able to put one paw in front of the other, to a frolicking rascal full of curiosity and joy. He came when I called, he sat when I asked, he walked with me every day in the park, and – the best part – he knew when to relax. Suddenly, I realized that Rocky and I had transformed each other. The joy of fostering goes both ways.