I guess to start this journey off right, I will begin waaaaay back when - "Old School" - as my children would call it.

My first dog was named Pinky. (I know, unusual name, isn't it? We called her Pinky because of her big eyes which were surrounded by very pink skin.)

Pinky was my first experience with rescuing an animal and although I was only 5 years old at the time, I seemed to easily adapt to picking up strays which subsequently became a theme in my life.

Pinky lived a very urban ghetto-dog life. She was frequently seen begging for food on Sacramento Boulevard and outside the liquor store my father owned on the west side of Chicago. Of course, my father fed her, which prompted her to follow him home one day. Us kids (4 girls, ages 5-16) were very excited at the prospect of having a dog, even a street dog who was in desperate need of a bath!  Because of her physical condition, Pinky was not allowed to stay in the house just yet (don't worry, it was summertime and we had a great big covered back porch).

As the evening progressed, our parents said we could keep the dog (she didn't have a name yet, of course), providing she was still on our back porch in the morning. This meant us kids would have to do something sly to make sure this dog did not leave our porch as it was not gated and she would be free to leave at any time. After our parents went to bed, we fashioned a "gate" using various available toys, boards and anything else we could find. Yep, we would do anything to keep this dog!

In the morning and to our parent's surprise, she was still there! I will also add that I have no doubt our parents knew what we did and had already made their decision prior to our fashioning a make-shift barricade to keep Pinky on the porch. 

Early the next day, our parents gave this poor stray a much needed bath and as she sat wrapped in a towel, her eyes wide with fright and excitement, it became a family decision to name her Pinky.