It happened in April. There are 100,000 stray dogs wandering in San Antonio -- more common than graffiti. But I'd never seen anything this bad. He was stumbling down the street, covered in bloody sores with flem streaming down his eyes. It was a wonder that he was still alive, a dog made of ravaged fur, mange, abandoned who-knows-when. And yet -- something told me to feed him, to save him. That he would be alright. I always carry dogfood in my car, and yes, he came to the bowl, a good sign. A man in a pickup truck stopped and helped me wrap a moving rope around his neck, and then I lifted him into the back of my van. He didn't resist. He was even more repulsive up close, yet it hurt me more to leave him behind, so I didn't. Once I got him home, the neighbors gathered to talk about how crazy I am, watched me feed him more bathe him. I think they felt more sorry for me than the dog. What was crazy was that I didn't have a cent at the time -- only blind fa...