I have two dogs, a big one and a little one. The little one was given to me after I lost my first baby, and boy did we need each other. He was a rescue and had been in three homes and dealt with some abuse. I could play with him, but he would scatter away when I reached out to pet him. Every chance he got, for about the first year, he was out the front door in search of escape but at the same time, he was attached to me. I couldn't leave his side without him making a huge fuss. I couldn't leave the house without him literally tearing through a door and annoying the neighbors with constant barking. I could have thrown up my hands and given up on him as others probably did, but he was already in my heart. It took patience, love, training, more patience, separation therapy and after three years, he resembled a pretty normal dog. And to my relief, he no longer had the urge to bolt out the door. He is forever damaged from the rough start in his life. To this day, he still ducks his head a bit when anyone reaches out to pet his head, but with love and stability he has calmed to a much more manageable level of adorable quirkiness. There are no more destroyed doors or annoyed neighbors and I can now load my groceries into the house while he waits for me patiently on the front steps.