We'll, she's no longer a pup. She's slipping gracefully (or thereabouts) into middle age. She's going on 6.
OK.
Back in late December 1996 I did a ride along with a fiend of mine who is a US Park Police officer.
Around 3 in the morning, one of his officers (he was shift sgt.) pulled over a couple with a gun.
When we got there, I was the only civilian there, and I was asked to hold onto a puppy (probably 6-8 months old at that time) that was in the back of the car.
When I walked over and looked in the back seat, this Border Collie puppy was there, staring up at me, with the muzzle of the revolver poking out from between her paws.
I took her and held onto her for about 45 minutes until DC Animal Control came for her. In those 45 minutes, I fell totally in love with her, and had my friend drive me over to DC Animal Control in the middle of the night in a police cruiser so I could put in adoption papers on her in the chance that the owner didn't come back for her.
DC Animal Control kept giving the brain-dead owner chance after chance to pick "Monique" (that was her name at that time) up. Finally, she came in, found out she would have to pay $95 for the mandatory spaying fee, and refused.
I went and picked Ruger on January 11, 1997.
I've attached a picture of the only Ruger I own, although it's questionable as to who owns whom.