It was a rough Christmas. The whole family was gathered at my great-aunt's house in San Antonio, and my grandmother was very sick. We were all stressed. My dad decided to try to ride my brother's new skateboard. He fell, spraining his wrist.

As he was getting up, up walked this big, gorgeous golden retriever. He came over to my father as if to say, "Hey, you okay?"

Being my family, we immediately brought the stray dog into the house. We already had one rescue golden, as did my grandmother. We took the dog to the backyard and started trying to figure out his name. At "Rusty?" he paid attention. (Rusty was my late great-uncle's name. The same great-uncle whose house we were in. We all got a little spooked.)

We took the golden back to Austin with us and searched for his owner hard, but no one ever showed up. In the meantime, we renamed him Rufus and found out he had early stage heartworm. Throughout the treatment, Rufus remained the sweetest and chillest dog.

Ten years later, Rufus lives a good life. He's been to visit elderly family and friends in nursing homes and gone to work with my dad. He wins friends everywhere he goes for his easy-going, attention-seeking attitude. I like to say that Rufus believes every party he's at is a party for him. And honestly? He's not wrong.