On Christmas Day, we saw her for the second time. We were walking the shoreline around the lake when she suddenly appeared in the front yard of a summer home...a beautiful shiny-black, long-legged Labrador with a proud stance. And then, just as quickly, she disappeared. In fact, it was like she had never been there. But she had been there--and was so much thinner than the first time we saw her. That was in early November...she and a husky were in a ditch waiting to cross a busy road. We circled back, but they were gone.

Part of living responsibly in these beautiful Northwoods, where waking up to below zero temperatures for a couple months a year isn't that uncommon, is to be aware of and share the bounty with our feathered and furry friends. The reward for performing small favors, like keeping feeders full of sunflowers and thistle seed or placing suet and peanut butter on branches and twigs and acorns and corn for the deer, is the pleasure of watching their beauty and grace when they come in to grab a seed or morsel.

So with the temperature dropping every night, the mission was to save her...from frostbite or hypothermia or death. So it started by going to the summer house twice a day to leave a quilt, food and bones--all the while talking to her in case she was listening nearby, then racing home to try to catch a glimpse of her through binoculars. She approached very cautiously...although obviously half-starved, she didn't eat before first paroling the area to ensure she was alone.

By keeping the binoculars close, I saw that she periodically trotted from one side of the iced over lake to the other. Late one afternoon I saw her on the lake, so dumped a can of salmon in a bowl, grabbed my coat and ran out on the lake in my bedroom slippers thinking she certainly couldn't resist the allure of that highly odorous delicacy. Wrong again. She didn't even look--just trotted away and left me standing there with cold feet. But I left the salmon. And it was gone the next morning.

Somewhat encouraged, on New Years Eve Day, I was ready with warm clothes and a pail of dog food when she showed up--again on the far side of the lake. She ignored me, as usual, but a vigorous shaking of the pail got her attention. I kept walking and continued to shake the pail and talk to her while she walked away until all of a sudden, she turned and started following me. What an awesome feeling! (Think Horse Whisperer.) I put the pail down, stepped away until she ate--then held out my hand. She started toward me slowly, sniffed carefully, snorted and then smiled and threw herself at me. After a nice belly rub, we headed home--her in the lead, running in my footprints, and waited patiently until I caught up to open the door.

Now her name is Raven, RAGOM's Honorary Golden, and #04-001.

The vet said she is about 2 years old, is in very good health, spayed, HW negative, and weighs in at about 65 pounds. She isn't crazy about riding in the car (at first, she barked and whined as soon as the car started moving, but has calmed down after many short rides and lots of hot dog treats) and demonstrates some separation anxiety. She is housetrained and will SIT on command. No LAY. No STAY. But she is smart and loves those hot dogs so it is just a matter of time.

I have a crate set up with the door open as I'm not ready to confine her just yet and besides, she has not been destructive with free reign in the house. I've walked her on leash twice (she is very strong!), and I will introduce her to the Gentle Leader when the weather gets a little warmer. She is not a runner--she seems so grateful to have a warm loving home, she gets along fine with the two resident dogs and is mildly curious about the cat.

Raven has a wonderful golden heart and will be a terrific companion for a color-blind family.