His Name Was Rosko
I worked for my father at a gas station he managed in Santa Anna California. One evening during my shift at the station a German Shepard dog wondered into the station and laid down under the canopy in the shade. I was talking to him and petting him of course his tail was wagging so I figured I have a new found friend.
I gave him most of my French fries while I was eating my lunch, I also shared some of the burger I had. I began making sure he had water to drink, and some food for him to eat, while he hanged around at the station. It had been close to three days since Rosko, showed up, when dad came to me and said "the dog has to go Larry,I'm calling the pound if you can't find someone who wants him in a couple of days." I new dad wasn't going to change his mind but there wasn't anything I could do
Later, that evening, I made sure his water pail was full of fresh water, and I set out some dog food for him. It was 11:30, pm and time for me to go home for the night. I petted Rosko on the head and told him I would be back tomorrow, after school. He wagged,his tail and kind of said goodbye,in his own little way. Bob Thompson, was the graveyard man, who worked at the station during the late shift. Some time early in the morning around 3:00 am,an armed robber opened the door to the office,where bob was sitting,and stuck a gun in his face,asking him for all of the money.
Rosko sprang into action jumping and biting at the robber scaring the crap out of the robber forcing him to run away. I was proud as hell of Rosko and so was dad. Dad new what I was thinking and he made it clear that Rosko still had to go. The Local News reporters showed up and did a news clip about the dog foiling the armed robbery after the news was in the paper and also on television.
My father received a telephone call from Rosko's owner. The man introduced himself as the dogs owner and asked if he could drive there and pick up the dog. Of course dad said he could the man and his family showed up the next weekend pictures and all proving that Rosko belonged to them. The real story is how the dog made it from phoenix Arizona to Santa Anna California.? I've often wondered about that.