A dog who previously spent too much of his life in a crate has now made himself completely to home cuddling on the couch and sleeping contently in my bed. (L.) Moe arrives on the truck from Louisiana. (R)Moe at home

Mentioning January 6th conjures up a dark day in our history, but in my own world, it is a joyous anniversary. It was the day I met Moe, bringing love into both our lives.

It was a year ago today on a blustery snowy day that we drove an hour and a half up to Nanuet,  N.Y.to pick up this rescue dog who had been traveling for days in a 48-foot Reefer trailer. Four days earlier, after a tearful goodbye his Louisiana foster mama had packed this dog they called Mo Mo a hearty lunch and put him on the Mighty Mutts truck at 4 am in the dark of night fleeing the south to the safety up north.

For 4 days I tracked his every move noting all the colorful stops of his 30 dog-drop offs. From Malvern Arkansas the brick capital of the world, to Patty’s Restaurant in Tennessee famous for their hand-breaded catfish, to Clearbrook Virginia, and the Hogging Up BBQ & Music Festival they held there.

That morning not sure what to expect with adopting a rescue dog I had never held, I gathered all my good luck talisman with me as I dressed to meet him. As much out of superstition as sentimentality, I put on my blue socks with Stanley’s face repeated from heel to toe and wore my mother’s well-worn fleece zip-up jacket, the one with her name hand-written on it by nurses at her last rehab. As I put on my hooded coat to leave I grabbed a handful of Stanley’s dog treats from the pressed tin Milk Bone box that has housed dog treats for all my dogs for 35 years.

I gave one last glance around the house making certain it was “dog-proofed” not taking any chances on how rambunctious this new dog would be, despite being assured by one of the Lab Rescue people that in their 17 years of working with rescue dogs, she had never met a dog quite like Moe.

Not trusting what might be hyperbole, my great-grandmother’s fragile lamps were quickly removed and replaced by sturdy affordable ones. All breakables within wagging tail range were stored away or moved to higher ground. Shoes slippers and rogue socks were banned from the bedroom floor in anticipation of a nervous chewer.

Little did I know I would discover  Moe had the impeccable manners of a true Southern gentleman. He lived up to his reputation. There is something about Moe

I had just settled on Moe as a name morphing from Mo Mo as he was called by his original family, (officially the rescue organization called him Monty.) Just as I arrived in Nanuet the first restaurant I saw was named Mo Mo Yamma which stood next door to Moe’s Southwestern Grill. It was Moe-town for sure.

The pick-up was planned for a park n’ ride. Because of the snow storm, the delivery time was delayed by an hour or 2 as we bided our time in a diner drinking cup after cup of coffee.

Then we got the text. Moe had arrived.

As we drove to the pick-up, I could see the lone large truck with bright spotlights illuminating it. My heart was racing. In a momentary bit of panic, I surprised myself by uttering out loud “I’m not ready to be a mother.”

But I was.

The snow was coming down hard as we stood at the back of the truck. We were the only ones there. When  a handler called out asking: “Who’s here for Monte?”  I raced forward.

Suddenly there appeared Moe illuminated in the dark, released from his crate standing on the edge of the truck. The handler held him gently in his arms and carried him down. Before I knew it,  this dog I had only seen in iPhone photos was right in front of me.

I held this tail-wagging boy in my arms, looked into his brown eyes and I have never let go.

The biggest life change for this southern rescue dog was the amount of love and time he would now get. Not just part of the family, he would be the focus of the family.