He's our foster dog.
Last Friday, I walked into school and there he was hanging out on the second floor corridor.
It was 7:40 a.m. and with hundreds of students flocking around him, he was a little terrified.
I squatted down to pet him, wondering how on earth he came to be in the second floor corridor, when he just flopped on the floor, rolled on his back and waited to be scratched on the tummy.
That pretty much sealed the deal.
A kid from the school's humane society club took Mr. Bo home over the weekend and to a vet. Except for a dislocated paw, he's fine.
Now he's with us, laying on the floor after a dinner of chunky Pedigree, and he seems pretty content to simply be somewhere warm and safe and dry.
I know we cannot keep him.
We are real vagabonds. We have been for a while.
The Humane Society is actively looking for a home for Bo and we have someone who will take him if he's still with us by the time Chinese New Year holiday rolls around.
But this whole time all I can think about is how easy it is to do the right thing.
This guy is so special.
He's sweet and has huge personality.
And now, he has a home.
It is no hair off our back to give him a safe place to be where he will be loved.
For Bo, this simple gesture is the difference between life and death.
Doesn't he, and all the street animals, deserve a good life?