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Enzo Maresca gave Rayan Cherki a dressing down at half time last night after a poor first half display and warned that he was considering taking him off. Cherki’s response? “I told him, ‘Give me five minutes. You won’t need to make any changes.’” Substitutes were sent out to...

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"When I adopted Ash, they warned me he might never really come out of his shell. He was a retired racing greyhound, just four years old, and he flinched at everything. A slammed door, footsteps behind him, even my hand if I reached too quickly. For weeks he spent most of his time standing quietly in the corner of my kitchen with his tail tucked, watching me like he was waiting for the moment I'd give up on him too. I live alone, and I'll admit there were nights when I wondered if I'd taken on more than I could handle. How do you convince a dog that the bad part of his life is finally over? I never tried to rush him. I'd sit on the floor, talk softly, and let him decide when he was ready. After about a month he stopped hiding in the corner and started sleeping on the dog bed. A few weeks later he'd lean against my leg while I made coffee, just for a second before walking away again. The moment I'll never forget happened at my brother's farm. I had Ash on a long lead in the middle of an empty hay field, letting him explore at his own pace. Then the lead dropped away. Ash froze for a long second. He simply stood there, staring across the open field as if he couldn't remember what freedom was supposed to feel like. Then something changed. He exploded into a run. Not away from me, but around me, tearing across the field in huge looping circles with his ears pinned back and that long skinny body stretched out exactly the way greyhounds were born to move. He looked like a dog rediscovering a part of himself that had been buried for years. I just stood there laughing while he kept circling me, faster and faster, kicking up dry hay with every stride. For the first time since I'd brought him home, he looked completely fearless. It felt like I was watching him become himself again. By the time he slowed down, his tongue was hanging out and his chest was rising and falling. He trotted straight back, leaned against my legs, and looked up at me with the calmest expression I'd ever seen on his face. I knew right then that he trusted me. Ash is still the shy dog at the park, and strangers can still make him nervous. But give him an open field, and for a few beautiful minutes, he remembers exactly who he was always meant to be. Have you ever watched a rescue dog finally remember what it feels like to be free?

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The vet had been honest with the Hollands. Baxter didn't have much time left, and the kindest thing they could do now was make whatever he had left count. So on a warm Saturday in June , instead of a normal quiet day at home, they loaded the old Bernese into the back of the van and drove him two hours to the coast. Baxter had never seen the ocean. He was 13, and his whole life had been the backyard and the same worn spot on the living room rug. The kids wanted him to see something big before he went. He moved slow getting out of the van. His back legs weren't what they used to be, and the boys had to help him down onto the sand. For a second he just stood there at the top of the beach, nose up, taking in all that salt air and open water like he couldn't quite believe it. Then something in him shifted. He started down toward the surf on his own, stiff and determined, the way he used to trot to the door when the kids came home from school. When the first cold wave washed over his paws, his whole face lit up. He didn't run, he couldn't, but he waded in up to his chest and stood in the shallow water with the sun going down behind him, and the whole family just watched. Nobody said much. They didn't need to. They stayed until the light was almost gone, taking pictures, letting Baxter rest against their legs, giving him one perfect afternoon to hold onto. The vet was right about the time. Baxter left them a few weeks later, at home, surrounded by the people who loved him. But he saw the ocean first. And every one of them is glad they gave him that.

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“Bruce Lee had me up to three miles a day, really at a good pace. We'd run the three miles in twenty-one or twenty-two minutes. Just under eight minutes a mile [Note: when running on his own in 1968, Lee would get his time down to six-and-a-half minutes per mile]. So this morning he said to me ‘We're going to go five.’ I said, ‘Bruce, I can't go five. l'm a helluva lot older than you are, and I can't do five.’ He said, ‘When we get to three, we'll shift gears and it's only two more and you'll do it.’ I said ‘Okay, hell, I'll go for it.’ So we get to three, we go into the fourth mile and I'm okay for three or four minutes, and then I really begin to give out. I'm tired, my heart's pounding, I can't go any more and so I say to him, ‘Bruce, if I run any more, — and we're still running — ‘if I run any more I'm liable to have a heart attack and die.’ He said, ‘Then die’ It made me so mad that I went the full five miles. Afterward I went to the shower and then I wanted to talk to him about it. I said, you know, ‘Why did you say that?’ He said, ‘Because you might as well be dead. Seriously, if you always put limits on what you can do, physical or anything else, it'll spread over into the rest of your life. It'll spread into your work, into your morality, into your entire being. There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.’” - John Little, “The Art of Expressing the Human Body” (1998)

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Winston had been returned to the shelter three times before the Abbotts came for him. He was an old shar-pei, all wrinkles and gray whiskers, about 11 years old. Every family that took him home brought him back within a month. He was too old, too slow, and too set in his ways for most people. One family even said he was depressing to have around. By the time the Abbotts saw his photo online, the shelter staff had almost given up hope that anyone would choose him. Ray and Carol Abbott were in their late 60s and had just lost their own dog after 14 years together. Friends told them to get a puppy. Something young. Something with plenty of years ahead. Instead, they drove an hour to meet the old shar-pei nobody wanted. Carol says she knew the moment she saw him sitting quietly in the back of his kennel. That first night, Winston couldn't settle. He kept getting up to make sure Ray and Carol were still there. He'd walk to the bedroom, look at them sleeping, lie back down, then twenty minutes later he'd do it all again, as if he was waiting for someone to tell him it was over. Finally, Carol patted the foot of the bed. "Come on up, Winston. You're home now." He stood there for a long moment, almost like he couldn't believe she was talking to him. Then he climbed up slowly, turned around twice, and eased himself down against Ray's legs with a long groan that sounded more like relief than exhaustion. For the first time in months, Winston slept through the entire night. The Abbotts say he isn't going anywhere this time. And after being returned three times, Winston finally seems to believe them. Have you ever seen a dog realize it was finally home?

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