A face worth stopping for.

In the shelter’s words · excerpt

Goya was lying in a gutter in San Francisco slowly starving, suffering from a necrotic badly broken leg that wouldn't allow him to move away from threats or begin to fly. A kind rescuer picked him up just before he would have been run over by a vehicle. He was absolutely skeletal at barely 100 grams, and his keel bone was so sharp it had caused a lesion to form where it pushed against his thin skin.