After 10 months on doggie "death row," Rocky is not the pet Anthony Kallas and Sheri Brown remember.

The 95-pound Weimaraner-Staffordshire Terrier mix, draped like an old sock across the couple's sofa in Royse City, is hard to see as the expressive dog that always reminded Brown of a quirky old man.

BEN TORRES/Special Contributor

Rocky gives owner Anthony Kallas a kiss at their home in Royse City, whose relatively liberal dog laws don't even require Rocky to wear a muzzle when he's walked. Local officials helped Kallas get his paperwork together to register the dog.

It is even harder to imagine the day last September in McKinney when Rocky lunged at Brown's mother, tearing a chunk out of her upper lip.

In the eyes of the law, 9-year-old Rocky is a "dangerous dog" – a pit bull who is lucky to be alive after a judge ordered him euthanized for the attack, which left Brown's mother scarred.

To Brown and Kallas – Rocky's owner since he was a puppy – he is a family member who made a mistake and was hounded out of Collin County amid public and official paranoia about dog attacks.

After fighting for nearly half a year to save Rocky, Brown and Kallas struggled for almost as long to find a new city that would let him in – or where one misstep wouldn't put him right back behind bars.

"It's not really about the dog," Brown said. "Whatever they're fearful of at the time, they're going to regulate."

Accounts of the September attack differ. The city alleged in court documents that Brown had to beat Rocky off her mother. Brown says Rocky stopped the attack immediately and retreated to his bad-dog cage the instant she yelled at him.

Her father wanted the dog put down. Her mother, suffering from an unrelated illness, could not be reached for comment.

Kallas and Brown believe Rocky was trying to protect Brown. Brown's mother was standing directly behind her daughter – scared and hiding from the dog, they say – when Rocky noticed her. Rocky, who had never bitten a person, did not know Brown's mother and may have thought she was about to attack Brown, they speculate.

"If it weren't my mom standing behind me that day, I'd be really glad he bit somebody," said Brown, who appreciates Rocky's loyalty despite the horrific incident.

Brown's parents reported the attack, and Kallas turned Rocky in to McKinney's animal control department the next day, assuming it would quickly agree the dog was no threat.

The city had other ideas.

At a hearing in October, a prosecutor argued that not only was Rocky a threat to public safety, but Kallas – a 24-year-old student at the time – had "maturity issues" that would prevent him from meeting the city's requirements to keep a dangerous dog, which include getting liability insurance and keeping Rocky enclosed or muzzled at all times.

Rocky was sentenced to death.

The ruling devastated Kallas. He said he was so depressed he showed up late to his own protest in front of the court house in November.

But Kallas' last-ditch demonstration did help persuade Randall Turner, one of only three attorneys in Texas who regularly try animal law cases, to take on Rocky's appeal pro bono.

Turner got Aaron Stewart, a longtime dog trainer and behavior expert, to evaluate Rocky at the shelter. Stewart said he did everything he could to provoke the dog, including threatening Rocky with a dust mop.

"I couldn't get him to growl," Stewart said.

With Stewart prepared to testify that Rocky had acted to protect Brown and was no threat, the prosecutor on Kallas' appeal cut a deal in March – sparing Rocky's life but officially declaring him a dangerous dog.

"It was a capital case," said Turner of why he agreed to the deal. "We didn't want to risk the death penalty."

His sentence had been commuted, but Rocky would linger behind bars for nearly five months while Kallas learned that a dog with a rap sheet is about as welcome as a sex offender across much of Dallas-Fort Worth.

Resentful of their treatment in McKinney, Kallas and Brown wanted to settle in Plano, but the prosecution had already warned the city about Rocky.

Officials told Kallas he would have to immediately surrender the dog for a new hearing – and possibly another death sentence – if he brought him there.

"We have to do what we have to do to protect the citizens," said Jamey Cantrell, Plano's animal services manager. "If a dog is declared dangerous in another jurisdiction, that pretty much tells you he has some issues."

Since the order granting Rocky's release also warned the dog had "run out of chances" and could be destroyed for a single infraction, Kallas didn't want to move to a city where Rocky could be one and done for a minor incident.

The couple checked out Dallas, but it prohibits dogs convicted in other cities.

So do Irving, Rowlett, Grand Prairie, Terrell, Richardson, Mesquite and, most recently, Fort Worth, which this month began regulating "aggressive dogs" – those that have threatened people without actually attacking them.

"When it comes to dogs that have bitten someone or another animal, I could not name a city that is 'dog-friendly,' " Turner said.

A Fort Worth official said the city had to "draw a line in the sand" after several serious dog attacks, including a Rottweiler who killed a 3-year-old girl last year after she crawled into its yard and a woman who, he said, was dragged down the street by two pit bulls in January

Although only about a half-dozen dangerous dogs are registered in the city, Fort Worth still dealt with about 11,000 dog bites annually, said Brandon Bennett, the city's code compliance director.

"At the end of the day, what we don't want is even one more dangerous dog in Fort Worth," he said.

Kallas finally found a sanctuary in Royse City, whose relatively liberal dog laws don't even require Rocky to wear a muzzle when he's walked. Local officials helped Kallas get his paperwork together to register the dog.

In late July, a few weeks after Kallas and Brown moved into their 6-acre fixer-upper, Rocky finally came home.

After 10 months in a cage, Rocky was listless, overweight and covered in ticks, according to Kallas. As he recuperates, the couple is trying to move on.

Brown says she and Kallas have reconciled with her parents – though her mother will always bear scars from the attack.

"She's a very beautiful woman and it hit her deep – vanity-wise," she said.

Kallas admits he has recurring nightmares about Rocky attacking Brown as he did her mother.

The couple doesn't apologize for rescuing Rocky, who they maintain is not dangerous despite the warning signs they must keep in their driveway.

They remain bitter about a system they say treated their dog like a criminal.

"It's really showed us a different side of the city, of Collin County and of Texas," Kallas said.