Wesson: How I came to have a home

Sometimes people call me Bug, Bubba, Boo, or recently I've heard Bo Jangles, and even Cowpie, but when my old trainer picked me out of my kennel for my curly tail, attentive stance, and yearning brown eyes, she called me Wesson. It took me a while to find the significance in my name, but it is a name I respond to proudly, as I am the one and only.

I had a bit of a rough start to life in the city, and spent many days confined in my 4x4 jail cell, wondering when the next time I'd get to go outside and roll in the grass would be. I'll spare you the details, as they are grim, but my life turned around when Steph, a trainer for Freedom Service Dogs, came to my rescue. She put me in a new box, one that moved (and made my stomach churn), and I was in a new cell, but this one had my very own blanket and water bowl. I had some pretty cool neighbors, although some were a little too talkative for me. And then there were the ladies....let me tell you fellow canines, these ladies were the best! Every time they came to get me, they scratched my back, my ears, and they took me to meet new friends!! Sometimes they even had (shhh!) BACON!! Well, not the real stuff, but hey, I didn't know any better back then. It was the best bacon I'd ever tasted. Eventually they stopped giving me so much bacon and made me start working for it, but nothing this cool cat....er, I mean dog....couldn't handle. Sit, down, that stuff's for young pups! I showed them!

Nighttime was tough for me...I just couldn't take all the talking and the noises made me nervous. I cried sometimes, and the ladies got a little worried about me. One night one of them took me home, and I had a bed and it was quiet! I was in heaven! But back I went the next day, to the noise, the chatter, and the constant yapping.

One day a new lady came. I had seen her around a few times- she took some of my friends in her moving box with her- but this time she stopped at my cell and told me "Let's get dressed". Those were my favorite words, because that meant we were going somewhere. I wondered if I would be going in her moving box too! I was a little nervous, because last time I went in one of those it made my stomach feel funny, but I was so excited I didn't care. We got dressed, she grabbed a bag (I'd have to remember to stick my head in there later and make sure it was ok) and she put me in her moving box. This one was a lot smaller and cushier than the last one I was in, and we were off.

It was a long time before I saw my friends and cell again, and even when I saw it, it was only for brief moment. Little did I know that this lady (we'll call her mom now) would be taking me to my new home. No more jail cell, but my very own pad! Water whenever I wanted, food galore, my own little house with some soft cushy things to rest my young and growing bones on. And lots of treats! I missed my friends, but I was so happy to have room to move, tons of places to sniff, and all the scratches I could ask for, I quickly forgot them.

How did I come to have my very own blog you ask? Well, first of all, I have the most amazing mom any dog could ask for (I know, I know, I'm a bit of a mama's boy). She thought I needed a place to tell my stories, relive my adventures, and share them with the world. So, fellow canines, people, all those who love a good adventure or story, welcome to my blog!