If Someone Would Have Told Me...

If someone would have told me two years ago that I would one day set-out to train and raise a service dog for my son, I would have laughed in disbelief. In fact, my likely reply would have been, "you're crazy!" You see, before Bo, I was not much into dogs. They were nice for other people and their families but not for me and mine.

Each time Austin asked for a dog, I would rationalize my decision not to get him one with examples of why our family would make horrible dog owners. We would be too 'soft' and surely the dog would not listen to us and end-up poorly mannered. He would chew shoes and furniture, beg at the table, jump on guests and make messes in the house. I was certain our family was not cut-out to raise the type of dog that I considered well mannered — dogs like the ones my sister and brother-in-law had always raised. My mantra to Austin was a litany of responsibilities and concessions one makes when they choose to bring a dog into their home.  He would have to walk the dog and pick-up after it. He'd have to feed and water it and adapt his schedule to be home to let it out and get exercise. And of course, like any 9-year-old child, Austin assured me he would happily do all these things. Despite his sweet appeals, I held firm on my position. Until one summer morning in 2012, when I had an epiphany that changed everything.

To be continued...