The Journey Begins...

Let me introduce our "pack" before diving into the journey itself. Our human pack is made up of myself (Jenn), my husband (Brian), our 6 year old daughter (Sam), and my mom (Mormor). We also have my mom's two dogs, Bella (a 13 year old cockapoo) and Sparky (a 5 month old Cocker Spaniel boy). Mom lives about 40 miles away presently, but we're working on shortening that gap in the next few weeks.

I've always suffered with anxiety and depression with varying degrees of severity, but the past 2 years, it's gotten progressively worse, to the point of being classified as disabled. My husband is a type 1 diabetic, and about 2 years ago, I'd started reading about diabetic alert dogs/diabetic service dogs, and we became interested in getting and training one for him. When my anxiety and depression got to the breaking point last year, I stumbled across Psychiatric Service Dogs as both therapy and assistance for those who suffer with debilitating mental illnesses, and began researching this for myself.

Still a bit dubious as to the viability of a PSD for myself, my mom moved to Washington in October of last year with Bella, and we began to notice things right away, such as how much calmer I was when I spent time at Mom's house, and how Bella would react to my impending attacks by climbing into my lap, or pressing up against me in the car when I'd get nervous (also known as "alerting"). I had fewer severe migraines (which generally followed my panic attacks, and lasted for days) as well, when around the dog.

Fast forward a few months, and around March, we decided to ramp up our schedule on my obtaining a puppy for the purposes of training as a PSD. I read everything I could find on the subject, and am still doing my research, even now that my puppy has come home. I read on all my potential breed choices, went to the local AKC dog show, and talked to breeders, and met some of the breeds I was considering. Oddly enough, it was a breed I had not considered -- the American Cocker Spaniel -- that I ended up buying for my pup. Mom had bought from an experienced breeder, and the puppy she got was lively, healthy, smart, and very trainable. He also alerts when I'm beginning to have an attack, and gets me out of the house for the exercise I desperately need to control my depression.

Freedom, my little black Am. Cocker Spaniel pup, was born on Mother's Day, 2011, the day my mom bought her little guy, so there is exactly 11 weeks difference in age between the two boys. I went to meet my boy three weeks later, when we also met a hapless girl Cocker who'd been returned to the breeder for reasons unknown, the former owners swearing she couldn't possibly be pregnant (her bulging belly and swollen nipples telling a very different story).

Freedom and I bonded instantly, and we made the weekly 90 minute (one way!) trek up to see Freedom until last Friday when the breeder said he was finally old enough to come home. The Friday before my birthday, however, we were talking to our now-dear friend, Peggy, who breeds these wonderful animals, about what Brian is looking for as far as color, sex and temperament in his dog, and she mentioned that the lovely returned girl had her pups (half Cocker, half Cavalier King Charles Spaniel). One of the boys is the perfect color, will be a perfect size, and should have the perfect blend for the right personality. Bingo! My darling hubby, being a Dr. Who fan, has named his little bundle Tardis. More on him in another post... *grins*

Freedom has been home for a week and a half now, and is moving along beautifully. He's already progressing on the leash, learning to sit on command, working on "down", crate trained, mostly potty trained (he gets excited, he's 8 weeks old... mistakes do happen!), and we've been taking him to see apartments with us, with great success. He's loving the car rides, and is starting to try to get into the car, but with 4 inch long legs, it's mostly Momma lifting him up, after an unsuccessful attempt.

Last night was his first real trial by fire, pardon the pun. The 4th of July is about the worst possible night for me in the whole year. Freedom, poor thing, couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, despite his best efforts, and stayed perfectly calm through all the bangs, whistles, booms and cracks that had me cringing and crying on the couch. This morning, however, he's refusing to leave my side, my feet, or anywhere close to me. Even his favorite breakfast has barely been touched. He'll train with me, play with me, potty and poo, so I know he's not sick, he's just starting to show he's a working dog, something he's known he was going to be since he was 3 weeks old. Even now, he's laid out on his back, sleeping like a log. But I know that if I move and get up, he'll be on his feet, and right behind me every step of the way. That is how he is, and has been, since I brought him home 10 days ago.