My first dog was a black Laborador Retriever that we got when I was around 9. We had a family meeting and all naming suggestions were considered. She ended up with 'Dutchess Meghan JoJo'. We called her JoJo. She was extremely smart, sweet, and well behaved. She also almost never barked. We had her for 11 years and she barked maybe 5 or 6 times. I cut my animal training teeth on her. My parents would call me the Beastmaster when I'd go out and teach her new tricks. We ended up having to put her down due to a blockage in her colon that was inoperable. The first dog that I got on my own as an adult was half Doberman, half Siberian Husky. She had one yellow eye and one blue eye. You could see the Husky in the ears, the eyes, and the big tail. You could see the Doberman in her coloring (she even had the brown dots over the eyes), her face, and her coarse, straight hair. I named her Copper, after the hound that was a main character of Disney's Fox and the Hound. I adopted her in 1997 from the SPCA. She was 11 months old at the time and had been picked up by animal control because the owners wouldn't or couldn't keep her from roaming and refused to have her spayed. After having her only 3 months, I ended up having to find a new home for. I lived in an apartment at the time and worked long hours and she was *not* happy in that situation. Unfortunately, having adopted her from the SPCA, I had no way of knowing anything about her personality before hand or that she suffered from severe seperation anxiety. I found her a home with a big yard and a family with children and a mom that stayed home during the day. I miss her, but I know she's happier.

When I bought my first house, I decided to get another dog, in 2001. I looked for my future companion through smaller animal shelters that keep their dogs with foster families while trying to place them. That way I could inquire about the dogs' specific personalities with the foster families before adopting and be sure I found a dog that was calm, didn't suffer from seperation anxiety, and was happy with mostly being a couch potato (since my townhouse doesn't have a yard). The dog I found definitely fit the bill. She was an older and much more mellow dog. She was half Rottweiler, half German Shepherd and looked similar to my previous dog. Her name was Sammy. She already had the name when I adopted her, and she knew it. Thus, she kept it. Her actual age was unknown when I adopted her, but was estimated to be between 2 and 3 years old. She ended up in foster care because her previous owners abandoned her. She remained in the empty home until it was razed to build a Shipley's. She then lived on the lot where the Shipley's was built, living off of donuts she was fed. She was finally picked up and ended up with the association that trains dogs to assist the deaf. She was with them for about a year and was doing very well, but started to show food agression. Food agression cannot be tolerated in assistance dogs, so she was given to Twyla's Friends in Kingwood, TX, where I adopted her after she had been there only a month. She showed some food agression with me at first, but firmness, consistency, and training eliminated that problem. She never was able to forget her foraging days, though, because she ate like every meal was her last and her normally well-behaved and sweet personality was all but forgotten when food was anywhere around. Regardless, she was sweet, extremely intelligent, stubborn, and a big baby. She spent 10 wonderful years with me, moving to California with me in 2004. She got sick and passed away very suddenly in 2011 from an aggressive form of cancer. She was a good dog.