Trooper's Story

When Trooper puts his bandana on, he knows it means an adventure. He is always up for a ride in the car, where he usually enjoys putting his front paws on the center console and looking out the front window or hanging his body as far out the open back windows as he can. He HATES those darn child-locked "half-way-roll-down" windows. He switches back and forth often to see if we are going where he thinks we are going... work! The last two minutes of the drive are extremely hard to handle. Whimpers and little barks are Trooper's "are we there yet???". Sometimes, on the really fun days, I find a heavy tail whipping me on the side of the face as I attempt to drive through W. Concord center. Thankfully, we always seem to make it to our parking area without ever being fully blinded by that tail...
But before we start on the grueling days at work, let's go back to Trooper's younger years.

At a kennel set up by a woman with the desire to help the many strays around Tulsa, OK, I found myself standing in front of a chain-linked enclosure looking at the dog I had come for. She was a beautiful mix of I'm sure some pit-bull and shepherd. Young and seemingly healthy, she was suffering from a tooth abscess.

I was in my early twenties and found myself panicking. It was October when I couldn't handle the feeling of being "alone-in-the-middle-of-the-country-oh-my-god-what-have-I-done" any longer. So I headed to Kellyville, OK to find the dog I had seen through an adoptive site.

I felt bad and guilty for feeling like I couldn't take her home. I figured I should take on a dog with overall health since I was a bit of a wreck and still trying to get myself adjusted to this place where I had no one and where the life I thought I was heading to start just completely vanished. I could have gotten her tooth fixed, even though I was using that to stop myself, but my gut just had me beginning to walk away. 
It was the kennel next to hers, where a yellow and white dog sat as close to the front as he could, with his face pressed up against the fencing so hard that he wedged part of his snout through. I touched his nose with my fingers and poked through to scratch his ears and chin. This dog seemed to push himself even closer to me even though he was well out of space. He looked so defeated in his sad eyes but his actions showed his hope for a home still. 
When they opened his cage door, the volunteers said "oh, we named him Trooper. He is our favorite...". He ran with such wild abandonment. His eyes brightened and he played in the yard with another dog and with the long grass... This dog bounced when he ran around. He was a goofy, playful boy. 
He never went back into that metal cage. He is by definition a "rescue". Often people share how great one must be to rescue dogs when it comes up that he is (as well as my other two). I stop them there. 
I did not rescue Trooper. He rescued me.