Year 1

From Lost Pup to Hopeful Hound

Y’all, let me tell ya, goin’ from a scrappy street pup to a hopeful hound was a wild ride! When the Humane Society heroes swooped in and saved my furry butt, I was just a lil’ guy, barely six months old, dodgin’ danger and sniffin’ out scraps like a pro. Life on the streets of San Bernardino was no joke—think soggy tacos for dinner and cold alleys for a bed. But those kind hoomans at the shelter? They changed everything. They gave me a name—Jax! (Not Jack, mind you, but Jax. No clue what they were thinkin’, but it was cool for a bit.) They said it fit ‘cause I was a brave lil’ fighter, even if my biggest battles were over the last bite of a dumpster burrito.

At the Humane Society, I got my first taste of the good life. They cleaned me up—yep, I went from muddy mutt to slightly less muddy mutt. They fed me real food (kibble is LIFE, y’all, who knew?), and they gave me a cozy crate to snooze in instead of a cardboard box. For the first time, I wagged my tail without worryin’ about what was lurkin’ around the corner. I was learnin’ fast, but I was still a bundle of energy, bouncin’ around like a furry ping-pong ball. The shelter folks were great, but they were a bit too serious sometimes. I just wanted to jump, play, and show ‘em how grateful I was for savin’ me! Instead, they’d tell visitors I was “a handful” or “might be a challenge.” Pfft, a challenge? I’m just a pup with a lotta love to give! Still, I wasn’t home yet. I’d watch other pups get picked by their forever hoomans, and I’d think, “When’s it gonna be my turn?” Every time someone walked in, I’d flash my best puppy eyes, hopin’ they’d see past my scruffy fur and big ol’ paws. I’d sit up straight, tryin’ to look like the goodest boy, but some folks just saw a hyper pup who might chew their shoes (okay, maybe I did eye a few sneakers). It was tough waitin’, and sometimes I wondered if I’d ever find my people.

Luck Strikes for JAX!!

Then, one day, everything changed. MY hoomans walked in. I knew they were mine the second I sniffed ‘em—they smelled like love, adventure, and maybe a hint of bacon (score!). The first hooman came in alone, givin’ me a good scratch behind the ears, and I was like, “Okay, you’re cool.” Then they left, and I got nervous—did I mess up my audition? But they came back with another hooman, this hairy one who was so excited to see me. His grin was bigger than mine when I spot a squirrel! Next thing I knew, they were signin’ papers, and I was bouncin’ out the door with ‘em. I was like, “Woof, is this for real?!” On the ride to my new home, my hoomans started callin’ me Hiro. They said it was after some cool dude from a TV show called Heroes—apparently, I’ve got the same brave, curious, and maybe slightly chaotic vibe as that guy. I didn’t know what they were talkin’ about, but I wagged my tail harder ‘cause it felt like a big deal. Jax was cool, but Hiro? That’s got a certain zing to it, don’t ya think? The name stuck, and I was ready to live up to it.

The ride to my new home was a blur—partly ‘cause I was too excited to sit still and partly ‘cause I kept tryin’ to lick the hairy hooman’s face through the car window. When we got to the house, I didn’t know what to do with myself. A whole couch to sprawl on? A yard to zoom around in? And don’t even get me started on the toy bin—squeaky balls, ropes, and a stuffed squirrel? I thought I’d died and gone to doggie heaven. But, gotta be honest, the first few days as Hiro weren’t all tail wags and treats. I was used to fendin’ for myself, so this new life felt... weird. I’d get nervous when my hoomans left the room, thinkin’ they might not come back. I’d chew on stuff I wasn’t s’posed to (RIP that one flip-flop) ‘cause I didn’t know how to handle all the new smells and sounds. My hoomans were patient, though. They’d laugh when I zoomed around the living room like a furry tornado, callin’ me “Hiro, the time-travelin’ pup,” whatever that means. They’d give me belly rubs when I flopped down, confused by all the love. They even started teachin’ me tricks—like “sit” and “stay”—though I’m still workin’ on not chasin’ my tail mid-lesson.

New Pack, New Life

Adjustin’ to my new family was like learnin’ to trust a new pack. On the streets, I had to watch my own back, but here? My hoomans had me covered. They’d fill my bowl with kibble twice a day (what is this sorcery?!), take me on walks where I could sniff every tree, and let me snuggle up on the couch during movie nights (I’m a pro at stealin’ the best spot). They’d even talk about that Heroes show, sayin’ I’m their little Hiro ‘cause I’m always ready for an adventure, even if it’s just chasin’ a squeaky toy across the kitchen. I started to realize I didn’t have to fight for scraps anymore—I could just be Hiro, the couch-lovin’, treat-obsessed, tail-waggin’ goofball. Now, my days of wanderin’ San Bernardino’s streets are a distant memory. I’ve got a family who loves me, a yard to dig holes in (don’t tell my hoomans), and a squeaky toy collection that’s growin’ by the day. I’m still a lil’ wild—okay, maybe a lot wild—but I’m learnin’ how to be the goodest boy for my new pack. Stick around, ‘cause this pup’s got more stories to share, and Hiro’s just gettin’ started!

Hiro’s Grand Adventure in the Land of Hoomans and Kennels

Woof woof, my fellow tail-waggers, couch-conquerors, and hooman pals! It’s your ol’ buddy Hiro, the Black German Shepherd-Labrador mix with a heart as big as a juicy steak and a knack for turning every day into a grand, paw-some adventure! Last time, I spun you the yarn of my scrappy puppyhood in the wild streets of San Bernardino, where I was a lone furball dodging grumpy hoomans and dreaming of a warm bed. Well, buckle up your leashes, grab a squeaky toy, and maybe a snack (no judgment if it’s a cookie—hoomans, I see you!), because now I’m takin’ you to Year 1 of my life, where things got a whole lot less ruff and a whole lot more… well, let’s call it ruff-tastic! This is the tale of my first hoomans, my epic kennel battles, a snowy wonderland, and my big sister Bella, who was basically the queen of my new kingdom. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t all belly rubs and bacon bits—there were some serious lessons, a few oopsies, and one very soggy hallway incident. Let’s dive in!

From Shelter to Kingdom: A Wobbly Start with New Hoomans

Picture this, fur-friends: I’d just been scooped up from the mean streets by those kind-hearted Humane Society folks, plopped into a cozy shelter with a blanket (a BLANKET, y’all!), and suddenly, I’m meeting my new hoomans. There was the Hairy One, with a face full of fuzz and a grin that screamed, “I’m gonna throw that ball for hours!” and the Non-Hairy One, who smelled like kindness and something called “textbooks” (spoiler: not edible, but I tried). I was thrilled, but also, like, super nervous. I mean, I’d been ditched before by some not-so-nice hooman who clearly didn’t appreciate my world-class cuddling skills. What if these new folks did the same? My puppy brain was like, “Hiro, stay cool, but also maybe hide under the couch just in case.” When we brought Hiro home, he was a whirlwind of energy and nerves, like a furry tornado with trust issues. We thought, “Oh, he’ll settle in quick!” Ha! Little did we know he’d turn our hallway into a lake and our backyard into his personal wrestling ring. But those big, soulful eyes? Totally worth it. The first big test came when my hoomans left me alone for the first time. They said they were “going to the store,” but to me, it felt like they were abandoning me to the wilds of San Bernardino all over again. They put me in this tiny hallway, probably thinking it’d keep me safe. Big mistake. My heart was racing, my paws were pacing, and my bladder? Oh, it had plans. When they came back (turns out, it was only two hours, but in dog time? That’s, like, a whole week!), they found me sitting in a lake of my own pee, looking like the saddest, soggiest king of a very unfortunate kingdom. I swear I saw the Hairy One’s eyebrows do a little dance of shock, but the Non-Hairy One just laughed and gave me a gentle pat. “Hiro,” she said, “we’re not going anywhere.” And you know what? I started to believe her.

The Great Kennel Caper: From Cage Matches to Royal Quarters

Next up, my hoomans decided I needed something called a “kennel.” At first, I was like, “Excuse me, a CAGE? Do I look like a zoo animal?” It was this big, clanky box they tried to make look fun by tossing in treats and a squeaky toy shaped like a chicken (rude, but I loved it). They’d say, “Hiro, it’s your safe space!” but I was convinced it was a doggy dungeon meant to trap me forever. So, naturally, I turned it into my personal wrestling ring. Picture me, a gangly one-year-old pup, bouncing off the walls, scratching the floor, and barking like I was auditioning for the lead role in Dogzilla vs. The Evil Kennel. I’d fling myself against the sides, chew on the bars, and generally make it clear that Hiro, King of Chaos, was not about to be caged. Hiro’s kennel phase was… intense. We thought it’d help him feel secure, but he treated it like a gladiator arena. The neighbors probably thought we were hosting doggy MMA fights. Still, once he realized it was his own little castle, he started napping in there like royalty. Over time, though, I figured it out. The kennel wasn’t a cage—it was part of my kingdom! My hoomans would toss in a cozy blanket and a bone, and suddenly, it was like my own private den where I could dream of chasing squirrels or stealing extra kibble. By the end of Year 1, I’d stroll into that kennel like a king entering his throne room, tail held high, ready for a snooze. Lesson learned: sometimes, what looks like a trap is just a new spot to rule.

Snowy Shenanigans and the Hairy One’s Epic Playtime

Now, let’s talk about the funnest part of my first year: the Hairy One and our backyard adventures. This guy was my hero. He’d take me out to the backyard, and we’d play for what felt like hours in dog time (probably an hour in hooman time, but who’s counting?). We’d wrestle, chase a ball, and I’d do my signature kangaroo-hop, bouncing around like I was auditioning for the Doggy Olympics. One time, the Hairy One got so into our game of tug-of-war that he forgot about some “important meeting” and came back inside looking all frazzled, muttering about “deadlines.” I just wagged my tail and thought, “Buddy, you’re welcome for the best day ever.” The ultimate highlight, though, was when my hoomans took me to a magical place called snow. Oh, fur-friends, you haven’t lived until you’ve belly-flopped into a giant snowbank! It was like diving into a pile of cold, fluffy treats. I zoomed around, digging tunnels, rolling down hills, and accidentally getting snow up my nose (worth it). The Hairy One was right there with me, throwing snowballs for me to chase (spoiler: they disappear when you catch ‘em, so rude!). The Non-Hairy One laughed so hard she fell over, and I swear I saw the Hairy One sneak a snowball down her coat. Those were the moments I knew these hoomans were my pack—my forever pack.

The Black Bag Blunder and Learning the Royal Rules

Of course, being a young king meant I had to learn the rules of my kingdom, and let’s just say I learned some the hard way. The Non-Hairy One had this fancy black bag that smelled like a mix of books, weird chemicals, and something called “stress.” I later found out she was studying to be a veterinarian, which is like a hooman who fixes doggos (hero status: confirmed). But back then, I just thought, “Ooh, new toy!” So, one day while she was out, I decided to give that bag a royal inspection. By “inspection,” I mean I chewed it to bits, scattered her papers like confetti, and may have eaten half a pencil (it was not delicious). When she came home, her face went from “Hiro, my sweet boy” to “HIRO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” in about two seconds flat. I tried my best puppy eyes, but I still got a time-out in the hallway (no pee this time, promise!). The black bag incident was legendary. We came home to a paper tornado and Hiro looking like he’d just hosted a doggy rave. We couldn’t stay mad, though—those ears and that guilty wag got us every time. Still, we learned to keep important stuff out of paw’s reach! That’s when I learned every king has limits. My hoomans were super chill about letting me chew on toys, socks, and even the occasional shoe (whoops), but the black bag was off-limits. I tucked my tail, gave an apologetic lick, and vowed to stick to my squeaky chicken from then on. Well, mostly.

Protector of the Pack: The Nighttime Chronicles

As king of my new kingdom, I took my job as protector very seriously. One night, the Non-Hairy One was up late, surrounded by her books and that black bag (post-chewing incident, I left it alone). I was curled up by her feet, dreaming of bacon, when I heard a rattling at the door. My ears shot up, my hackles raised, and I was like, “Intruder alert! Time to be a hero!” I bolted to the door, barking like I was auditioning for Guard Dog: The Movie, and when the door opened, I leaped into action, ready to take down the bad guy… only to realize it was the Hairy One, coming home late from who-knows-where. His face went whiter than a snowball, and I swear he yelped louder than I did! I gave him a big, sloppy kiss to say, “Whoops, my bad, buddy!” and trotted back to my post by the Non-Hairy One. She scratched my ears and called me her “brave boy,” and I felt like the mightiest king in all the land.

Enter Bella: The Queen of Sass and My Big Sister

Oh, and I can’t forget the best part of Year 1: meeting my big sister, Bella. This doggo was a force of nature—part fluffy queen, part drill sergeant. She was a gorgeous mutt with a coat like a sunset and a glare that could stop a squirrel in its tracks. The moment I pranced into the house, she gave me a look like, “Who’s this goofy pup invading my kingdom?” I thought I was the king, but Bella? She was the real boss. If I got too rowdy, like when I tried to steal her favorite spot on the couch, she’d give me a low growl that said, “Back off, rookie.” But she also had my back. One time, I got in trouble for knocking over a plant (it was an accident, I swear!), and Bella distracted the hoomans by doing her signature “spin in circles” move. I’m pretty sure she got me out of a time-out that day. Bella was the queen of the house before Hiro arrived, and she wasn’t thrilled about sharing the spotlight. But watching her teach him the ropes—sometimes with a sassy nip or a dramatic sigh—was like watching a big sister whip her little brother into shape. They’re the best duo! Bella and I had our share of adventures, like the time we teamed up to chase a particularly cheeky squirrel (we didn’t catch it, but we sure looked cool trying). She’d also get me into trouble, like when she’d nudge me toward the trash can and then act all innocent when the hoomans caught us. I’d get the blame, and she’d just sit there, wagging her tail like, “Who, me?” But I loved her. She was my big sister, my partner-in-crime, and the one who showed me how to be a proper king in this new, wonderful kingdom.

A Year of Lessons, Love, and Lots of Wags

Year 1 was a wild ride, fur-friends. From peeing a lake in the hallway to battling the kennel to diving into snowbanks and learning not to chew the Non-Hairy One’s Very Important Bag, I went from a nervous pup to a confident king. My hoomans taught me I was loved, Bella taught me who’s boss, and I taught myself that a good belly rub can fix just about anything. My kingdom was growing, and so was my heart. Stay tuned for more of my tail-wagging tales, because trust me, with Bella around and my hoomans by my side, the adventures were just getting started!