Introduction: I have decided to once again pull out my bio about how the Unwanted Dog (me) was adopted by an unknown stranger I begged money from in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Some of you who followed my Unwanted Dog, the portion of my bio up to the point where I was fostered, have asked me on previous occasions to continue detailing the completion of the story. So, as we like to say here in Nashville: sit back, relax, kick your shoes off, prop your feet up, and enjoy.


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When I left Hermitage Hall for the last time, I never once looked back at the nightmare from Hell I did want to remember that place was. However, you can't change, or undo, events that you experienced in your past. They will always be a part of you, and help to mold you into what you become later in life. There was one fact I was convinced of. This new adventure I was about to embark on was my golden ticket out of the life I'd been forced to live after my mother's untimely demise to breast cancer. So, I grabbed the bull by the horns and clung tightly to what lay ahead come what may.

Before I scampered inside Dusty's truck, I nonchalantly tossed my one bag into the bed of the vehicle. All my worldly possessions, what few I had, were inside the beat up black leather satchel I had pilfered somewhere along the way. As I recall, there were a couple of changes of ratty hand-me-down clothes, a copy of Old Yeller, and a few other odds and ends. Not much.

Old Yeller. Now there's a good book for you, except I didn't like the ending where "Travis" had to shoot Yeller. All of these items I carried with me out of Hermitage Hall I have lost somewhere along the way as the years have passed by. I still have my memories of those days though. That is one thing time can never mar.

The chore accomplished, I crawled inside the cab of the truck beside Dusty. Although I'd only known him a short while, and I do mean a SHORT while, not a whole lot more than the meal he'd bought me at McDonald's the day I begged money from him in a Wal-Mart parking lot, I never considered the possibility of him being a pedophile, or any other monster of the same ilk. He wasn't.

Dusty looked at me. He placed the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. The truck ran smooth. Almost immediately, what would become Sammi Smith's classic Country song "Help Me Make It Through The Night" blared out of the speakers. It caught me a little off-guard.

Noticing my reaction, Dusty told me, "Get used to the music. You're gonna hear lots of it from now on."

Boy, he wasn't kidding either. I knew he was a sound engineer, but I wasn't quite sure at that time what that term meant. However, I did notice in the console between us he stored several 8-tracks and cassette tapes. Nosey as I was, of course I rifled through them to see who they were, not that I knew any of them. As I remember, he had one of Charley Pride, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Buck Owens, and of course the one everyone and their brother was listening to in 1971: Freddie Hart's "Easy Loving". If you were around then, don't try to tell me you weren't.

Let's see what else my money says you were doing back then. And, a-don't try to snow me about this either. You were, too. You were watching Green Acres, with "Arnold" the pig. Other television programs you preferred were Petticoat Junction and The Beverly Hillbillies. Patton, Love Song, and M-A-S-H dominated your big screen movie preferences. And, news of Watergate would soon be nothing new.

This was the world I entered when Dusty pulled into the circular driveway at 5140 Dodge Street. My new home. I'd never been in the Middle Class section of Metropolitan Nashville before in my life. Hendersonville, to be precise. There was one thing I was sure proud to see. There weren't that many other homes close by in the area.

The house was eggshell white and trimmed with raspberry shutters. The lawn was steep. It looked more like a hill. As you walked through the wooden front door, you entered a spacious living room. This was followed by a formal dining room, then a kitchen with all the latest appliances. Swing left and you found the music room. In it were guitars, fiddles, a pedal-steel guitar, and a Wurlitzer piano. I still have the piano to this day safely tucked away inside a room in my home. Occasionally, I will play it. Since Dad died eleven years ago, most of the time I keep the lid closed so the keys don't collect dust. That piano remains one of most prized possessions.

If you went down the hallway you'd locate two full bathrooms. At the end of that hallway was Dusty's bedroom. Climb the stairs and my bedroom comprised the second floor. And, I do mean the entire second floor. A mischievous young boy could get lost in that much space! Or, into plenty of trouble. I managed to achieve both without a lot of conniving on my part. My bedroom was so large, I considered constructing a Go Kart track in the middle of the room. Dusty would not allow me to fulfill that whim.

Blazer greeted us warmly as we entered the house. His tail wagged a mile a minute. He was Dusty's beloved companion. Soon, I would commandeer him into becoming my protector. The two of us grew to be inseparable. Role reversal was the only problem. He thought I was HIS pup. Much more about that later.