Me & Chewie

This is a guest post I wrote for my friend Tammy Perlmutter's blog. It's about my love for Chewie, and how that inspired me to create the Furever Home Friends.
I know it sounds cliche, but the day I brought Chewie home with me, my life completely changed. The sweet pit bull mix—with expressive half-pointy, half-floppy ears, and warm brown eyes—was all I could think about. At work, I dreamed about coming home to Chewie, about scratching his fuzzy little head and kissing his cute little nose. When I saw articles online about states banning pit bull adoption, my blood pressure rose and I entered full mama-bear mode.
When I scratched his fuzzy little head, when I kissed his cute little nose, I felt the lumps under his fur—nine BB pellets embedded in his face, from some horrible person who’d shot him before he was taken in by the shelter.
When I walk Chewie, most people can’t help but squeal about how cute he is, and who could blame them? But there’s still that small group of people—I see them almost every day on one of our walks—who will recoil with fear when they see Chewie. Maybe Chewie wants to sniff their hand. Maybe he wants to say hello, and he charges forward with a little more excitement than usual. But it still happens—grown adults leaping back with a screech, parents telling their kids to stay away from the dog, random people shouting at me, “He’d better not bite me, or I’ll call the cops!"

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