echo

Why I’m Called Echo
Before I tell you about the goofy, playful boy I am today, there’s something important you should know about my name.

My rescue named me Echo because they wanted my story to become an echo—a story that continues to be heard long after the day I was found.

I was shot and left to die. A kind gentleman was keeping me fed and watered, but I was so frightened that I wouldn’t let him near me. One day, he saw me lying on the ground and thought I had died. When he approached, he startled me and I in turn startled him. I could tell he was relieved that I was still alive. A few days later, the nice rescue was able to find someone to trap me and finally get me to safety.

I was given a second chance, and now I get to tell my story.

But my name is also for the countless dogs whose stories were never told. The dogs who were abandoned, injured, frightened, or left to die and never had someone come for them. The dogs whose lives ended without anyone knowing what they endured.

I am Echo for them.

My story is an echo of theirs—a reminder that every dog has a story, every life matters, and sometimes a second chance can turn a story of unimaginable sadness into one of hope.

And thankfully, my story didn’t end where I was found.

I healed. I blossomed. I learned to trust. And now I’m discovering that life is wonderful!

I’m playing with toys, bounding around the house and backyard, making friends with the other dogs, watching Arthur the King (and other shows) on my foster mom's tv. I am also developing a very serious talent for interior decorating.

The front doormat? Living room.

The kitchen mat? Dining room.

Bathroom mat? Hallway.

Sofa Pillows? My foster mom’s bed, obviously.

Shoes? I don’t chew them—I just like to relocate them around the house. I’m pretty sure I’m helping with the decorating, although my foster mom seems to have a different opinion. A plus to redecorating with shoes is that it takes her longer to leave the house because she has to find a matching pair.

And then there’s the bed.

My foster mom has a strict “no dogs on the bed” policy.

I am working very hard to change her mind.

You can often find me sprawled upside down, completely comfortable, taking a nap on her bed as if I have always belonged there.

Maybe that’s because, after everything I’ve been through, I finally know what it feels like to belong somewhere.

I am Echo.

I survived when someone thought I was already gone.

I found my voice when I had every reason to be afraid.

And now my story gets to be heard.

For me. And for all the dogs whose stories never got the chance to become an echo. ❤️