Just Rocco and Me My name is Basko. I’m a German Shepherd and I’m eight weeks old. I was born in Montana. My father had a crazy German name like “Herman von Schtupen,” and weighed more than 140 pounds. My mom was “Hilda von Worshsteiner” or something like that.” She was a shapely Eighty-five pounds. I wondered why they didn’t share their last name, but I guessed they were just living together. I was lucky, my breeder owned a world famous German Shepherd Breeding Ranch. They posted my picture on the internet alongside several other Shepherd breeders. Hundreds would visit their web site each day. I was born with a black coat. I would soon turn into a combination of black and auburn, with a thick fur coat. I was destined to be a handsome devil. A college kid saw my picture, paid cash for me and I was booked on a flight to Long Beach, California. My breeders scooted me into a small traveling crate, and wished me a good trip. I was off to Long Beach, by way of Seattle. But there were complications. When the Alaska airlines flight landed in Seattle, I was escorted out of the baggage compartment onto a luggage carrier and wound up, forgotten, in the cargo storage area. It seemed like an eternity; I had to go potty and no one to turn to. My bark sounded like a whimper. Next thing you know, a flight attendant approached my crate and gave me the bad news, I missed my flight. Hey, I’m just a puppy, what the heck do I know? She looked at my tag, “Basko I’m in charge of getting you on the next flight to Long Beach. Your new owner’s been waiting for hours. He’s not a happy camper.” This is where my “tale” begins, Pardon the pun. Next thing I know, I’m on a baggage carrier speeding out of the storage area. I saw an Eskimo Page 2 of 9 Just Rocco and Me smiling from the tail of another Alaska jet. The baggage handler picked up my crate, walked up the rear gangplank and handed me off to a flight attendant. “You’re so cute, bet you would like a snack.” Snack?