Stephanie M. Wescott
Often times the dreams we chase as children look a whole lot different once we catch up to them as adults. But even if they have an entirely different physical experience, the core—the soul—is still the same.
My life began in a library. When I ran out of stories to read, I wrote. I craved story like a junkie waiting for her next hit. But it was heroines (and heroes), not heroin that was my drug. The only other interest (okay, obsession) was with animals--particulary dogs. I was determined to be a veterinarian to save animals' lives. When I wasn't writing fairy tales, I was reading advanced biology books. By fourth grade, my dream and drive to save animals’ lives went beyond medicine and into advocacy. I had read about vivisection, refused to wear make-up or use products tested on animals and was on the anti-fur kick (it was the 80’s.) |
In seventh grade, when my dog died from slipped discs that surgery could not fix, I gave up the veterinarian path. If I couldn’t save them all, I didn’t want to try. So I took refuge in story full time.
The journey of chasing the story dream evolved from child fairy tales, then short stories, a play, and even screenplays. To become a better writer for actors, I learned to act. Story drove me to center stage, then with my lessons learned, I stepped back behind the curtain. When that didn’t challenge me enough, I went behind the camera. Producing movies—facilitating story’s journey from the writer’s imagination to the big screen--was the dream I chased.
Once in Los Angeles, orchestrating story was a tough dream to follow. At twenty years of age, my job resume only contained Stage Manager in theater and Producer of short films. No one would hire me.
I took the advice of a studio executive: if producing was my ultimate goal, then I had to learn budgets, and since most of a film budget goes to the crew, I needed to learn payroll.
I did just that, and eight years later, unable to climb the ladder because once you’re good at something people rarely want you to stop doing it, I broke; I was miserable. I seemed was failing at catching the producing dream and had been ignoring the other dream--saving animals--completely. It was time I switched gears. In the summer of 2007, I drove 6,000 miles across the country and back again picking up homeless canines from shelters and rescues and bringing them to fosters and forever homes. I didn't have a set route; I let the dogs—and the universe—guide me.
Where they led me was back on the path of that childhood dream—the one I thought was two dreams that I had to choose between. Up this close, I discovered it was clearly one dream, one mission: to save animals through story.
I wrote the first draft of my tale, Precious Cargo: The Journey Home in eight weeks straight. I developed Renovating Rover while on the road and put the treatment on paper in January of 2008. Then I promptly lost my confidence and didn’t show either to anyone for a long time.
While I am still honing Precious Cargo to have as great an impact on those that read it as the actual journey had on me that took it, Renovating Rover has taken greater strides. I produced a pitch reel in 2011, it spent a year under option, but the timing wasn't right for it, and didn’t find the right angle to get it on its feet. I am again shopping it around to find that perfect forever home where it will stand up and take off running.
I continue to make my monetary living by paying other folks to work in the story-making business, but in every city I am sent to, I check out their shelters and learn about their community’s efforts for rescue. Between gigs, I transport, I foster, I fundraise, all for animals. And then I go to the mountains—my church—and write about my experiences to inspire others to go out and do the same. And just like that, the dream is realized: I'm saving animals through story.
The journey of chasing the story dream evolved from child fairy tales, then short stories, a play, and even screenplays. To become a better writer for actors, I learned to act. Story drove me to center stage, then with my lessons learned, I stepped back behind the curtain. When that didn’t challenge me enough, I went behind the camera. Producing movies—facilitating story’s journey from the writer’s imagination to the big screen--was the dream I chased.
Once in Los Angeles, orchestrating story was a tough dream to follow. At twenty years of age, my job resume only contained Stage Manager in theater and Producer of short films. No one would hire me.
I took the advice of a studio executive: if producing was my ultimate goal, then I had to learn budgets, and since most of a film budget goes to the crew, I needed to learn payroll.
I did just that, and eight years later, unable to climb the ladder because once you’re good at something people rarely want you to stop doing it, I broke; I was miserable. I seemed was failing at catching the producing dream and had been ignoring the other dream--saving animals--completely. It was time I switched gears. In the summer of 2007, I drove 6,000 miles across the country and back again picking up homeless canines from shelters and rescues and bringing them to fosters and forever homes. I didn't have a set route; I let the dogs—and the universe—guide me.
Where they led me was back on the path of that childhood dream—the one I thought was two dreams that I had to choose between. Up this close, I discovered it was clearly one dream, one mission: to save animals through story.
I wrote the first draft of my tale, Precious Cargo: The Journey Home in eight weeks straight. I developed Renovating Rover while on the road and put the treatment on paper in January of 2008. Then I promptly lost my confidence and didn’t show either to anyone for a long time.
While I am still honing Precious Cargo to have as great an impact on those that read it as the actual journey had on me that took it, Renovating Rover has taken greater strides. I produced a pitch reel in 2011, it spent a year under option, but the timing wasn't right for it, and didn’t find the right angle to get it on its feet. I am again shopping it around to find that perfect forever home where it will stand up and take off running.
I continue to make my monetary living by paying other folks to work in the story-making business, but in every city I am sent to, I check out their shelters and learn about their community’s efforts for rescue. Between gigs, I transport, I foster, I fundraise, all for animals. And then I go to the mountains—my church—and write about my experiences to inspire others to go out and do the same. And just like that, the dream is realized: I'm saving animals through story.
Tucker McNally Wescott
Tucker refuses to tell me much of his past; he, like all
dogs, live in the present. And he likes to keep the mystery alive in our
relationship.
What I have gleaned from him is that his first family treated him well, but just didn’t share his level of wanderlust. Tucker loves adventure, going new places, and making new friends. One autumn day, Tucker walked out his house in search of adventure and a lady companion (Tucker loves the ladies, and not being neutered at the time meant he could take it further than an innocent flirtation) and his family did not follow. |
Sadly, this Tramp did not find his Lady; he found a Los Angeles County Animal Control Officer who took him to the Castaic Animal Shelter. There he waited, but his family did not come to get him. One shelter worker, Terry, fell madly in love with him. Not only did she train with him every day, but she fought for his life each and every time the red list—the list of who would be euthanized—was made.
Six weeks later and two balls less, Tucker—then called Bruno—was peddled at the NKLA Super Adoption in Los Angeles which is where I entered the cast of his life story. This was Tucker’s last shot. If he didn’t get adopted or rescued, he’d return to the shelter and be put to death. Terry couldn’t let this happen. And I refused to even ponder the possibility.
I didn’t understand why he was looked over again and again by adopters who stopped and played with him. And every rescue I brought him to said they were at capacity or wouldn’t take him even if I offered to foster. At the end of the event, Tucker still had no interest. With tears in her eyes, Terry took up on stage to make one last plea for a rescue to take him with me as foster already lined up.
A rescue I had never heard of—Hanging with Friends—yelled out in the crowd that they’d take him. Half an hour later, paperwork was complete and Tucker was riding shotgun in my truck. I thought I was supposed to find him his forever home. He knew he had already found it.
The name Bruno was short-lived and I re-christened him Tucker which he accepted with gusto. He played the charade of going to adoption events with me where every passerby said, “He’s up for adoption? But he’s your dog. You can tell.” I denied the obvious for two full weeks and by week three, I officially foster-failed.
Tucker found his lady—a human one that is—that shares his wanderlust and will accompany him on every adventure his heart desires. She even surprises him with ones he could never fathom. And she introduces him to canine ladies (for innocent flirtation only) and boys he can rough house with. He found his partner in travel and adventure, and I found joy. Tucker, in one word, is joy.
In just the first six months, we traveled over 8,000 miles, visited 13 states (United, not emotional), graduated from two obedience classes, three agility courses, walked a marathon, hiked the Georgian mountains, won contests, and lived in houses on both sides of the country. Tucker’s in for a wild ride of a life and can’t wait to share it with you!
Six weeks later and two balls less, Tucker—then called Bruno—was peddled at the NKLA Super Adoption in Los Angeles which is where I entered the cast of his life story. This was Tucker’s last shot. If he didn’t get adopted or rescued, he’d return to the shelter and be put to death. Terry couldn’t let this happen. And I refused to even ponder the possibility.
I didn’t understand why he was looked over again and again by adopters who stopped and played with him. And every rescue I brought him to said they were at capacity or wouldn’t take him even if I offered to foster. At the end of the event, Tucker still had no interest. With tears in her eyes, Terry took up on stage to make one last plea for a rescue to take him with me as foster already lined up.
A rescue I had never heard of—Hanging with Friends—yelled out in the crowd that they’d take him. Half an hour later, paperwork was complete and Tucker was riding shotgun in my truck. I thought I was supposed to find him his forever home. He knew he had already found it.
The name Bruno was short-lived and I re-christened him Tucker which he accepted with gusto. He played the charade of going to adoption events with me where every passerby said, “He’s up for adoption? But he’s your dog. You can tell.” I denied the obvious for two full weeks and by week three, I officially foster-failed.
Tucker found his lady—a human one that is—that shares his wanderlust and will accompany him on every adventure his heart desires. She even surprises him with ones he could never fathom. And she introduces him to canine ladies (for innocent flirtation only) and boys he can rough house with. He found his partner in travel and adventure, and I found joy. Tucker, in one word, is joy.
In just the first six months, we traveled over 8,000 miles, visited 13 states (United, not emotional), graduated from two obedience classes, three agility courses, walked a marathon, hiked the Georgian mountains, won contests, and lived in houses on both sides of the country. Tucker’s in for a wild ride of a life and can’t wait to share it with you!