WestieDogDaze

Travis and Gladys: Criminal Geniuses

Living with Gladys and Travis is like having a couple of criminals around. No matter what the rescue tells me, I know that I was scammed. They knew that if they brought Gladys to me that I would not be able to give her back. She's just too cute and funny, and she looked and felt miserable. Now that I know how similar the two of them are, I am convinced that they have lived together, long term, and they did not acquire these similar habits by living short term at a foster's house.

Let me cite a few ways that they are a match:

• They are both completely suspicious of strangers in the same exact way
• They both love to play ball and they play ball in the same exact way
• They have the same eating and drinking habits
• They play together like old friends
• They communicate with each other
• They get upset at the same things
• They like the same foods

And this is just a short list. After living with these two, first Travis and then Gladys, I can say with certainty that they are definitely related or somehow raised together. The rescue admits that they both come from the same big Texas town, and it seems that they both had been abused at some point. In fact, you can't doubt it about either one of them because they both suffer from doggie psychosis. They are both mentally and physically more healthy than they were, but they still struggle with paranoia. 

Of the two, Gladys is the funniest in a sort of feminine dark way. If she were human, Gladys would be an emotional wreck of a person. Travis typically lets her have her way, and I think she loves him for that. Well, what girl doesn't love getting her way?

Living Life With Gladys

Okay, it's true...I did it again. I adopted another unstable and abused rescue Westie, and I couldn't be happier. I honestly believe that Gladys and Travis shared a secret past history because they are like little book ends, lovely little white book ends with wagging tales. They love me to bits, but they also never hesitate to put me in my place when I ask too much of them.

Gladys, the G in GT (gifted and talented), is unusually tiny for a Westie, almost toy size, with a little yappy bark and a tale that looks like someone cut the end off of it. Knowing what little I do about her history, it could be that someone did cut off the end of her tail. Whatever the case, petting her tale and lower back is only an occasional treat because she is extremely sensitive and will start growling like a wolverine.

Her and Travis, already bonded, play together quite naturally. This morning the zoomies happened, fierce and fast running and chasing all over the hallways and living area. Usually they tag team to throw the ball. They choose a ball they like, Gladys has a fave, and then they take turns demanding my throws. It may be a coincidence, but Gladys uses that ball time to come around and get cuddles and pats, the same exact way Travis does. 

I love my dogs, and I feel bad about losing Bob and Bill. I hate that they both died of the same disease, and I failed to catch it in time. Diabetes sneaks into our lives and steals not only our precious time, but also the pets and people we love the most. From now on, I plan on being hyper-vigilant with my pet's health, including keeping them distant from harmful people. Well that's it on Glady and Travis today. More soon.

Travis, A Spoilt, Only Child

Travis likes his new status as an only child. I guess my terrible guilt about Bob passing away morphed into a type of overprotective indulgence, so I bought Travis new everything. He now owns two handmade leashes, one that even glows in the dark. I bought him a FAFO collar (I will leave it to you to figure that one out) with white lettering stitched all around on a solid black background. I thought long and hard about what fantasy hero Travis most closely resembles, and I believe his personality is much like that of Deadpool, with all the tragic cynicism and raunchiness, so I bought him a fancy Deadpool Buckle-Down collar for those special occasions when we will be around the public. He is also the proud owner of a brand new Pendleton cushion, pictured above, in that splendid blue plaid color suitable for a feisty Scottish rat hunter.

I think Travis believes his time in the doggy foster care system, while meaningful and loving, is no match for his new peaceful, materialistic lifestyle with a dedicated Mommy. His happiness and contentment just leaps out at you.

Still, he is uncertain about other humans. I took him with me to get the oil changed the other day and the technician decided to ignore my request to keep his hands out of the car. Like everyone else that thinks they can reform a hyper-vigilant dog with their own version of personal charm, this guy foolishly walks up, quite aggressively, to the window where Travis suspiciously watched all of the action inside the shop. When the tech muttered, "Don't worry, all dogs like me," I knew he would end up bloody.

People like that should not be around power tools or dogs. 

Needless to say, the manager escorted me and Travis into the lounge area and asked that we wait there "alone" while they completed the service. I don't understand why people attempt to prove themselves with an untrusting canine. If the only noise you can hear rumbling up from a dog's throat sounds like the snarling of a rabid wolf, then it's probably a good decision to back up and not stick your hand into an open set of jaws. 

It happens over and over. I can cover Travis in warning labels from his neck to the tip of his tale, and if we are out in the public someone will casually walk over and proclaim they are a dog whisperer that "all dogs like." I can recite the whole wretched story about Travis' torment with a shock collar and his unstable childhood; I can even add some embellishments to his story to make him seem even more wretched and unpredictable; I can even truthfully state that Travis sent me, his owner--the love of his life--to the urgent care, and some foolish, knuckle-head will still try to pet him. 

Travis, like many unpredictable dogs, is a beautiful and sweet creature, at least in appearance. But he has his personal reasons for wanting to maintain a distance from strangers, so I don't encourage anyone to come near him. I think he likes it that way. I think he is happy in our "aloneness." I know, with time, that Travis will widen his circle of acceptable humans, but he is no rush.

 

When Times are Tough, Get a Travis

Travis, the little dog man with a mind of his own, elevates my mood to blissful happiness--most of the time. We journeyed off together in my little sports car to Austin a couple of weekends ago and spent the night with my adult son at his musician colony. The night became dark and stormy, so Travis organized his little body into a plushy chair, sitting in it all night long fully alert to every creepy sound. Our misery magnified by the scary howling of the packs of feral dogs that live in the woods near my son's sprawling house that he shares with four other twenty-something musicians. This endless caroling kept Travis ready to fight all night long, and forced me to twist and turn, uncomfortably, all over the worn velveteen couch that could probably spend a few nights bragging about its own sketchy history. Travis sat up straight with his head cocked to the sounds of howling and barking, military style, while I repeatedly struggled up and down a dark flight of stairs for the bathroom and intermittent sips of water. 

We started the day in fine form; bright sunshine, with a musical interlude and a tasty snack. We ended the evening at the dog park where Travis threatened an innocent bystander with his snarling; and cold wind and rain threatened to send us off scampering to the car. 

But we are always happy whenever we are together. The strangest quality about Travis is his attachment to Vinnie, my musically talented son. Normally, and on most days, Travis patronizes the odd human, but only to exhibit his ultimate disdain and distaste for our entire species. He will draw a human in with his almond shaped eyes and friendly nature, only to bush up like a hedge hog and then start snarling or biting. But, lately, I am seeing less of this in Travis, almost as if he is beginning to find a way to forgive humans. I think Travis is happy alone with me. I don't think he has the capacity to fully care about anything the way a normal dog does; but I think, with time, he will come to believe that not all humans are tormentors. 

Bob Passed Away and I Am Sick

I wish I could find a way to write about Bob and not start crying, but I'm just too sick and tired to fight. I never expected Bob to die like Bill did; even though I could see that he was failing in just a few short days, I just couldn't face the truth. I look back on the weeks before, and I just can't believe he was that sick. I think he was making an effort to hide it. 

He started drinking more water than usual, and he stopped feeling frisky on walks. After a few days, he vomited his food and stopped eating. I took him to the emergency clinic the next day. His blood sugar was at 400, just like Bill's before he died. I felt frantic, and I panicked. The bill, even though I have some dog insurance, was intimidating and scary. I didn't feel good about one of the vets. I cried and prayed for Bob constantly. I did not want to lose him. Out of all of the dogs I have owned, he was the sweetest and simplest. He was just a kind, old soul.

The team at the clinic put Bob on an IV insulin drip along with hydration. He eventually required a feeding tube, and he felt miserable. Two and a half days later, I let the veterinarian euthanize my precious Bob. 

A side of me wants to believe that someone did something evil to Bill and then Bob. But I know that Bob had always been overweight and kind of lazy. It turns out that he might have had an undiagnosed case of Cushing's disease. The veterinarians that treated Bill and Bob think they had a form of type one diabetes that is probably genetic. 

Whatever the cause, it is too much to deal with in a year. Bill passed away at the vet clinic on January 4, 2021. Bob passed away at the emergency vet on January 24, 2022. Bill was only nine. Bob was only eight. 

Now that they are gone from my life, it seems as if a chapter has been closed prematurely. They were brothers from different litters, and they loved each other. They helped me change careers, raise my Vinnie, study for my master degree, move from house to house, apartment to apartment, and they were my best friends. They accepted me without any questions. 

I am devastated by this.

Travis My Cutie!

Travis enjoying his Hulk shirt. 

I learned quite a bit about him in the last few days. I learned that he is terrified of anything being pulled off of his head. He fought back incredibly hard when I tried to take his sweater off, biting and twisting and snarling. After I finally unmuzzled him, he took around 30 minutes to calm down. I don't know if I will ever let him wear a shirt again.

But he seems to love me more with each passing day. It's been years since I had a dog that followed me around literally everywhere I go; Travis cannot let me out of his sight when I am home. He also enjoys snuggling up in my arms, something that Bill and Bob have never really wanted to do. To say that I am in love with my little Travis is to understate the situation. 

And as much as I love him, I am equally disappointed that he suffered so much before his rescue. Obviously he experienced crushing abuse, especially physically. I can tell by looking at him that he went hungry; I suspect that he was never neutered before he was rescued; I know that he has some form of doggy psychosis, which is interesting in a clinical kind of way. When I tried to pull his sweater off he experienced PTSD. 

All of those things make Travis an interesting challenge, and it's interesting to note that he seems to understand his situation. After he has an episode, his demeanor changes to something resembling human remorse.

 

William Cowper's "The Dog and the Water-lily" Remixed 😃🐾

The Dog and the Water Lily

Originally by William Cowper (1731-1800) and selfishly "remixed" by me.

No Fable

The noon was shady, and soft airs

    Swept the Brazos' silent tide,

When, 'scap'd from literary cares,

    I wander'd on his side.

My Westie, most majestic of his breed,

    And high in pedigree,

(Two losers, adorned with cruelties of ev'ry style,

    That Westie adopted to me)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,

    Now starting into sight

Pursued the ball o'er the fields,

    With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Brazos display'd

    His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent survey'd;

    And one I wish'd my own.

With stick extended far I sought

    To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught,

    Escap'd my eager hand.

Travis marked my unsuccessful pains

    With fixt consid'rate face,

And puzzling set his puppy brains

    To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,

    Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long

    The windlings of the stream.

My ramble finish'd, I return'd.

    Travis trotting far before

The floating wreath again discern'd,

    And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropped

    Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 

    The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,

    Shall hear of this thy deed,

My dog shall mortify the pride

    Of man's superior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,

    Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine

    To Him who gives me all.

 

Dog Rescue to the Rescue!

Last January, my precious dog died. He was a nine-year old West Highland Terrier named Bill, a best friend to me. He helped me survive the early days of my new career by giving me unconditional love and companionship. He was a strange dog with some human characteristics, a sublime way of trying to communicate with me, and a passion for swimming and fetching, often diving into the dog park lake to retrieve a wayward ball. Bill fearlessly protected his perimeter and kindly tolerated his younger sibling, even though they weren't litter mates. Now Bill is in an urn on top of a bookshelf with a large candle beside him, and Bob and I miss him everyday. 

Bob literally went down the tubes when Bill passed away. All he wanted to do was just lie around and listen for Bill to come back home, and I felt devastated. The way that Bill died was painful and drawn out, and I am living with those sad regrets and horrible memories everyday. Bob, pictured below, is the chillest Westie ever, just an older gentleman doing his best.

I knew I had to adopt Bob a new partner, but a puppy wouldn't do. Bob needed someone to play with right away because the depression was getting to him; he felt lonely and out of place without Bill. Bob and Bill enjoyed an easy, brotherly, relationship. I wanted Bob to continue feeling loved and wanted, so I found Travis at a local rescue. As soon as I saw his picture, I knew he was the right dog.

Someone turned Travis over to a shelter when he bit his owner. At that time, the staff discovered that Travis' family had tried to train him with a shock collar and it had burned into the skin of his neck. Some people surmise that someone in the family intentionally tortured Travis with the shock collar. The rescue believes that he suffered from neglect, had once been a stray, and he also spent considerable time lounging around in bite quarantine because he missed his rabies shots. He went to a trainer for rehabilitation, but, sadly, he continues to experience the effects of his past life.

After living with Travis for 7 months, I am prepared to say that it's possible he was just too much dog for his past family. He was blessed with an excellent foster mom, but he had been returned to the rescue a couple of times because he acted aggressive with his adopted family. I can't imagine what all of this passing around did to him. I wonder if he suffers from some form of abandonment syndrome. He also had a dog form of post traumatic stress syndrome, even occasionally having strange psychotic episodes that caused him to imagine something attacking him. When this happens he starts biting at the air and cowering into corners, crying out, and cannot be comforted. I am happy to say he hasn't experienced this kind of an episode in several months.

Travis will soon receive his first Christmas present at home with his new furever family. I'm so proud he chose me to take care of him. I'm lucky!