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!