It's just a dog

Except when he isn't. Just a dog. 

Trapper was an elkhound shepherd mix with a little West Virginia Mountain Walkin’ dog mixed in. Nothing special, no titles earned, no tricks learned, no search and rescue finds.  Just loved and adored by his family. 

The first year of his life was a horrible mixture of abuse (outright- being kicked while chained) and neglect (no food or water or shelter).  But, somehow, he kept a flame of self-respect and pride burning.

That flame was covertly and sometime not covertly fed by his neighbors.  During his first winter, the son would sneak over before the school bus came, and tuck him under his coat to warm him.  The father started checking on him to make sure he had food and water. And once stopped the owner during a “training session” that seemed nothing more than a kick the dog festival. The family dog, a Golden Retriever, would go and play with him.

Then the family moved away and left Trapper behind, tied to his box. It was probably the best day of Trapper’s life, being left like that.  The neighbors took Trapper in, not realizing what was ahead of them. He was a difficult dog to get to know and a difficult dog to accept.  He growled at everyone. He wouldn’t go in the beautiful dog house they got for him; he’d rather pee on it and sit on top of it. And he wouldn’t come in their house.  So rather than make him, they accommodated him. They put a strong roof over his pen to keep the snow out in the winter, rain out in the spring and the hot sun in the summer.  During the winter, the walls were stacks of bales of straw covered with ply wood.  In the summer, it was just plywood, used to keep the wind out.  It took three years to teach him to accept a dog house and they did it once piece at a time.  The floor first, a couple of walls at a time and finally the roof.

He couldn’t trust this wonderful family at first, he didn’t know how to, he was never taught that humans can be more than a source of pain.  But, I am sure he remembered a little of what they did for him.  Because with patience and kindness and a lot of time, they won him over.  They allowed him to be the dog he wanted to be, not a fenced, leash walked city dog.  But rather confident unconfined protector of his domain.  He would have been euthanized long before now for biting, or killing small pets, if someone tried to turn him into a city dog.

But his confidence shown through.  He was never argumentative, or acted like he had a chip on his shoulder.  You just couldn't make him do anything, unless he thought it was his idea first.  Even to the end of his life, he didn't trust humans to make any decisions for him.

And that’s why his owners called me. Cars were never going to be his idea of a good time, and he wasn't getting in one.

I only got to meet Trapper three times, all within the last 10 days of his life.  But, for some reason, he struck a chord so very deep in me that I mourn for him almost as much as one of my own.  I don’t know why he made such an impression on me but he did.  And I guess I just need to accept it.

He was hiding under a lilac bush the first time I came to his house.  His owner and I pulled the big branches out of the way, and I politely asked if he would come out and let me take a look at him.  He laid there for a moment, thinking that proposition, and me, over.  And decided he would allow me to take a look at him.  I think that was the moment I fell in love with him.  The utter dignity and strength, even as sick as he was, was evident. 

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything we could do for him.  That’s wrong.  There was a lot we could do for him, but he told me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen to him.

I saw him my third and last time last night, under the faint glow of a flash light in the field of his choosing and lying next to his devoted dad, asking as only he could, to be allowed to pass with the dignity he’s earned. 

And I helped him the only way that was left.

Good night, Trapper.  I feel lucky to have known you, even if it was only 10 short days.