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.
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