Travis pranced into our lives over 14 years ago. His arrival was not without controversy, though, as my family conspired against me to bring a dog home. I’d grown up with dogs, and while I found them to be great companions, I’d experienced the devastation of losing them at an all too young age, and I also knew how much work they were. But my sons were at an age where having a dog was both a reward and a responsibility, and my wife, who loves infants, figured that a dog would be like having a perpetual two-year-old around. Unfortunately, he went from the lovable two-year-old to a sedentary, failing hundred-year-old almost overnight, and we knew it was time to say goodbye.
When he was brought home, it was
against my better judgment. But I was
overruled by a 75% majority. We reached
a compromise – my wife and sons would take full care of him and he would not be
my responsibility. Well, guess what…the
son of a B won me over, and of course my being excused from responsibility was short-lived
anyway. My wife decided early on that he
needed intensive training, and enrolled him in Puppy Preschool. Not a great student, he flunked and had to
repeat it. My wife assumed the role of
alpha dog, and the final results of their shared training was nothing short of
remarkable.
A melting pot of pedigrees, he brought
a diversity to our household that we never expected. We’re not quite sure what his bloodline
contained, but he was about 50 lbs, and had a look and coloring of a Rottweiler,
but we think he was mostly German Shepherd.
Whatever his ethnic blend, it was a fine one, as he was always gentle, very
lovable, quiet, entertaining, and at times frisky. A rescue dog, reportedly from Trenton, he was
adopted at PetSmart where he also attended training (twice) and returned for
periodic grooming. Until recently, he
loved going there, and the groomers loved him.
He really seemed to understand that his rescue changed his life, and he
was grateful for every minute of it.
When he moved in, we also had two cats,
and they never forgave us for bringing this beast into their home. In protest, they moved to the basement and
seldom ventured out. Travis, ever the
peacemaker, tried to coax them upstairs, but they were stubborn. Eventually, though, they settled their
differences, and while they never became close, they tolerated each other. He did, however, have a cat best friend – our
son’s cat, Zoe, who loved him and whom he loved in return.
He was not a pretty dog, but he had a
personality that won everyone over. I’m
not the only one who succumbed. Kids
loved him, people who usually didn’t like dogs loved him, even the mailman
loved him. He wasn’t a jumper, he wasn’t
a barker (at least until recently when he could no longer hear himself), and he
wasn’t annoying in the least. He didn’t destroy
things, didn’t jump on the furniture (except one time), and didn’t usually go
after people food. He did, though,
decide to help himself once to a freshly baked apple pie that was cooling way
back on the stovetop. We came home to
find the glass pie plate smashed on the floor, most of the pie gone, and some
of the glass missing. He sustained a cut
lip in the process, but it didn’t faze him.
For years, Travis entertained us with
his intense fear of loud noises, especially fireworks and thunder. He’d always find a place to hide, sometimes finding
himself stuck under our bed. One of our
favorite tricks was to turn on the weather channel. It would only take one or two notes of the
music to send him running, providing proof of Pavlov’s theory of classical
conditioning – Travis had put it together in his mind that whenever he heard
that music, bad weather was coming.
At Christmastime, he was usually as
excited as either of our sons. He’d open
his presents and play with them, but always gravitated to his favorite – a beat
up ball that he had for most of his life.
So a couple of years ago, we stopped buying him new presents, and just
wrapped his ball and a couple of old toys up.
He was thrilled!
He was usually a great walker, and
until recently, enjoyed his outings. In
his younger days, if we let him out without supervision for a few minutes, he’d
sneak off and explore the neighborhood.
After 15 or 20 minutes, he’d make the circuit and wind up across the
street where they either had treats or some really good trash. And any time we took him out without a leash,
whether we were watching or not, he’d go across the street to visit another
neighbor – Joe, who treated Travis better than we did. To Travis, the grass was always greener on
the other side of the street, and he did his part to make it so.
He even inspired me, on one of our
daily walks, to write what I consider to be my best essay, written during
George W. Bush’s presidency, called Dogmata:
The current events of the time were
great candidates for a number of metaphors and ironies that occurred to me that
day.
We don’t know Travis’s actual
birthdate, but we estimate that he was born around the first of the year in
2000, so that made him almost fifteen – pretty old for a dog. His health was failing, his hearing was gone
(he no longer performed when the weather channel was tuned in), he was almost
blind, he had doggy dementia, and he was limpy and lumpy. So we knew his days were numbered, and we
were left to make a very difficult decision.
He was the best dog to the very end.
He had a good life, and brought a lot of joy to our family. He also tamed the skeptic in me. For all the work, all the costs, all the
walks in the rain…it was a great ride.
So if there’s a heaven, I hope that
dogs are allowed, and I also hope that our neighbor, Joe, finds a place right
across the cloud.
