Trevor

When I first met my fiancé, she had three big dogs. I mean BIG dogs. Their names were Phooey, Stella, and Sophie. Phooey, was her prized favorite. He was a beast of a dog. So big in fact, his nickname "Bear." He had a Foo Man Chu like "beard" across the bottom of his gentle face that earned him his official moniker. He was older, and had lost mobility in his hind legs. She and her ex-husband, who still lived with her, took great care of Phooey.

Dog number two was Stella. Stella was my personal favorite. She was a big lumbering Rottweiler/Sharpe mix with straight hind legs. She shuffled along at a dopey pace that matched her... well, dopiness. Her head was shaped somewhat like a Porsche 911 with black beady eyes for a windshield and a long snout shaped hood. The hood ornament was big and wet and could sniff out a breadcrumb under a pile of laundry from a mile away. They got Stella when she was just a tiny puppy. Kim (that's my fiancé) saw her at a pet store adoption event. Phooey was already part of their family and when they brought Stella home he was just super excited to have a little sister. He coddled her. He showed her around their house. He protected her and licked her and nuzzled her. They often said that Stella was Phooey's dog.

Kim and John (that's her ex) had their hands full with two big dogs. They were good dogs, but as domesticated animals tend to be, they were also partners in crime. Kim and John had no need or even desire for another dog. As it turned out, they did not have much say in the matter. Sophie, that's dog number three, just showed up one morning and decided she was going to live with them.

Phooey and Stella had let themselves out through the doggy door and started making enough ruckus to get Kim out of bed. She went outside to investigate.

"What are you dogs up to out here?" she inquired.

The next thing she asked was "Who are you, sweetheart?"

Kim found herself gazing upon a sleek white and beige lupinus creature running along the outside of the fence. The snowy visitor was very interested in Phooey and Stella, who were equally interested in the presumptuous canine asserting herself at the edge of their yard.

Sophie was part Husky and part White Sheppard. She looked so much like a wolf what when Kim walked her people often asked "Is that a wolf?" Kim's reply was generally subject to her mood.

Sophie was smart like a wolf. Actually, more like a human. When I say Sophie was smart, I mean if Sophie could hold a pencil she could probably have done my taxes.

It had been established that Phooey was Kim's dog and Stella was Phooey's dog. But Sophie? Sophie was her own dog. She was a basically a wild animal who chose to live with them. She crash landed into their lives and decided to join the pack.

They tried to find her owner, but to no avail. If you know anything about Huskies, you know they are escape artists. Sophie got out a lot. The other thing about Huskies is that they love to run, making them hard to catch when they pull a jailbreak. Whenever Sophie got out, Kim always said that whoever used to own Sophie just got tired of chasing her. That might be true, except that nobody owned Sophie.

Now you're probably wondering why the title of this story is "Trevor" and all the dogs so far are not named Trevor. You might be thinking that it's my name. Well, you'd be wrong. Trevor's tale is coming, but we need to set the stage for him.

Within the first year that Kim and I were together Kim lost two of her dogs. Phooey, her beloved sidekick and all time favorite, was elderly and succumbed to his mounting troubles. That was really hard on her. Especially after everything she and John went through caring for him after he became crippled.

Not long after that, Stella came down with lung cancer. It was a double whammy. Once Stella was gone it left a big gaping hole in Kim's heart and an even bigger one in Sophie's. Being the wild animal that she was, having a pack was mighty important to Sophie. That pack was probably why she decided to live there. After all, it was those two dogs who attracted her to their house in the first place.

In an attempt to fill the absence that those losses created, Kim decided to foster a dog from a local rescue. She didn't want just any dog either. No, Kim reached deep into her heart and found the tenderness to take in a dog that had things a bit rougher than most. She picked out a dog branded with breed bias, who was disenfranchised by its age, and burdened with circumstances of poor luck. A dog who had spent most of the unfortunately short life afforded to dogs, getting an unfair shake. This dog, as you may have guessed, was named Trevor. A name that Kim and I both hated, but he knew his name. So he kept it and we grew to love it.

Trevor was nine years old. He had the saddest face you've ever seen with big cloudy eyes, each trickling allergy fluids that stained his white face with streaks of pink. He had a white head with a dark orange body and a boxy torso that made his profile resemble that of a Hereford cow.

At first he was very stand-offish. He appeared extremely confused when he arrived at Kim's house. He had spent the last two years in the Austin, TX shelter system and had been returned to the shelter twice. The unfamiliar surroundings of a home made him uneasy. It was like watching a person scarred by too many years in prison struggle to transition back into society. As sad as that sounds, Trevor was very lucky to have spent that time in the shelter.

You see, Trevor was an American bulldog mix which basically means he looked a lot like a pit bull. On top of his appearance, he had a bite history. Now Trevor was a sweet gentle dog, but he was old and his arthritis was hell on him. He developed it early and aged a few years sleeping on the concrete floor of the shelter. Parts of Trevor just hurt to be touched. He had two biting incidents. Both were documented to be pain reactions from his arthritis. They were not attacks. In fact one of the bite victims fully admitted that it was their own fault he bit them. Trevor was the least aggressive, most indifferent dog I have ever known.

Unfortunately, none of that matters much for a dog with a thick neck and a square head. When a dog who looks like that bites somebody, it doesn't stand much of a chance at staying alive in most places. But Austin, TX isn't most places. They have an organization called Austin Pets Alive. As their name implies, APA is dedicated to keeping animals from being put down. They rescue dogs and cats from shelters and put them in their own facilities and foster programs. They even have a "Classic Canines" group for the older dogs who have a tougher time being chosen for a permanent home. As you may have guessed, old arthritic Trevor was a member of this dignified senior class.

When Kim brought Trevor home Sophie was so happy to have a pack again. She loved to play with other dogs. Trevor actually had no idea how to play with other dogs, but boy did she try to teach him. The old boy never really caught on, but it entertained Sophie nonetheless. Trevor started to look up to Sophie and followed her everywhere. We were pretty sure this started after Sophie stole a bag of hamburger rolls from the kitchen counter. We theorized that they shared in consuming the spoils and Trevor, being shorter and less nimble, could never have imagined such a feat possible. He must have thought she was some sort of dog Jedi having plundered human food from the invisible upper reaches of the galley. He pretty much never left her side after the day we found that empty bag on the floor. It probably didn't hurt that Trevor loved eating to a degree I have never seen in any other dog.

I once caught him eating Sophie's dinner. Nothing shocking there. As I picked up the dish he continued to eat from it for as long as he could. A testament to his truly gentle nature, Trevor was never aggressive if you had to take food from him. He just wouldn't stop eating it until it was truly out of his reach. On this particular occasion when the bowl was lifted just past his head and he could eat no more, he found himself at eye level with a potted plant. Seamlessly, he transitioned from eating dog food out o the bowl, to scarfing down dirt from the plant. That was neither the first nor the last time I saw that dog willingly consume soil.

Trevor had lots of funny habits. He snored like a cartoon, complete with whistle noises and a fluttering upper lip. He emitted gas that could take the paint off the wall. He buried bones and actually dug them up later. I'm not sure if he remembered where they were or just sniffed them out. I honestly doubt that he remembered. He forgot how to use stairs on more than one occasion. He wasn't the brightest dog. He did have a heck of a nose though.

As he grew more comfortable, Trevor's old bones enjoyed the warmth of our houses. He spent a lot of time at my house in addition to Kim's. We each had a fire place and the heat did wonders for Trevor's aches and pains. The first time he saw a fire he nearly walked straight into it. We are pretty sure that was the first time he ever saw fire.

Heat did Trevor's body good. He would lay beside the fire all night and never get up. When he was panting from the heat, we would bring the water bowl to him so he didn't have to strain his weak back legs. He would lap up the water and just lie there. All the while smiling at the fire and drooling on his white front paws.

One day Trevor was feeling so good that he actually hopped up on the couch and curled up between us. We were stunned. Not only because we didn't think that he could physically do it, but more so because he never displayed any kind of affection or trust for people. Given his track record with humans, who could blame him?

It was becoming apparent that Trevor felt at home with us. He was adjusted. I was pretty sure that old Trevor would not acclimate himself to another family if we passed him on to one. Honestly, the old boy might not even live long enough to get the chance. Plus, I really didn't want to give him up.

The thing with fosters is that the rescue organization covers all the expenses. They provide food, medical care, leashes, beds, and everything, until they get adopted. Since Trevor had nestled himself into our family, I thought it was only right to adopt him as my own and let the shelter use that money to help another dog. Given Trevor's age and health, that was a lot of money, that could do a lot of good.

This was when Trevor became what's known as a "foster fail." Technically, a foster fail is when the foster parent adopts the pet, but as far as I'm concerned, Trevor counts as a foster fail. Even though I wasn't technically his foster, we kept him in the family. In fact, Trevor was somewhat the keystone to Kim and I deciding to become a family.

When I adopted him I had to go to the Austin Pets Alive offices to sign some papers regarding his bite history and indicating that I would keep him away from children and such. Every person that I talked to at APA knew Trevor. Every one of them LOVED him. They were all so happy to hear that he was getting a home.

"Aw. You're adopting Trevor? He's my favorite." said the girl at the counter.

"I love Trevor. He's just a sweet sad old man." commented the clerk who gave the reports to read.

Several people asked what dog I was adopting, and they all knew him by name. There was only one Trevor, and boy did he have a fan club. Still, folks were a little worried that he would be brought back again. They were weary of another outsider breaking old Trevor's heart. When they learned that I was his foster's boyfriend and had been virtually living with him for three months, they were thrilled.

Trevor moved into my house that had a big yard close to an acre in size. I installed a dog door and Trevor would take himself for walks around the perimeter every day. He was like a septuagenarian with a low impact exercise routine getting himself out of the old folks home. In the summer he would lay outside on the bricks to sooth his aching back. Despite the pain he felt, Trevor always endured. It never stopped him from doing anything. He might have done it slower or had to rest a while before he finished. But nothing ever inconvenienced Trevor. Things just were what they were to him. You could always tell when he was getting tired on a walk, but he just kept right on going. His slow and steady ways earned him the nickname Turbo Dog or T-dog for short.

Poor T-Dog had bad allergies. They made his face itch. He liked to rub his face along the chain link fence to relieve the onslaught of histamines. This caused his face to get little nicks and scratches sometimes. His sad marked up face, painted across his bowling ball sized head, that sat atop that bow-legged bulldog frame made him look like a mean fighting dog. When I walked him people coming the opposite way would cross the street. That always made me laugh. People being scared of an old dog who had trouble standing up. Poor Trevor. Forever a victim of his own good looks.

Trevor spent plenty of time at both of our houses. Kim watched him when I was out of town on business. Eventually she moved in with me bringing Sophie with her. A few months after that I got a job offer in New Jersey. Kim agreed to move with me and the four of us set out on an adventure across the continent.

We drove for five days in two separate cars. Kim with Sophie in her 2005 Toyota Prius. Trevor and I in my 2010 Honda Fit. The cars were packed with stuff. Each dog had only a single back seat with a blanket on it for the entire ride. Sophie, being a wild animal who was born to run (note the NJ reference) wasn't pleased with the accommodations. Trevor, being the most appeasing creature ever to walk upon this planet, took it in stride. He would sleep for hours. Then he'd get up and stick his head out the window for a bit. Then back to sleep. He couldn't have been more content. As the car pulled off the interstate and slowed to a stop, he would pop his head up from his nest in the back seat, excited at the prospect of pissing and sniffing. Perhaps even eating. Oh how that dog loved to eat.

We stayed in dog-friendly hotels where T-Dog curled up by the heating vents at night. In the hallways Sophie barked at strangers who were unnerved at the sight of a large loquacious wolf-like creature. They were then doubly alarmed at the sight of a Hereford colored pit bull with the gate of a prize fighter and a blank stare on its scabbed face shuffling along beside the wolf.

The four of us settled on the Jersey shore. The beaches gave Sophie a much appreciated place to run. The house had a fire place to keep Trevor nice and comfy. The yard had lots of bricks where he sun bathed his swollen joints. Trevor aged more. Sophie didn't.

I built a man cave in the basement where I spent a lot of time. Despite his legacy of struggling with staircases, T-Dog mastered a panther like descent method. Going back up was always tougher. Sometimes he would start up the first step and then decide to take a long rest before traversing to the top. He would curl up at the bottom and stay there until he was ready. Nothing ever kept Trevor down, until it did.

He started not making it up the stairs on his own. One day he lied down in the hallway on the main level between the living room and the bedroom and just didn't get up. We tried to coax him, but he wouldn't budge. I remember the look I his eyes when I lifted him up to take him to the car. It was like he knew his time was over. He showed no fear. His sad face and his sad eyes didn't show any sadness. They showed trust. He trusted me to take care of him. A dog that had no reason to trust any human ever, trusted me when he most needed it. Looking back on that makes me feel honored.

We took him to the vet. They gave us the news we had solemnly come to expect. Trevor had suffered from mast cell disease for a while. He had some tumors removed even before we got to Jersey. Time had caught up with him. We knew it was coming. We knew when we got him that we wouldn't have him for very long.

I drove to the restaurant down the road. I ordered a double pour of Bullet Bourbon and a thirty seven dollar rib eye. The whiskey was for me. The steak was for Trevor. The way his face lit up when we started feeding him that steak, you would never know he was having the day he was having. T-Dog, always rolling with the punches. Always brightened up at the tiniest bit of good fortune.

We only had Trevor for two years. I've had a lot of dogs, all of them for much longer. But none of them holds such a profound place in may heart as Trevor. When you adopt an older dog you go into it knowing that you will lose them before you are ready. You could say that about any animal. You are never ready. The thing is, with an older dog you're building a bond on borrowed time. You're not doing it for you. You are truly doing it for them.

We don't know where Trevor was before the two years he spent in the shelter. Obviously he lost at least one home in that time. His life wasn't too good leading up to his last two years, but his last two years were filled with life. He got to have a fireplace. He got to have a yard. He got to have a big sister he looked up to. He got t see the country and stick his head out the window in seven states. He got to see the ocean and a real snow fall. Most of all, he got to have a family and learned to trust people who loved him. He got to have a chance.

I am more proud of adopting Trevor, than anything else I have ever done in my life. I would do it again in a heartbeat.