Spencer
by Steve Markwell, Executive Director
Spencer was my dog before there was any Olympic Animal Sanctuary. I actually paid an adoption fee for him in Colorado, something I've never done since. He had been picked up in New Mexico by a group that catches strays and takes them to shelters in neighboring states. The shelter he went to had already vaccinated and neutered him, claiming he was about eight weeks old, but he still had a bluish tinge to his eyes and had trouble with solid food, leading me to think he was younger.
He began coughing almost immediately after I adopted him, and seemed to weaken within hours, so we went to the vet the next day, where his age was estimated at four weeks, not eight. His health had deteriorated considerably in under 24 hours; he was diagnosed with distemper. All I could do was wait; he received a subcutaneous fluid injection and was put on milk replacement and re-weaned, as his distemper persisted.
I always said goodbye to him before I fell asleep, knowing he would probably die sometime in the night. Around three AM every morning he would climb onto my chest and cough in my face like he was begging for help, and we'd start a new day. He barely ate or drank, he was weak and had trouble walking, and he was becoming increasingly uncoordinated. And of course the shelter that had done this to him, by vaccinating him too young and weakening him with surgery, refused to take any responsibility.
After a few weeks, Spencer turned a corner. He had energy, and was eating more. We had moved to California temporarily, where I had set up an office at my grandfather's house; a few houses down there was a big, orange cat that Spencer befriended, and the two of them wrestled around in the street every day. The lazy, slow-motion way that some cats seem to play was perfect for Spencer. He had developed chronic bronchitis, and coughed a lot when he played, so he became tired quickly, but I finally felt he was going to make it.
At six weeks I began teaching him a few tricks as a means of continuing to bond with him, and Spencer picked up the commands so quickly that within about three days I was running out of things to teach him: sit, shake, other hand, lie down, roll over, other way, stand up, turn around, gimme five... he learned everything in two repetitions and remembered it the next day. And one day, after a week of this, I asked Spencer to sit, he did, and I gave him a treat, but when I asked him to shake, he barked at me instead. When I asked again, he growled. I realized that he was too smart to be told what to do and didn't think any treat was worth having to do a bunch of stupid tricks. I opted to respect what he wanted. If he could come when called and sit down when asked, that was more than enough.
At about seven weeks the little wild dog in Spencer made its appearance; around four every afternoon he wanted to play, and if I didn't play, I'd pay for it. For about two weeks he would attack, cutting my arms to ribbons. He gained more energy, and suddenly could play for hours instead of minutes. I frequently had to physically restrain him just to keep from being slashed with his little fangs. The biting stopped after a couple of weeks, but he still had the energy. He was clumsy and his hind legs had been affected by the distemper; he sometimes tripped over his own feet, and he couldn't jump, even a little.
When he was four months old we started going to local dog parks in the afternoon, and Spencer would play nonstop until dark. He frequently found the biggest dog in the park to play with: mastiffs were a favorite. He'd pester and nip at them until they finally lay down and surrendered. Most dog park patrons came for about an hour; Spencer would wear out one dog, then another, and another, and when he was ready to go he'd sit at the gate and wait for me. Sometimes he'd fall asleep as I carried him to the car. He still had scar tissue in his throat that caused a buildup of phlegm that he'd cough up at the start of every playtime, but he was otherwise healthy.
When we moved to Washington, Spencer's back end began to improve; the neural pathways that had been damaged by the distemper were rerouting themselves, and he could run like never before, and even jump up onto beach logs and boulders. The coughing stopped, too, and he was finally eating well, even too much. I had to start controlling his portions.
As Olympic Animal Sanctuary grew and developed, Spencer was at first annoyed with the other dogs, but eventually became used to having new arrivals on a somewhat regular basis. These days he doesn't even get off the bed to give them a sniff. He's a quiet dog, except when he leads the entire sanctuary in a group howling session. He is outgoing and affectionate with nearly everyone he meets, but he'll always have a very special relationship with me, being the little dog that spent most of the first year of his life sitting on my lap while I drove around the country. He's survived distemper, and more recently, Lyme disease and Babesioisis - two tickborne illnesses he picked up on a rescue trip to the east coast. I don't travel east with him anymore.
One of the benefits of sanctuary life is that as I've specialized increasingly in the care and rehabilitation of feral dogs, pariah dogs, and coyote hybrids, Spencer gets to be part of a pack of dogs just like himself - something few wild-born dogs ever experience in captivity. It's fun to see him as the older, wiser dog that helps the others along with their socialization. But at seven years old, he still seems happiest when he's in the front seat of the truck, so some days we take a drive, just the two of us, just like old times.
