Travis: Secret Agent Dog

by Gary Catt –

Well, he’s here. He arrived last month. Finally. He’s a fiddle-footed thing, 12 pounds of hyper-kinesis with face-seeking missile of a tongue and perpetual motion paws sticking out of a brown and white coat.

He’s the replacement dog. He’s got some big paws to fill. His name is “Travis.” Not a name to demand respect around the rugged terrain of Mill Creek, but that’s what he came with not that it matters much. He responds to “come’ere” and “heyletsgo.” Works for me, and I guess him. Not to wander off but I once had a dog inappropriately named Hercules. He responded best to “goddammit.” I couldn’t provide parental guidance to the kids without the goddamn dog climbing all over me.

Anyway, the new dog is here and while we’re still working through the basics, he’s doing pretty well. I got him from a fancy pound I think is run by the CIA or something similar. Go ahead laugh. Then Google this: CIA Project MKUltra.

So to continue, after weeks of searching I lock on to two dogs, both allegedly from the same “rescue” outfit. I’d like to take a look at the two dogs. How about if I just tool on up there some weekend.

Nope. I had to fill out a personal background check form that included pretty much my life story short of my Social Security and bank account numbers. I answered such questions as what my yard looked like, where the dog would sleep, and a couple personal references. Do I own or rent and landlord’s name and number if I rent, and the name of my current veterinarian and the names and phone number for the veterinarians of my last five pets. There was more but I’ve forgotten. I kinda entered a fog by the time I filled out everything.

I filed my application for permission to look at and maybe adopt dogs that no one else wanted. It crossed my mind about who’s doing whom a favor here?

To be frank, I know couples that have adopted babies from foreign countries with a lot less paperwork and rigmoral.

So what the hell, let’s see where this goes? It’ll fill my lonely hours… Perhaps a week later I get a call from the dog rescue place with no known address.

The interrogation was a bit more elaborate. “How many people in the house?”

“Any children?”

“How many hours are you home?

“What kind of work do you do or did you do?”

“Where?”

“Describe your fencing.”

Somewhere in the midst of the interrogation I found myself appreciating my new Simplisafe alarm system.

I started asking questions. So where are the dogs? I knew to ask that because I was a kind of interrogator in my work life. Pretty snappy, no?

“We keep them in private homes, foster homes.”

When can I see them?

“We need more information. Can you email photos of your home’s interior and yard? We may have someone stop by to see you. Would that be alright?”

Yikes! My kitchen floor looks like a menu in a cheap Chinese restaurant and the dust bunnies are organizing a takeover of the living room!

Sure. Come on by.

I really needed to find a dog because my friend – a psychologist who maintains he never analyzes me – has repeatedly suggested that a new dog would be “helpful.”

Helpful?

I needed him to stop treating me as though I was pathetic.

Sh*t, maybe I am pathetic or I wouldn’t be going through this whole song and dance to get a dog from the shady rescue lady.

So I played along, asking for some more detail on the dog, Travis since he’s the one I had the most interest.

“Well, Travis is from New York. He came into our hands after his owner died suddenly and he was sent to a kill shelter where we rescued him. He’s been chipped, but we don’t know anymore about that. The chip is from a foreign country and we don’t know where or how to read it. After we rescued him, we flew him up here to Rochester to try and find him a home. He’s being handled by a delightful animal behaviorist who has thoroughly checked him out for health and disposition etc.…”

Petty fishy, I would say. Let’s review this.

New York City.

Unknown owner dies mysteriously.

Dog is lined up for death.

Identification chip of unknown nation is discovered embedded in the dog.

Rescue operation with no known address plucks the dog from the shelter, puts him on an airplane to Rochester. Did he fly Business Class?

He’s met at the airport by an animal behaviorist who recalibrates the dog for adoption.

You be the judge.

Could this awkwardly named Jack Russell terrier be a retired CIA dog? Was it Travis that set up his master for assassination or worse? Is Travis chipped with important information that a CIA operative will one day want to retrieve? Is the name “Travis” a pseudonym?

Every dog has a tale, I guess. This has been just one of them.

Gary Catt is a retired journalist and corporate communications counselor who lives in Honeoye, NY.

He can be found wandering the trails in the area with his canine companions – most recently Travis.