On May 8, 1999, Webster walked into our home and into our hearts. We knew very little about Webster's first 2½ years other than he was surrendered due to his chronic health issues. He arrived with nothing more than his name and a big smile. Regardless of his past, Webster was ours, and we considered ourselves fortunate to be chosen as his new guardians.
Webster had health challenges. His undercarriage and the backs of his thighs were bald and embellished with scabs and oozing sores. His ears were congested with a thick tarry substance, their offensive odour somehow complimenting the stench emanating from his skin. He smiled at me, and my heart melted.
Our first trip to the vet was enlightening. Webster had skin and ear infections, and he was unilaterally cryptorchid. He was hosting a colony of parasites and very likely had allergies. Skin scrapings returned negative results for mange, and steroids were prescribed to help relieve his incessant scratching. We initiated a stringent regime of antibiotics, steroids, supplements, dewormer, medicated baths, ear rinses and drops. I left the vet that day with a naive sense of optimism, after all, how hard could it be to fix an itchy, bald butt, one nut pup?
Ten weeks after Webster's arrival he was neutered, and the undescended testicle was removed from his abdomen. We were pleased with his expedient post-surgical recovery, but distraught about his non-stop scratching. Although Webster lacked typical symptoms of hypothyroidism, we had a full thyroid panel done. The results came back so low they were considered "unreadable".
Although improvements were noted in the weeks that followed the onset of thyroid therapy, it was difficult to distinguish precisely why. Suspected allergies left us wondering if seasonal changes had offered relief. Was the change in his diet to be applauded or were we witnessing the benefits of steroid therapy? No wiser, we enjoyed our benchmark and continued along the same path. Webster's coat had started to fill in, and a soft down could be felt on his flanks. The pyoderma and seborrhea subsided, and the chronic offensive odour seemed to dissipate and then vanish completely. His incessant scratching was replaced with intermittent bouts of itchiness, and our hopes were renewed.
During Webster's first summer with us we had the opportunity to rescue five orphaned kittens. They were three weeks old and Webster fell in love with them immediately. It was heart warming to watch 150 pounds playing gently with two pounds. It wasn't uncommon to find Webster strutting about with a kitten or two hanging on for dear life. He would scoop wayward kitties out of his food bowl, carefully placing the infants out of harms way before resuming his meal. Each night his newborn charges would line up in a row, nuzzling into the fur on Webster's tail, rooting for a nonexistent teat. Webster was a exemplary surrogate father and the kittens adored him.
Fifteen months after Webster's arrival we adopted 11 month-old Joey. I had hoped the two would become fast friends, but that wasn't to be. Joey was a hellion, and Webster had little tolerance for his antics. Demanding peace and order within his home, Webster took it upon himself to teach Joey what was acceptable and what was not. Webster would correct Joey with lightening speed. Joey responded immediately. It was fascinating to watch the two interact. Joey's reverence for Webster grew as each day passed, as did Webster's tolerance for Joe. Webster was instrumental in taming Joey, and over time the two became steadfast companions.
At 3½ years of age Webster was diagnosed with cataracts and within a year he was blind. Due to an enlarged heart and murmur, he was not a candidate for surgery. To complicate matters, Webster had been trained using hand signals. When he lost his vision, I lost my method of communication. In the weeks that followed I re-taught Webster his basic commands using voice and touch and Webster learned to trust me implicitly. For a while it was touch and go, but in the end our bond was stronger than ever, we were able to read each other effortlessly and we shared a trust and respect that went beyond words.
On September 3, 2003, just shy of his seventh birthday, Webster passed away. Through all of his hardships his temperament never wavered for one moment. We often tell people that Webster was a "rescue", but what we fail to explain is that he was the one who rescued us. Webster changed us, he made us better humans, and he brought our family closer together. Webster was our guardian. I am certain he would've given his life without a moment's hesitation to save his family. He gave us more than we ever could've given in return. It was an honour to be in his presence and a privilege to care for him.