Me, apparently. I adopted Casey in the summer of 2007. I was being stalked and harassed by four men in our little town here, after being effectively abandoned by the men I thought were my friends.
I went to the animal shelter. Casey was there. He just stood there in the cage, looked at me, wagged his tail.
I asked the shelter personnel to bring him out. We went into a little room. He tried to find things to hide under. I took him to a nice vet. The nice vet said he was about a year old, and look at that broken canine. He could have been chewing at anything.
In retrospect, I can see the signs of trauma. But I needed a dog so badly.
Casey came home with me, that August of 2007. Within days, he took out a window, thunder rumbling off in the distance.
“Stop that right this minute!” I howled from across the yard. Ran. Found my new dog running around bleeding from paw and face. He attacked a glass window to escape from the bad noise. He collapsed in shock, panting, eyes wild.
I nailed stock fencing across the windows. I bought him a thunder shirt. I thought about how my dog was brought to such a terrible state.
Chained up outdoors. Bad thunderstorm. Broke his tooth biting through the chain.
Casey spent his first year with humans who would treat dogs so coldly. Then he spent eight years with me, poor traumatized dog that he is.
He left again yesterday. I let the door be open and he ran off again, fast over the fence and gone.
I decided that if he is found, I have to work to try to find him a new home where there is not all this business of bad noises in the sky. Because that’s a bad way to live, being routinely terrified much of the year.
Casey loves humans, he loves other dogs. He’s nine years old. Still jumping fences though!