The John Travis Story
by Hunter Lee Elloitt
Where Animals Are Always Welcome
I met John Travis 4 years ago by way of cyberspace through
m1911.org a forum related to the 1911 handgun platform. Many of you know him as 1911Tuner.
After exchanging several emails, he
invited me to his home for some firearm show and tell. I struck out early one
Saturday morning with some of my favorite Colts, wondering what
exactly I was getting into.
Johnny was pretty much what I expected, as I
arrived he was sitting in a chair in his front yard wearing a heavily starched
Marine Corps cover and some sort of facial expression that was a cross between a
smile and a scowl (in retrospect it was more of a scowl). I also noticed a
large fenced in yard full of dogs that had worked themselves into a frenzy.
Turns out Johnny was not only a fine armorer but had a
soft spot for animals (especially collie dogs) which added to my respect for
him. We had a good visit at his kitchen table and right away I liked him (it
is tough not to like a hard line, salty old Gunny). After a while my host
offered me a cup of his famous turbo-coffee, I was on the fence about it until I
saw him stir his cup, when he let go of the spoon it stayed in perfectly
vertical, I promptly refused.
As we talked I was introduced to Sassy (the
matriarch collie) who was as sweet as she could be. There were a few dogs and one
crazy cat that were in and out of the room during our visit.
After show
and tell it was feeding time, I was taken downstairs and introduced to more dogs
that seemed very excited to see me (or maybe it was Johnny holding their food bowls).
Johnny gave me a brief history of each dog and
how they came to live there as they were let out for food and playtime. Seeing
what Johnny did with his time and living space really moved me. There are a lot
of animals who do not get a second chance. The ones Johnny adopts are out of
options and his house serves as a stay of execution so to speak.
After
several hours it was time for me to make my way back home. All in all it was
a great visit and I left feeling I made a new two legged and many four legged
friends.
Johnny extended an open invitation to me, which I have taken
advantage of (or it has taken advantage of me) several times.
I had
asked Johnny to write out his thoughts on why he does what he does, here is his
story as it was sent to me unedited. Be advised it is a little graphic.
A few here have expressed curiosity over how I got into rescuing dogs so deeply.
I've always been a rescuer at heart...and have helped several needy dogs and
cats along life's way...but not to the extent and with the intense drive that I
have over the last 20 years. Ironically, it really started because I shot and
killed a beautiful dog one crisp morning in October of 1989. The date is etched
into my memory, and hardly a day goes by that I don't think about it. That
dog...and that event...is why I do what I do.
Working as a production
repairman on the midnight shift at RJR Tobacco usually left me stressed and
haggard by the end of the shift. I needed to unwind before I could sleep and I
found that at a little out-of -the-way nature spot called Shacktown Falls in
Yadkin County. It became part of my morning ritual.
Being that the
location was fairly remote, and not heavily visited during the week...and
because I'm not an idiot...my morning Ying and Yang adjustments included a
sidearm. My habit was to go find my Peaceful Tree...a huge Oak that made a
perfect natural recliner...and I'd lean back and just let all the stress melt
away while I napped in the morning sun.
One
morning, after a particularly bad night...I settled in with my
revolver...a heavy revolver...across my lap, and quickly nodded off.
For some reason, I removed the gun from its holster and placed it
within easy reach. A premonition? I don't know. I do know that if I
hadn't done it, I wouldn't be here to write this because I couldn't
have reached it in time had it been holstered.
Dozing
as the sounds of the falls weaved in and out of my perception ..something snapped me awake. It wasn't a sound. It was more of a
feeling that something was wrong...and across a narrow trickle of water
apart from the main body of the Yadkin tributary...I looked straight
into his eyes. A huge Rottweiler...much larger than the average Rott.
He was bristled and growling low in his throat...lips slightly pulled
back from his teeth.... head lowered. He apparently was surprised
to see me, as I was him. I'd heard of giant Rottweilers, but had never
seen one until that morning. It was apparent that he was stray, but it
was evident that he hadn't been on his own long enough to become rangy
and sore and sick. He was magnificent. With a bath and a few weeks of
regular food...he could have been a showstopper. Instead...he was here,
and he was crouching slightly...preparing to spring.
Behind him were a
half-dozen truly feral dogs. Filthy, and skinny...he had likely stumbled onto
the pack and set himself up as pack leader / alpha due to his sheer mass and
strength. They were focused.... watching and waiting for him to show them what he
wanted done. I raised the revolver and centered the front sight on the Rott's
chest.. .hoping that if I could drop him, the others wouldn't attack without him.
As he crouched lower, getting his legs set...I fired. He fell hard and didn't
make a sound...thrashing only a little. The rangy German Shepherd mix that was
standing behind and slight to his right was struck in the shoulder by the bullet
that had passed through the Rott lengthwise, exiting from his right
hip...breaking the shoulder and causing him to scream and fall. The others in
the pack immediately pounced on him and tore him apart. |
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I used their
redirected attention to leave quickly, and I could still hear the snarling and
the screaming of the wounded Shepherd as they literally ate him alive.
Shaken...I drove home and thought about what I'd just experienced. If I hadn't
had that revolver. If the pack had run into a young family later in the
day...out for a last "Indian Summer" picnic...If somebody had only been more
responsible...IF IF IF
The one thing that stood out was the realization
that most or all of the dogs in that feral pack had been somebody's pet at one
time. Abandoned on the road...or wandered away and lost...they'd done what comes
naturally to dogs. They formed a pack in order to survive...and survival was a
tough proposition. As is also natural with dog packs...eventually a leader will
emerge...and whatever the leader directs them to do...they do.
The
experience was both sobering and saddening, because any one of those dogs could
have been...and some probably were at one time...a cherished family pet.
Somebody wasn't careful to keep the dog from wandering away, or somebody got a
cute puppy that quickly became too big or too rowdy...or too much trouble and
expense...and was dumped out on a back road too far away from home to find his
way back. The eventual result was that I had to kill one of those lost creatures
to keep from being killed and eaten. If my shot had missed...it's unlikely that
I'd have gotten a second chance.
So...on the 30-minute drive home that
morning...my life changed. I decided that whenever I saw a stray dog, I'd make
it my business to intervene...catch the dog if there was any way possible. Over
the years, I've returned more than a dozen to owners who were frantically
searching for their pet. One as far away as Knoxville, Tennessee...a senior
Collie girl who had become frightened by a passing semi's jake brake, and had
bolted from a tourist stop in Cana, Virginia...and found her way 35 miles south
to the area that I was in at the time. She'd been on her own for 4 weeks when I
found her, Filthy, matted, and almost dead from starvation and exposure. She was
so skittish, that if a passing driver hadn't stopped and helped me corner
her... she'd have gotten away. If it hadn't been for that morning at Shacktown
Falls...I wouldn't have been so determined to catch her on a busy highway on a
midsummer Saturday afternoon.
I called the number on her tag, and the
lady who answered screamed at her family at the top of her lungs that Sadie had
been found. Man... wife...and two teenage girls knocked on my door just after
midnight that very night. They hadn't even finished eating their supper before
getting into the car and heading down I-40 to get her and take her home. They
tried to give me the 1,000 dollar reward that they'd offered in the ad they'd
run in the local papers for 3 weeks, but I refused it. I pointed to those two
young girls...holding onto that dog and crying, and the dog crying with
them...and said that I had my reward already.
I think of the dog that I
killed almost every day...and every time that I see a scared, skinny stray...and
every one that I pick up and feed...I tell'em: "You're gonna be okay because of
him."
This is why I do what I do.
Now that you have an idea of how I came to know Johnny and why he does what he
does it is only fitting that I introduce the current crowd of dogs, they number
seventeen.
Sassy is our matriarch. She gets top billing because...well...because she's the
mama. She's not only been the mother of her own litter... she's mothered
everything that's come here...including a litter of orphaned 3 week-old kittens
that lost their mother to a dose of anti freeze...either intentional or
accidental...and did everything except nurse the little rascals.
 Sassy
will be 11 years old in April. She's half Collie and half Border
Collie...and the springboard for a little-known breed. The female
offspring of Collie and Border Collie is mated with a full male Collie.
The result of this is the Old Fashioned Farm Collie, or Old World Farm
Collie. Reversing the process...using the male offspring and a female
Collie technically produces the desired breed, but the offspring don't
have the same desirable traits and characteristics of the ones that are
properly bred. Although the temperament is the same...the tricolor
markings aren't.
The OWFC has the Border Collie's
intelligence without the hyperactive nature. It has the energy and eagerness to
please without the often obsessive drive to herd...although the herding instinct
can be called upon easily if the master should desire.
They are perfectly
willing...but they don't have to, the way a Border Collie does. They are loyal to
a fault, and amenable to strangers once properly introduced...and they are
instinctively gentle with, and protective of small children.
The breed is
rare, mainly because of the exacting steps that must be followed in order to
produce the dogs. You can't mate an OWFC with another OWFC and get an OWFC...but
you can follow the process .
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