When we first met Kobi, I tried to look into his eyes to see what lived inside the body that had suffered so badly at the hands of humans. A blank expression was all that met with my gaze, he would not make eye contact, and would not even try to focus on his environment. Absolutely no interest in humans whatsoever. His little body carried him around, but his vacant expression showed no life at all. I had a horrid sick feeling in my stomach when I envisaged what might have happened to him in his short life. He was a very young little person that looked as if he had already given up on life....
We knew it would be a huge challenge to bring a sparkle into his eyes. We had space in our pack for another dog, and we wanted to give a “rescue” dog a new life. A life that would include being part of an amazing pack, eating fabulous food, huge amounts of exercise, even his very own bunk bed!
I felt that there was something very special inside his little shell, one of those "gut feelings" I have earned a reputation for - as evidence all around me was to the contrary. I believed that I could help him and that in some way he would help me....
Kobi was completely petrified of human beings. Petrified to the point of freezing, his mind and body completely shutting down if a human went near him. When he went into this traumatised state, one could have done anything to him and I don't think he would have shown any reaction. Dogs he understood and was fine with, humans he did not trust and did not want to have anything to do with.
He was extremely underweight, covered in fleas and full of worms when first handed into the dog rescue. Apparently he was found on the streets, but it was generally felt by the rescue centre the people that "found him" were actually his owners. His original foster owners had performed a wonderful job of cleaning him, feeding and trying to connect with him. He quickly gained weight while living with them, but would not interact with them, preferring to spend most of each day in a cage, even though the door was wide open.
When we brought him home he quickly settled into his cage, it was his little safe haven, which we respected and would not infringe upon "his space". When he did come out of his cage if either Ian or myself went within 10 feet of him he bolted into another room. We had to wait until he was in a corner before we could clip a lead onto his collar, just to take him a walk. If we looked at him he would cower and drop to the floor.
We considered that he might be very ill or possibly be handicapped in some way. He had not pain responses and his reactions (or rather lack of) to certain stimuli lead us to consider this train of thought.
He seemed fascinated with his own paws as they moved, almost as if they were a live animal that he could chase. It looked like he did not realise they were his own. Baby puppies I can understand show this type of behaviour, as they learn about themselves and their bodies, but at possibly ten months he appeared too old for this immature behaviour.
He never refused any food offered to him, did not chew it, just gulped it down as fast as possible, probably fearing that it would be his last meal for a long while. And his sensitive little tummy took a very long time to heal.
One year has now almost passed since Kobi joined our family. We have all learned a lot in that time and been through a very emotional, roller coaster journey.
Kobi loves to run and loves to race against others, both human and dogs alike. I have run with many very good dogs during my 15 years of cani-crossing, but this little guy offers me something new, and something very special indeed.
He has appeared in glossy magazines, been offered sponsorship, raced against Olympic athletes and has even been nominated to help carry the Olympic Torch next year.
But more importantly, this little boy is happy. Every day he eats good food, runs across beautiful countryside, and every day he smiles. He appears grateful for what he now has, but the truth is that I am the one that is truly blessed to have him as a running partner.
