I told them that I would foster him to try and get some hair on his body. Thousands of dollars later, his coat just never came in. All kinds of mange testing, thyroid panels every month, medicines, ultrasounds. They sadly didn't resolve anything.
He was microchipped, but the shelter didn't research the number well enough. I found out that he came from a pet store in Vegas. So he obviously was a puppy mill boy. The shelter had him as 10, but the store said he was 12, based on the date they "sold him" to his owner. In reality, he was around 15 when he died today, since I took care of him for almost 3 years.
I contacted his real owner by mail to see if I could get any information. I wrote my return address on the envelope in case they moved and I could find that out. My letter or a response from them never came, so it was obvious that he wasn't a stray, but an unwanted doggie.
We believed that he was most likely a maltese and a terrier because he was definitely a "terrorist." He wouldn't go for walks; peed everywhere; growled at people, unless they were pampering him; showed teeth if you got too close; nosed at his food for hours; would eat a specific brand food one day, but not the next day. Let's put it this way - he was the most challenging dog I've ever had. Nobody I know of would have kept him because he really wore at your patience.
He would stare into space; circle and spin around at any given time; be OK one minute and try to bite the next; wet his bed if you weren't in the room; scream if you he didn't see you; and many other neurological and personality disorders, which most normal people would never put up with.
But those symptoms got really worse today and the vet visit unfortunately came, with the expected bad news.
Rest in peace, my little son.
