Coats eventually got out, ran into his house, and grabbed a shotgun. Casey had by then arrived at the driveway and tranquilized Suzy, who was now, according to Casey and several eyewitnesses, sitting at the edge of the road, stoned, fingering the grass and flowers. Casey begged Coats not to shoot. He fired three rounds at Suzy; she died two hours later. Coats nevertheless remained steadfast in his belief that the chimps were dangerous. The Herolds stopped taking Travis out in public after the incident in downtown Stamford, and they spent most of their time away from work at home with him.
One night, over takeout spaghetti dinners at the kitchen table, Travis was sulking. He was sitting next to Jerry, facing away from him. Jerry and Sandy were trying to engage Travis. Travis turned, glanced begrudgingly. Which one? Travis looked finally. Jerry opened his mouth. Travis looked for a second before extending his long index finger. Travis looked at her, looked at Jerry, puckered his lips again, exposed his teeth, and tilted his head up toward Jerry.
Jerry cheered. Travis opened his mouth and unfurled his giant pink tongue. Once again, they cheered. By now Travis could not contain himself: He smiled broadly and grunted, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. He patted Jerry on the back.
Heartwarming moment chimp saved from poachers hugs rescuer before being released - Mirror Online
Finally he wrapped his long arm around him. After playing with Travis one morning in March , he went off to work, where his discomfort sharpened. He asked one of his employees to take him to the hospital. One night he said he wanted to talk to her about Travis. He asked her what she would do if he were to die—if it were to become just her, alone with Travis.
As much as he said it pained him, he urged her to send Travis to a sanctuary.
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He told her Travis was too much for her to manage alone. He said it was best for both of them. Several times Sandy put Travis on the phone to talk to Jerry; each time Travis became so upset that she had to take the phone away. Travis sat rocking back and forth for hours. He lifted pictures of Jerry off the wall, put his lips to the glass, held them to his chest. Sandy took them all down and put them in a box. On April 12, Jerry died. Travis continued his rocking. When she sat on the sofa crying, Travis gently brushed her hair. He bit her nails and used an emery board to file them.
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When almost a year had passed, Sandy sat down to write a letter. She drafted it in longhand, and addressed it to a woman in Florida who runs a respected chimpanzee sanctuary. These were the last two paragraphs. Travis still waits for him especially at supper time, because at that time they both had a glass of wine with their supper and if my husband ever cooked anything you can bet it has garlic in it.
Try having two guys breathing on your sleep time with garlic breath. Travis would go to the bedroom window many nights sit on the bench seat look out, get very vocal and happy then come back to sleep, this was always very late at night. Finally I went to psychic and she told me Jerry would visit at night and talk to Travis and my husband would always kiss me good night. I live alone with Travis, we eat and sleep together but I am worried that if something happens to me as suddenly as my husband what would happen to Travis, therefore I have to try to do something before that happens.
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I am looking forward to meeting you. She put everything in a stamped envelope. She never mailed the letter and never made the trip.
Charla and her thenyear-old daughter had lived itinerantly, at one point staying for more than a year in a homeless shelter. Charla had taken odd jobs, picked up occasional yard work, cleaned horse stalls. She gave Charla a job, handling towing dispatch and bookkeeping. She rarely was. For four years, Travis never left home, and Sandy only sporadically did, aside from compulsive shopping trips: She spent hundreds of thousands of dollars at stores like T.
Maxx and Marshalls, stuffing bags of clothes in dozens of plastic bins that filled almost every room of the house. She and Travis relegated themselves to the kitchen and the suite in the rear of the house. In early , construction was under way on a gigantic new addition that Jerry had designed for Travis years earlier.
Travis, by this point, no longer bore much physical resemblance to his former self.
He was 14 years old, five feet tall, pounds, and morbidly obese. His hairline had receded dramatically, and his center torso had gone gray. His face was black and wrinkled. His chest sagged. He spent the majority of his days snacking, watching TV, playing on the computer, and roaming the house. It was February 16, and Sandy and Charla had just returned from a weekend at the Mohegan Sun casino; before leaving, Sandy had taken Charla to get her hair colored and curled, in case, Sandy had joked, two eligible bachelors crossed their paths.
Sandy had offered Charla some gambling money. At dinner one night, Sandy had opened her purse and showed the waiter several pictures of Travis. Now it was after 3 p. He did not want to draw or color. He did not want to pet his cat, Misty. Sandy, slightly concerned, had dropped a Xanax in his mug of afternoon tea. She was on the phone with Charla. She told her about Travis. Later, Sandy would say that Charla volunteered to come over and help; Charla would maintain she was asked.
In any case, Charla arrived at about , opened the iron gate at the end of the driveway, and drove to the front of the house.
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Travis was in the front yard, about 35 feet away. He knuckle-ran toward her, then came up on his two legs. What are you doing? Travis knocked her into the side of her car. Then to the ground. Almost immediately, Charla turned red with blood. Sandy screamed and grabbed a nearby snow shovel. She ran to Travis and began beating him over the head. He was screaming, too, a terrible high-pitched screech. He continued at Charla, unyielding. Hysterical, Sandy ran back to the house.
She grabbed a butcher knife.loseandshine.com/puzo-top-mobile-phone.php
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She ran back, screaming all the while. As Travis stood over Charla, chewing, ripping, pulling, Sandy plunged the knife into his back. He did not stop. She pulled the knife out and stabbed him twice more, to little effect. Travis stood up finally, turned to look Sandy in the face—directly in the face—then continued. Sandy ran to her Volkswagen Passat, parked about fifteen feet away. She got in and locked the door.
She dialed , still holding the butcher knife. Sandy gasped, pressed her feet into the floor of the car to turn around and look, her face pushing the buttons of her cell phone. She sobbed.
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