They are the left behind, unwittingly, unwillingly or without care, they are a mystery
They are the curiosity that bends with persistent hunger
They are the glimpse of another society
They are the mud under my fingernails, nails hidden in the everyday world of corporate law
They are the hole in my shirt, the rips in my jeans, the tear in my glove
They are the scratches on my face, the bruises on my legs, the rusted nail in my foot
They are the tools of my life, they are catch-poles, leads, choke chains, muzzles, stakes, bungee cords and bait
They are the crawlspace I navigate, where I lie under a rotted house, silent, as a lone junkie aimlessly wanders onto this deserted street
They are the rats, the snakes, the bugs and everything that crawls around me in the darkness
They are the machete I wield for vegetation that grows taller than me and the pocket-knife I hope to never wield
They are the rotten mold from washed-out front door to washed-out back door and every nook and cranny in between
They are the smell of death in so many vacancies and the picture of a life that used to be
They are the all night trapping session, two blocks from yet another murder
They are the ceiling I stare at when sleep won’t come
They are the maps I plot, every street, every bayou, every dead end, with points taken from photos, sightings and best guesses
They are the blowout on the interstate, the tire, sliced by a city of trash
They are the smell of hot dogs on my vegetarian fingers
They are the New York taxi whistle, and they come, now, but only if they are in the same section of this ravaged city that I am
They are frustration and anger, hindsight and if-only’s
They are determination and drive, they are my inability to give up or give in
They are the business suit covered in wet mud, burrs and thorns
They are the endless strategies and well-honed plans but they refuse to stay within the parameters
They are the traps set along the way when they won’t be found
They are the turning point of trust obtained in a place without boundaries, a place where it is theirs to give, not mine to take
They own the city but the streets have become my playground
They roam the night and the skin I walk in begins to feel like something other than human
They are the surveyors’ flags, the colored chalk, the paw-prints in the dirt
They lead and I follow, through, in, out, around and over ten miles square in any direction from their epicenter, ultimately covering 100 square miles of disaster ravaged Gentilly, Lakeview, Mid-City, Treme and the East
They are my most ambitious project, a year long plus, the alternative choice, to do nothing
They are my education in feralization, triangulation, domestication, the complete and total grasp of things beyond my control, nature, God’s will and life
They are my own magnificent obsession and I have become their most easily acquired possession
They are my success, they are my failure, my highest high, my lowest low
They are two bonded canines, two dogs who roam a city laid waste to Katrina, and I am their tracker, their stalker, their shadow, their menace and their friend
They have changed my life more than I have changed theirs
They are Rocca and Boy
Rocca’s trust came fairly early on, his would be much harder to work for. With claim to a large territory and no rules, no restrictions, it would be months in between their visits but as the walls of distrust were broken down, the visits were longer. When I first spotted Rocca in February of 2006, and then wrote about her and our then year long journey together, “Still Here, Still Counting on us in NOLA” nearly a year later, I did so with the mistaken assumption that the feral and huge male dog she traveled with was the pup I had first seen her with but it would be many months before I would be able to put all the puzzle pieces together. By the Spring of 2007 these two dogs and I interacted from afar, but there was nevertheless an interaction....they managed to make me feel safe in an otherwise unsafe way to spend my time in this city, alone and rescuing animals. Things changed however not long after that and it wasn’t until after I posted their story in February 2007 that I began to see this pair more clearly because the responses were amazingly unexpected.....turns out I wasn’t the only one in the city who knew this pair of dogs. Over the next few months, I compared notes, photos, sightings, all with other rescuers, feeders, people still working to reunite, people here in this city and people who had been here shortly after Katrina and we soon learned that the story behind the story of these two dogs was something surreal and something we would likely never truly know and it was the catalyst of my reaction, a reaction that would ultimately push me to limits I might never have known I had.
Easter Sunday MiraclesIt was like any other Sunday, traveling down S. Miro street looking for signs of life and there was really no thought process to the whistle but she heard it, they heard it and there they were, after more than two months of any sighting of them...had they been rescued, had they been killed or were they possibly holed up somewhere with a new litter? When I discovered that others in this city and beyond were familiar with this pair of dogs, we all feared for them when a photo taken in late January 2007 by a rescuer in Lakeview revealed what looked like a nursing dog...Rocca had pups somewhere, but where? I myself had seen her only one time after that photo was taken and it was on that day, a cold February morning on the very same street that Rocca had allowed me to touch her head. A year had passed since I first saw her, a pathetic and emaciated creature with her pup and they had been gnawing on a rotten, moldy pet food bag, an empty one and now here we were, a year later and finally, she trusted my hand would not inflict pain and I worked hard to contain my excitement so as not to lose that trust...and then she was gone. So months later on that Easter Sunday, when they appeared at my whistle, it was somewhat of a shock, and it was strange but now she wanted my attention, it was more than allowing it, she was soliciting it. What girl? Here you go, what’s a matter, you don’t want the food? What is it? What? And so I did what she wanted, she couldn’t talk and I hadn’t learned canine language but it was clear what she wanted and so we traveled the path together, she in front and then alongside my truck and me just going her way...she took me over a mile that day, into a part of the city I was then unfamiliar with and ultimately they would take me to places that aren’t on any map, but today there was a plan.
My life with Rocca and Boy, changed that Easter Sunday and although I will never know the reason she took me to her solitary pup, did she want her freedom back or did she want me to help the smaller version of her, I do know that she clearly and un-mistakably brought me into her world. Another zip code, another abandoned house, but underneath, a small puppy, hers...and possibly his. He followed us although I didn’t know it until he just appeared again, curled up, way back under the house, not to be bothered, not to be touched. I did what I’m fairly certain she wanted, I took the puppy and she was long ago adopted. Did she look for me that day? Did she just stumble upon a familiar face? Did she give the puppy up so it could be safe or so that she could roam again?
Becoming CanineAlthough Rocca drastically changed the moment I took her pup away, she grew loving and affectionate, she was beyond my grasp because of him. Boy as I had named him, believing him to have been hers, was feral, was beyond feral...he was an elusive giant, a giant of a dog who hid in plain sight but who clearly was extremely bonded to Rocca. So where she went, he followed...at least I think he followed, he always just appeared and then would retreat under the house or building, whatever was close enough to shroud him from the world and me. I could have easily taken Rocca to be safe, just like I had with her pup, but what would happen to him? I knew enough to know that I would never see him again, I knew of his existence only because of her so for the time being she would have to remain on the streets, unsafe and so often unseen. As my bond with Rocca grew daily, I knew that they would eventually return to their nomadic life and so plans were made, traps were set, observation after observation was made and at a point in my life I never expected, I became a student again. The mission to take these dogs off the street became a full-blown study in canine behavior and I found myself knowledgeable of another world, another life and unlike any classroom I have ever been in, this education was hands-on....in order to get the dog, I had to learn the dog and in order to learn the dog, I had to be allowed into their pack.
Leader of the PackBetween Easter Sunday of 2007 and the late summer, I learned, breathed, ate, slept and lived dog.....I watched, I waited, I studied, I read, I observed, I hung back, I joined in, I worked to become part of their inner circle. Nearly all my research had to be conducted in the field because there seemed to be very little research out there regarding feral dogs or dog packs and none existed regarding packs that inhabit a disaster-impacted region, so I dug in my heels and began the journey to becoming canine, behaving canine, making them believe that I was yielding to their language, their behavior, their world instead of forcing them to yield to mine. I struck gold when I was able to find one man, a scientist, a man by the name of TJ Daniels who is the Co-Director of the Vector Ecology Laboratory at New York City’s Jesuit University, Fordham University. When I found an article, or a snippet of an article he had written in the mid 1980's regarding feral dogs behavior, I wrote to him and begged him to sell me the article because although it could be purchased, I would have to enroll at Cornell University to gain access to it....I had two dogs to rescue, I was fairly certain that Cornell was not in my near-future. Dr. Daniels, with no other knowledge than my plea with a brief explanation as to why I wanted the article, was gracious enough to mail a package to me and in that package was pure gold....Dr. Daniels sent me a copy of every article he published during his graduate research and even after, at least a dozen articles on feral dogs, feral dog packs, feral dog behavior, feralization theories....I would soon immerse myself into a feral world in order to gain a better understanding of what I was trying to do. The days and nights I spent out there joining Boy and Rocca’s pack was a once in a lifetime experience but it was Dr. Daniel’s work and his publications regarding that work that allowed me to truly become somewhat knowledgeable about these creatures and for that I am eternally grateful.
Dog Days of SummerAnd so I joined Rocca and Boy’s pack and learned not to worry as much about them....if they were in the area of the city that I was, my whistle would give away their location every time. Over time, Boy became less guarded and more curious until the day came where he came nose to nose with me as I sat in the grass....he was huge, he had always given clear warnings to me when I would try to coax him out from under whatever structure he was hidden, and so when he placed his snout next to my ear and I felt his hot breath as he stood taller than I sat, I was terrified of him, of what might happen, and more terrified of him knowing my terror....so I didn’t breathe. After deciding I was not dinner, he turned and walked away and only then did I regain movement, but what a charge of electricity went through me as well! Whatever the change, it was a change. He was behind me without a sound and then his giant face was near mine, sniffing for an indication that he should bite that face, but he didn’t. Over a matter of days, weeks, he would allow touch, human contact with his fur, his many scars that lined his face, his head, his ears...was he a fighter, bait or just her protector? This gigantic creature who had previously shown no desire to interact with me or any other human, had taken steps in a different direction and I wondered, can we go down this path or will the lack of boundaries prevent this journey? The city was theirs and ultimately, their actions with me was theirs to choose...would he, like Rocca, choose me, a human? Would he interact with a species that evidently had no control over him?
As the summer months became unbearable, I began to see the pair more often, not always in the same part of the city, almost as if they had a better read on my whereabouts then I had on theirs. The traps and poles had long been put away and instead my tools of choice were hot dogs, canned food, my whistle and my affection and they were working. Boy was beginning not only to enjoy my attention but to solicit it, if they came running when I whistled, it was Boy who eventually would be in the front, tail wagging and a huge grin-like expression...Boy’s expression was almost clown-like, he always seemed to be laughing at me and so I laughed at him and eventually it was as if we were all laughing together. But, I knew this would have to end and my plan to take them off these streets would have to come to fruition, but how? Their trust in me was undeniable, their affection for me was mutual as I came to love them but not like any other animals I had rescued, I began to love them and understand them for what they were, or so I thought at the time, but I still had so much to learn.
Labor of LoveWhen all my attempts to leash Rocca failed because of Boy’s possessive-like ownership of her, when all my attempts to lure them both into my vehicle with hot dogs, when all my attempts to trap them, one way or the other, had failed miserably, a decision had to be made because Rocca was once again, pregnant. It was late August, 2007 and she would be delivering soon enough. The decision to take her off the street and to ARNO was ultimately made by a vet student who did not care that they were bonded, did not care that Boy might disappear, did not care that I had not seen Boy for two days now, she wanted Rocca in now and again, I am eternally grateful for her decision, one I couldn’t make. Rocca delivered four pups by C-Section the week of Labor Day and we were told that had I left her out there to deliver as we waited for Boy to reappear, she and the pups would have died due to a breach presentation. So now I had Rocca and her precious pups, but as much as I loved Rocca, Boy was the one who had my heart. I had believed him to be Rocca’s feral pup and then believed him to be her mate, but it wasn’t until one of our last times together, all three of us, that I knew I would never know Boy’s story....as he groomed himself one lazy summer afternoon, I saw it or rather I didn’t see it....Boy was neutered, there was nothing there that could have meant he was the father of Rocca’s pup and more importantly, it was on that day, nearly a year and a half after first seeing Rocca and that pup, that I finally realized Rocca was not the only owned dog prior to Katrina...Boy was neutered so Boy was someone’s dog at some point. This realization hit me hard because Boy was human-aversive, human-avoiding, human -aggressive and I had worked for so many months to gain his trust and his companionship and now I learned he had been part of the human world after all.
