Sunrise in Meriden, by Scribner Fauver
Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a weekly Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, a wry exchange, a poem or anecdote or reflection… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and that might strike us all as interesting or funny or poignant.
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Dear Daybreak:
I wasn’t looking for a full 70 pounds. I struggle with a 40-pound bag of heating pellets. But Titan came tagged as an “interesting mix,” like a trendy cocktail worth trying. There was something about cattle dogs (screaming Australia), and the familiar, friendly yellow lab and English setter that had me lingering on his page. In the end it was the eyes, a combination of bloodshot and the sad-faced character actor in Ghost. I knew I’d found our rescue.
“Titan? It sounds so aggressive.” I could hear my daughter’s voice resonating over the call with her son, who was visiting with us. “Seamus, DO NOT lean in to pet him.”
I wanted to make my grandson’s summer visit extra special before he returned home to Maine. He was going to accompany us when we picked up our new dog and be the first to share the news with his family. But nothing is a secret when you’re seven. My daughter was already stalking this poor guy’s rescue page. “Mom, this dog is a PIT!”
Over the winter, my husband, Mike, and I had become dogless. Our Shepherd-mix, Willow, had succumbed to a string of maladies. It was the first time we had to put a dog down. Mike was inconsolable. I held my own grief close. Willow was a great dog with an indelible spirit and big heart. She would be hard to replace. Mike said it would be impossible and refused to discuss it.
It started with mourning Willow’s loss on walks. Then I’d find myself up late at night on my phone looking at rescue sites. I’d pore over canine faces with backstories you couldn’t make up until their soulful eyes and furry faces lulled me to sleep. I began to inject my midnight phone surfing into breakfast conversations. You won’t believe where they found this guy. Abandoned in an oil field in Louisiana. Just dumped. I’d flash a photo as my husband drank coffee and watched the news. His comeback was always the same: “The timing isn’t right.”
“When is right?” I’d counter. At age two, Willow had been snagged out of a South Carolina high kill shelter. She had a case of mange and her chances of survival there were nil until her face came across a rescue’s video feed up north.
I quickly discovered that dogs with any discernible pedigree barely lasted a day on a rescue site. Mixed breeds told another story.
I had no idea how long Titan had been on their list. His foster mom, Nicole, described him as “a hot mess” when he first arrived as an abandoned one-year-old. I could almost feel Willow nudging me to adopt this guy. What finally won me over were the words Nicole used to describe his temperament: a real gentleman. Food-motivated and teachable. I was captivated by all his pluses. But I failed to do the math. Titan was now six-and-a-half years old. Why was this rescue so long overdue?
* * *
We arrived early at a hotel parking lot where we were to meet the canine transport. The Vermont rescue organization worked with a group in Louisiana. Every two weeks the van drivers drove close to 2,000 miles, stopping only once to sleep in the van with their precious cargo: peeing puppies and stressed dogs. As the cars of other prospective adopters started to arrive, a volunteer checked in with strict instructions. “Put your hand through the leash’s loop and wrap it a couple of times around your wrist. Whatever you do, don’t let go.” She shared the story of the foster family who did. After several hours, they were finally able to secure the dog whose story might have ended tragically. I looked over at the Best Western and wondered how guests pulling suitcases would view runaway dogs with panicked owners chasing after them.
Titan was first out. “He was a perfect traveler!” the driver shared.
A good sign?
He stood there dazed in the sunlight, wearing a yellow bandana as though dressed up for the occasion. Seamus and I quickly secured the leash on his collar and walked him along several patches of grass. What do you say to a dog who has just traveled across ten states to be part of your family? We found ourselves chanting, “Good boy!”, our new mantra. When we ended up back at the vehicle, Mike started his truck. Titan jumped right in, confirming he was ready.
When you get a rescue, there’s a lot to unwrap. Titan’s genetic makeup was unclear, and I knew there was still considerable stigma surrounding pits. If I was secretly harboring some of my own, Titan quickly dispelled them. He was the gentle giant Nicole had described to us. Well-behaved and affectionate, he also had a mischievous side. He loved sneaking off with stuffies, only evidenced by the doggie drool he left behind. And while he had never learned commands like “sit” or “stay,” he was a quick study, and good about responding when called. The exceptions were when he heard children at play next door: Their sounds never failed to misdirect him. He loved kids. In the end, Titan worked his way into everyone’s heart including my older daughter’s.
Over these months, I’ve kept in touch with Nicole, providing her updates. A vet tech with a passion for rescue work, she had a long history with Titan. I had remained curious about his backstory, so one day I asked her.
“The night I found Titan my husband and I were out looking for a mother and her puppies. It was raining hard, and there, in the mist he appeared – unworldly.” She went on to explain that he was completely hairless; even his tail was bald. His skin was covered with infected sores and fleas. His eyes were so full of puss he could barely see and had a condition called entropion, where his eyelids curled inward. It eventually required two surgeries, once in a vet’s care. “The people in the neighborhood had taken to calling him Chupacabra, a legendary vampire-creature who attacked livestock. Everyone avoided him.”
I was horrified as I listened.
“My husband decided he needed a name as strong as he was tough considering all he had endured and started to call him Titan.” Then she laughed. “But over time I realized he was such a softie, I shortened it to Ty.”
It was hard to envision Ty then, and to see Ty now. Nicole has witnessed a lot of abandoned and mistreated dogs who’d endured the most unimaginable things. She told me that what she continues to admire most about rescues is how they still manage to live in the moment and not carry a grudge. Ty is certainly one of them.
When fully unwrapped, it wasn’t lost on us that we’d adopted a dog with indestructible determination. His arrival opened our eyes to the selfless work of others and their limitless acts of kindness and love on his behalf and others.
Ty is truly the gift of second chances and what it means when they say for the love of a dog.
— Lyn Ujlaky, Thetford
