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In the lush green backyard of Susan Mautz and her husband, Grant Wheatley, among the lilac and honeysuckle bushes, a restless dog lived in their garden.
The Alaskan Malamute mixed breed may have been part wolf. In her long, lonely howl that could be heard in the early morning hours was a cry of the wild. In her scared, feral manners was the behavior of an animal afraid to trust humankind.
By the time the dog arrived at the northern California home of Mautz and Wheatley, she had been named “Misty” by her rescuers. She had undergone surgery to remove a puppy collar embedded in her flesh. She was terrified.
Little did Misty know that Mautz and Wheatley had donated $2,200 toward her veterinary expenses or that her story had stolen their hearts. Though they already had nine rescue dogs, mostly Border Collies, they would open their home and their lives to her. They would be her foster parents.
“I’ve seen a lot of death and pain in life, but the memory of this special animal will be with me forever,” Mautz says. A hospital emergency-room nurse for a quarter century and a paramedic on the streets of Oakland and San Francisco for a decade, Mautz has experienced plenty of heartbreak. Nothing prepared her for the gorgeous Alaskan Malamute-wolf dog that would live in her garden for the next three months.
No one knows exactly when Misty’s saga began. Steve Andrews and his wife, Carrie, of Grass Valley, Calif., first spotted the emaciated waif last November. She lingered on the edges of their three-acre property, coming nearly every day from the nearby woods to watch them from a hillside perch. Sometimes she would be gone for a couple of days, but then she would reappear, gradually edging closer.
“I was quite certain no one owned her,” Steve Andrews says. “I noticed a tight harness around her neck.”
Over the next four months, the Andrews watched Misty’s condition worsen. Eventually they began putting food out and providing Misty access to their own yellow Labrador Retriever’s insulated doghouse. Many evenings she would go there for shelter. After she departed, Steve Andrews noticed blood stains on the dog bed and a strong stench.
Carrie Andrews named her Misty for her mysterious ways.
Recognizing that Misty was injured, Steve Andrews set up a pen to try and corral her. On one occasion, he failed to pull the latch string quickly enough when she entered. He then turned to a rescue-savvy woman he had met, Katey Briggson, for help devising a plan to trap Misty.
Briggson and Steve Andrews set up a humane trap as an entry portal to the backyard where the doghouse was. It was designed to close quickly behind the dog as she passed through.
Misty was safely captured on the first night. She was rushed to Brighton Green Veterinary Hospital the next day, where the puppy collar with hearts and flowers was removed during a two-hour surgery. Veterinarian Karen Indreland estimated that the collar had been placed on Misty when she was 3 to 4 months old. She was now probably 1 year old.
“Was she dumped? Did she get loose and escape her home, unable to find her way back?” asks Mautz. “We suspect the latter, but we’ll never know.”
At some point, the collar was loose enough for Misty to put her front paw through, probably as she tried to push the collar off. Then, the collar became hung up beneath her right armpit, eventually creating an open wound and infection.
“By the time Misty was humanely trapped, the collar encroached on her airway and she made clicking noises when she swallowed,” Mautz says. “Her wounds were infected and bloody. She could hardly bear weight on the front leg.”
Indreland removed the bloodied collar, cleaned the infected area, leaving it open to heal, and administered antibiotics. “You never know what to expect behaviorally from an animal like this,” Indreland says. “Misty was quiet, shy and not overly aggressive. Fortunately she had been fed for awhile and was not underweight.”
Misty was taken to the animal-control shelter that night, where she stayed for about one week to recuperate and wait for a follow-up procedure to close the wound. Without an owner, help was needed in paying for Misty’s veterinary care. Sammie’s Friends, a local Grass Valley fundraising group, stepped in to assist. Founder Cheryl Wicks encouraged a local radio station to broadcast a plea for donations for Misty.
Mautz and her husband heard the broadcast and donated money to cover the expenses. When they visited Misty at the shelter, they quickly became convinced that the dog needed to get out to begin rehabilitation. Misty cowered in the back of her crate, obviously scared. Though she never growled, snapped or showed aggression, it was clear that when humans were near she completely withdrew.
“Her physical wounds would heal if she remained in the shelter,” Mautz says. “It was her spirit that would die if she didn’t reconnect with nature. Misty showed an interest in Grant’s voice, even changing her posture when huddled in the corner to look for him.”
Mautz and Wheatley volunteered to foster Misty. To prepare for her, they converted a fenced 20-by-40 foot garden into a pen. They placed a tarp over the top to protect her from the elements and repaired a small opening with a rope web.
The first couple of days were slow-going. Misty couldn’t relax, but eventually she began to settle down, particularly around Wheatley. “Misty had a special interest in Grant, watching coyly for him from behind the bushes and tracking his voice as he moved around outdoors. She would let him touch her and brush her,” says Mautz.
A support network began to develop. The story of Misty galvanized the entire Grass Valley community; people began working together to help rehabilitate this special dog. They came to sit with her in an effort to coax out responses. Behaviorists, trainers and representatives of Alaskan Malamute and wolf-dog rescue groups traveled to meet Misty and answer Mautz and her husband’s countless questions.
“So many people came that we had to schedule their arrivals to avoid household chaos,” Mautz says.
Both Mautz and Wheatley spent time each day in the pen with Misty, and slowly a cautious but playful camaraderie emerged. “We talked softly to her and to each other,” says Mautz. “I read to her, sang to her and just sat in silence with her, beaming her calm thoughts. Every day we looked for signs of progress, and almost daily we found something that fits that bill of hope.”
Two weeks passed before they heard Misty make a sound. “It was in the wee hours of the morning when the long, low howl went out into the night air,” Mautz says. “It was a terribly lonely sound, as though she was crying, ‘I’m here. Where are you?’”
As the weeks went by, Misty became more curious and playful. “She was watchful of us and our dogs,” says Mautz. “She loved to watch the Border Collies playing, and she would often run along the fence as they streaked by for the ball, banging her paws on the fence and ground with her wagging tail held high.”
Misty gave back to everyone whose lives she touched. “In this small community many people connected with her,” Mautz says. “She re-enforced the value of love, kindness and patience to everyone she came in contact with.”
Matching Misty with the right forever home would prove to be a challenge. Though a few people had shown interest in adopting her, Mautz was determined to find someone with plenty of time, patience, humor, love, and kindness to give this special Malamute-wolf dog.
Along came Janet Harley, a teacher who had previously owned two Alaskan Malamutes. Her male Malamute died four years ago, and her female died last July. It had been a hard journey for Harley, and it was difficult for her to consider whether she was ready to open her heart to loving another dog.
“I had begun searching the rescue Web sites in February, thinking I was ready, but in my heart I knew I wasn’t,” she says. “And then I read Misty’s story. All of a sudden I was more than ready. I knew I wanted her more than anything.”
Harley began visiting Misty at her foster home, driving one and a half hours each way to stay for several hours. On some occasions, she stayed overnight to help accelerate the acquaintance process and build a rapport with Misty.
“Misty and Janet made a real connection,” Mautz says. “She could walk up to her, and she got her to play with plush toys. Misty had fully recovered from her physical injuries and was making great strides emotionally. The time had come for her to go to a permanent, loving home.”
On May 29, three months after Misty had come to live with Mautz and Wheatley and weeks after Harley had first met her, Misty headed to her new forever home in Tahoe Vista, Calif. A three-level cabin and a spacious backyard with a 6-foot-high fence awaited her.
The first few days were like walking on eggshells for Harley. Misty paced the fence, although she did not make a serious attempt to escape. At times the dog would not let her approach her.
Misty’s transition from outdoor dog to inside companion was at times as slow as molasses. Not housetrained, Misty began to learn about living in a house, and she began sleeping upstairs in the loft near Harley. They began taking walks for exercise, but also for socialization and bonding.
“Misty is sweet, gentle and has not growled once,” says Harley. “I’m looking forward to our journey together. She’s going to be an amazing dog. She’s already on the way.”
Harley is grateful to the community that helped to nurture Misty, but particularly to Mautz and her husband. “Susie and Grant were incredible. They gave Misty so much love and hands-on therapy. We’ll be forever grateful.”
Wheatley continues to encourage Harley, telling her, “Misty only has to trust one person, only one, and that’s you.”
Everyone involved in Misty’s recovery learned from her how deep suffering can go and how miracles can and do happen. Sometimes miracles happen right in your own garden. ©
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