Tia Torres - My Life Among the Underdogs: A Memoir

Thinking back to how VRC first came to be and to where we are now... who wouldve thought? Certainly not me. From the wolves to the Pit Bulls and now the parolees, we as the underdogs have tackled some pretty big hurdles and fought some even bigger battles.

But as probably the most controversial nonprofit organization around today, we couldnt have done it without your help. And by that, I mean without youthe fans, our supporters, and viewersVillalobos Rescue Center simply... would not exist.

This book is dedicated to you.

Coming into this world a descendant of the most famous werewolf in history can have its perksbut as legends have it, it can also be a curse. My future was set from the second some priest tried to drown me in a pool of holy water. I kicked and screamed bloody murder: This was no way for a loupgarou to begin her life. From that moment on, I was one angry little pup.

Like Lon Chaney Jr.s Wolf Man, my exterior persona was not always on point. No matter how much I tried to toe the line, that damn full moon kicked my ass every time. So I guess its no mystery why I was drawn to certain animals from an early age and have lived my life surrounded by them: wolves, black cats, and Pit Bulls. I have spent my entire life trying to defend the underdogwhich usually involves fighting some of the cruelest humans imaginable. They continue to throw me to the wolves, only to find that Ive returned as the leader of the pack. Like the alpha bitch I am, I am protective of my young, loyal to those who deserve it, and willing to take a silver bullet straight to the heart for what I believe in. A true pack leader may seem to stand apart, but she is never aloneand that is certainly true of me. Today, I draw my strength from my pack at Villalobos Rescue Center, my human family and colleagues as well as the canines. I suppose you could say they are my full moon: They make me stronger, more intuitiveand much, much crazier.

* * *

As a child growing up in a functioning dysfunctional setting, it was the animals I was constantly surrounded by that kept me from jumping off that clich of a cliff. Animals were not only my companions but my heroes, my friends, and my reason for getting up in the morning. The hundreds of hours I spent on the backs of horses ensured that Id always be a free spiritbut my relationship with dogs didnt really start until I left the house at the rebellious age of seventeen.

Truly on my own for the first time and in need of some bare necessities, I took my last few dollars to Kmart (which, for you youngsters, was our Walmart at the time). In the parking lot, I encountered some people giving away puppies out of a shopping cart. Most of the black-, gray-, and white-speckled pups were quite flashy, but the one that caught my eye was the runt cowering at the back of the cart. As I reached in to pet her and make silly little coo-coo noises, she jumped up and nipped me right on the nose. Then she sat back and gave me the stink-eye.

I had to have her.

Cougar and I became inseparable. For years we traveled the rodeo circuit, living out of my truck when we had nowhere else to go. The bond between us was something new for me, something that couldnt be measured. Although small in stature, she had the heart of a mountain lion (thus her name), and when she got pissed at someoneor just felt wary of themshe would let out a slow, high-pitched siren of a warning. Then, lowering her head and fixing her deep brown eyes into a laser glare, shed back that enemy into a corner like any wild creature you might see on a National Geographic special. Cougar was a badass, plain and simple. We couldve been twins, if I were a dog or she were a human.

Cougar showed how mighty she was on numerous occasions, but never more bravely than when she sensed I was in an abusive relationship. Putting herself between me and whatever jerk thought I made a good human punching bag, Cougar would snap and lung at my attacker until I could get away. I learned a lot from that tough little cookie, who not only saved my life but served as a better role model than most of the people I knew back then.

* * *

In the summer of 1982, at age twenty-two, I was at a crossroads. Feeling that my life was going nowhere and that I needed a change, I enlisted in the army. As I prepared for eight weeks at boot camp, I promised Cougar I would be back for her, with a good career under my belt and enough money to take care of us. I left her in the care of my father and his new wife.

Life at Fort Dix, New Jersey, confirmed for me that Im just not an East Coast kind of girl. I hated the humidity (which is ironic, since I now live in Louisiana) and found life there just too fast paced. I counted the days until I could return to California and start a new chapter with Cougar. We were confirmed road dogs, and I couldnt wait to fire up my rust-bucket 65 Chevy truck and head out into the sunset, like in an old country music video.

Nothing couldve prepared me for the heartbreak I experienced when I arrived at my dads condo. Cougar had become a problem, he told me. Theyd gotten rid of her. Not much has ever moved me to tears, but I broke down sobbing right there and then, begging and pleading with him to tell me where they had taken her. I intended to go after her and beg her new owners to give her back to me. Id explain what had happened. I knew theyd understand and feel terrible and let Cougar go. Shed run out their front door and jump up into the bed of my truck and life would go back to normal.

Without emotion, remorse, or even a decent apology, my fathers Stepford Wife put her expensive wineglass up to her lips, took a long sip, and told me that theyd taken Cougar to an animal shelter.

Cougar was dead, and I knew it. Because of her behavioral issues, there was no way that any shelter (especially back in the eighties) wouldve adopted her out.

And just like that, all that Id gained in the armymy skills, my uniform, my sharpshooters pin, my military ID that said I was somebody specialnone of it meant anything to me. The guilt I felt over that dog was overwhelming. Id trusted my father, someone who should have been worthy of that trust, and he had betrayed me. To this day, I have never forgiven him, nor have I spoken to him. I dont even think about him. But Cougar is another matter. I think about her all the time. She lives in every dog I meet. She was my inspiration for the deep and abiding love of dogs that has shaped my life and purpose ever since.

* * *

After that trauma, I was dogless for around thirteen years. I went through a lot of changes in that time. I was a waitress, a country-western singer, I competed in country-western dance competitions, you name it. If it could make me a little money, I tried it.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, my life became one long, out-of-control, off-the-tracks roller coaster ride, with dogs in every seat but mine. My estranged brother (who came around only when he needed something) showed up at my door with a huge white fluffy wolf hybrid, whom he called Cujo. He looked more like an oversize white teddy bear than the fictitious killer dog he was named after. The bottom line was: I had a dog again, just when I didnt need one.

I already had my hands full with two cubs of my own: my daughters, Tania and Mariah, who were still very young at the time. But after my experience with Cougar, I sure as hell wasnt going to let my brother leave with that dog. Without saying a single word, I took the leash from his hand and walked my new best friend inside, slamming the door in my brothers face. That was the last time I saw or spoke to him.

I knew nothing about these wolf/dog mixes that had become popular since the release of Disneys White Fang, but I connected with them on a deep level. I understood that they were caught between two worlds, unwanted in either one. The people who adopted them soon grew disenchanted with their ways of the wild. The wolf rescues didnt want them because they were part dog, and the dog rescues were hesitant to take them because they were part wolf.