Posted on 05/20/2003 4:16:47 AM PDT by csvset
Vagabond earns admiration of small town
By DIANE TENNANT, The Virginian-Pilot
© May 20, 2003
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Scruffy and Isle of Wight Animal Control Officer Waverley Traylor eye each other cautiously from across a road. Photos by John H. Sheally II / The Virginian-Pilot. |
FOR THE PAST two years, a shaggy black dog has outrun the law in Smithfield.
He has evaded a net, various traps and two animal control officers.
They know where he sleeps, where he hangs out and the perimeter of his territory. They have captured his friends. But this dog eludes them.
In June of last year, Waverley Traylor arrived at the Isle of Wight Animal Control office. He has degrees in business and engineering, a career in wildlife photography, a sideline as a wildlife rehabilitator and experience in program management at a Fortune 500 company in Virginia Beach. He was looking to simplify his life by devoting it to animals.
Then he met Scruffy.
Traylor traces his family back to the 1600s, incorporating German, French, English and Cherokee heritage. Scruffy's bloodlines are less clear. He is a medium-sized dog, with long hair that swishes back and forth on his chest and forelegs as he trots. His tail is long and fringed, and he has the waggish air of a Tramp, which he is.
Traylor first met Scruffy on assignment to trap two dogs, one of which had bitten a small boy. The officer found a white dog, the accused, in the trap. A black dog was outside it.
The officer eyed the black dog, and the black dog sized up the officer. Traylor is a big man, rotund, with a chin-sized beard and a bald head. He is easily a match for any truant dog, and the black one withdrew, conceding victory to Traylor. It was the last time.
Traylor began to receive more calls about the dog: Black stray on Main Street. Mixed breed hanging around on Grace. Terrier on Institute.
The town manager of Smithfield had the temerity to refer to the dog as a mutt in a complaint to animal control Nov. 6, but he's not the only one. The word appears often in Scruffy's file.
``Most people just knew him as `That Dog,' and that just didn't seem right,'' Traylor said last week. ``He deserved a name. I figure any animal that's going to be around people, he's got to have a name.''
He chose one based on the matted clumps of fur that do not seem to bother Scruffy, but that give Traylor an itch to comb out. He began to ask around about the dog.
Sure, nearly everyone downtown knew Scruffy. A lot of them put out food for him. Several wanted to adopt him. But no one had been able to touch him.
Even folks from out of town knew Scruffy. Workers who drove in for the day would sometimes share their lunch with the dog. No, they couldn't pet him. The info whetted Traylor's appetite, and he began to mentally mark Scruffy's turf.
From the seafood market at the corner of Grace and Main, around the curve to James Street where the library and the playground sit, down the ravine on Mason and up again to Smithfield Center's smorgasbord of banquet scraps, down Cedar past the bank and up again to Main.
He discovered that Scruffy spends the night in an old pipe about 2 feet wide. It lies on a hillside at the dead end of Institute Street, which happens to be only a block from Town Hall. The pipe is not visible from the end of the street, as it is shaded by tall trees, overhung with honeysuckle and vines and obscured with knee-high growth of wild strawberries, briers and buttercups. It is open at both ends, a perfect hiding spot for a fugitive.
``Sometimes I think he's got a better place than I do,'' Traylor said, but that's debatable.
Traylor lives in a small cabin on the James River, where he and his wife, Margaret, care for sick or injured wildlife. Three dogs and three cats share space with bats, snakes and birds, while bald eagles circle overhead and peregrines do courtship flights across the back yard.
From the creatures that come his way, Traylor collects items to help in his quest. He has a feather from a whippoorwill, the fur from a gray wolf and a tiger, the claw of an eagle, the beak tip of a crow, the tooth of a possum. They are carried, with other creature comforts, in a fringed leather spirit bag that Traylor can slip around his neck when he goes into the woods or up against a dangerous animal.
``This is what makes me one with animals,'' he said. ``It protects me.''
But it lacks a hair from Scruffy's head.
Traps have been set for Scruffy at both ends of his pipe. He avoided them.
Traps have been set in nearby yards. He was seen sitting on top of them.
Traps have been set in low spots and high roads, on escape routes and promenades. No dice.
The clerks at Winn Hardware said they'd lure Scruffy inside the store and then close the door behind him. He didn't fall for that.
So Traylor came up with a clever plan. He got a 3-foot net on a telescoping 12-foot pole and stuck it out the window of his truck. He planned to drive alongside the dog, drop the net in front and hit the brakes. It worked on other dogs.
But Scruffy was too clever to run for long down the middle of the street. ``He is, by far, the smartest dog I know,'' Traylor said. ``I'll say, `I know a dog that's smarter than most people,' and they'll say, `Oh, yeah, the little black dog in Smithfield.' ''
Scruffy has a lady friend named Tigger, a Yorkie-Poo belonging to Rod and Piper Davis of Grace Street. In February, Tigger gave birth to six puppies, several of them bearing a strong resemblance to their dad. They went, Traylor said, like wildfire. ``Everybody wanted one of Scruffy's puppies,'' he said.
Animal control keeps a list of people who have offered to adopt Scruffy. A man in Richmond has offered to foot any medical costs.
``I've got a groomer standing by,'' Traylor said. ``We've got the whole town of Smithfield standing by to take action once I get my hands around the little guy's neck.''
If that ever happens.
Traylor grew up on a farm in Chesterfield, where he learned to care for animals. At the age of 12 he ventured into wildlife rehab, raising and releasing a litter of flying squirrels. But college led him into business and engineering, the military lured him into nuclear submarine work and the promise of fat paychecks led him to the Fortune 500 company where, he discovered, money couldn't buy happiness.
In summer 2001, Traylor came across a card at a gift shop that read, ``I've decided to quit my job, drop out of society, and wear live animals as hats!'' He bought it. Then he took a two-week vacation to canoe the Minnesota boundary waters with his wife while he thought. He came back to work on a Thursday and quit on Friday.
He carries that laminated card in his wallet -- ``That was the card that changed my life'' -- and a photograph of himself with a live raccoon on his head is framed in his office. The picture was taken in the Great Dismal Swamp, subject of several booklets Traylor has written, and one of his favorite places for wildlife photography. A coffee-table book of his photos is in the hands of a publisher, and more than 30 magazines have displayed his work.
But that does not, so far, pay the bills, so Traylor puts on the light blue shirt and navy pants of animal control. Scruffy recognizes that uniform, the white truck and the imposing figure of Officer Traylor, even when it is squatted down on the sidewalk, calling his name and somewhat wistfully holding out a hand.
``He won't let me get within 20 feet of him,'' Traylor said. ``But if he gets too far ahead of me he turns around and waits for me to catch up.''
Scruffy has waited patiently for Traylor to finish a transaction at the bank drive-through before trotting away. He has allowed himself to be cornered briefly behind parked cars, but he's never there when officers pop around from either end. Sometimes, he just vanishes, which is a little eerie.
``I almost feel like I could put him as one of the ghost stories of Smithfield, the way he appears and disappears,'' Traylor said.
On Tuesday of last week, Traylor spotted Scruffy rolling on his back in the middle of James Street, having a good scratch. Traylor called his name and clapped his hands, but Scruffy trotted briskly along the fence line that leads into his green lair and vamoosed.
If Scruffy were ever to be captured, he would have the good life: a warm bed, regular meals, a collar. If the unthinkable were to occur -- no one adopting him -- Traylor said he would never, ever consider putting Scruffy down. He is simpatico.
Who needs society? Who needs a white collar and a dress shirt five days a week? Traylor said he has never been happier since he left big business and started living paycheck to paycheck. He just wants to give Scruffy his shots.
``I don't want him dying of disease,'' Traylor said. He stood in the shady street where Scruffy had been rolling, and looked down into the little valley where the pipe is hidden. ``If he has to come and run free again, that's fine,'' he said. ``If someone gave him a home and he escaped from it and went back on the street, so be it.''
Reach Diane Tennant at 446-2478 or diane.tennant@pilotonline.com
The breed developed a protective double coat, compact size, unique foot construction, and great agility.
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The feet are large, flat, and round in shape producing a snowshoe effect that provides traction.
If this is a Tibetan Terrier (terrier = "small dog") then it will indeed be smart. Tibetan Terrier
Great watch dog and, as they say, companion dog.
The Tibetan Terrier is highly intelligent, sensitive, loyal, devoted and affectionate. The breed may be cautious or reserved. Fault--Extreme shyness.
You train it by letting it see your approval or disapproval and never with a heavy hand.
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Scruffy, who has evaded Isle of Wight animal control for two years, was captured Saturday and taken to the county animal shelter. Despite the attention of locals and the care of officers, the dog remains depressed. Photos by John H. Sheally II / The Virginian-Pilot. |
The long-haired stray dog who enchanted Smithfield with his legendary escapes from animal control was captured by Officer Waverley Traylor.
Scruffy was cornered Saturday in a shed that used to have a door in front and a hole in back, a typical hideout for a dog who always had two exits from any lair, Traylor said. But the shed's owner had recently repaired the hole and, when he realized the dog was inside, he simply closed the door.
When Traylor arrived, Scruffy was nowhere to be seen.
``I figured he had walked out through the wall like he usually disappears,'' Traylor said, remembering so many times over the past two years when Scruffy had been cornered, only to vanish. But a careful search behind boxes and stored items revealed a patch of dark fur, and Scruffy's carefree days were doggone.
He fussed, Traylor said, but didn't bite. The officer picked him up and carried him to the truck. ``Immediately it turned into a three-ring circus,'' he said. ``Everybody in the area came to see Scruffy. One of Scruffy's puppies came running up. Bunches of little kids came and had to see Scruffy.''
After 45 minutes, Traylor drove Scruffy to the Isle of Wight animal shelter.
``He is completely depressed,'' Traylor said on Tuesday. ``He just lies in the corner and sighs.''
Scruffy has had a steady stream of visitors. In fact, the shelter had to hang a sign on the door Tuesday saying ``Scruffy is not taking any more visitors today.''
Some of the people who regularly fed the stray have brought him Smithfield ham and hot dogs, and Scruffy nibbles a little, but not much, Traylor said.
Scruffy's matted fur will soon have an appointment with a bathtub and a groomer. A veterinarian will give him a checkup and any medications, including doggie Prozac, if needed.
Traylor would like to set up an account so Scruffy's many admirers can donate toward his care. Anything collected beyond what's needed for the dog who, for so long, needed nothing, will go to help less-famous animals in the shelter.
The shelter has a list of people wanting to adopt Smithfield's infamous tramp, but not just anyone will do. A special application may be drawn up to screen prospective homes. A fenced yard, perhaps, and the perfect family.
``Whatever is the best for him,'' Traylor said.
Reach Diane Tennant at 446-2478 or diane.tennant@pilotonline.com
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