The Griffith Park Rescue
My epic journey with Minnie (aka “Moo”) spans a good portion of my lifetime. Minnie was a 17 year old Jack-Chi, who with her brother, Nicky Noodle, were a major pillar in my life since their rescue from certain peril in Griffith Park, Los Angeles, in 2009.
Daily hikes in the Griffith Park foothills were my whole LA routine — me, my two big dogs, Phoebe and Buttercup, and whatever chaos the park decided to serve that day. One morning, chaos arrived in the form of a text from my hiking buddy:
“Maintenance guys are chasing two tiny dogs someone dumped out of a van.”
We headed over. Laura pulled out the “good” treats (hot dogs), and within minutes we’d coaxed the braver pup into our orbit. He’d become Noodle: shy, sweet, and extremely susceptible to women who tote Oscar Mayer.
Minnie was another story.
She was a blur, a veritable ping‑pong ball with legs. She’d already narrowly avoided two cars, so chasing her wasn’t an option. I’d shuttled my big dogs home, come back, and found Laura exasperatingly tracking Minnie’s zig‑zag pattern across the field near the Greek Theatre.
I sat down in the grass with Noodle in my lap and waited. No sudden moves… just some patience and a leash.
Minnie circled, wide at first. Then tighter. Then tighter still. When she finally drifted within arm’s reach, I lassoed her in one quick motion.
She exploded like a full rodeo bronco for about ten seconds. Then she stopped, looked at me, and decided we were done fighting. Acceptance, just like that.
Looking back, that moment was a preview of her entire personality: the dog terrified of lawn statues but fully prepared to take on a nesting Canada goose.
That was the day Minnie and Noodle came home with me. One caught by hot dogs, one caught by trickery, both instantly part of the pack.
Minnie (background) and Noodle (foreground) looking like bookends on the couch, age 14
