He was the big white pit bull that barked a lot, with a pathetically sad bark that sounded like he was losing his "voice". It was never an annoying bark to anyone. His bark was actually strangely sweet, and tinged with a sadness that tweaked one’s heart when they heard it, especially coming from a dog his size. His bark was not more than a soft sounding, sad little noise and it made one think that he suffered when left alone. His bark seemed to show a constant need of reminding people that he was there and that if he didn’t keeping making some sort of noise, people would forget all about him.

When he first arrived at Tylertown, he was so thin, so ill, and so painfully dehydrated that he required a space in the makeshift ICU. But, despite his painful state, he couldn’t seem to quiet down. He used the little bit of energy he had left in his weakened body to bark and bark. With that barely audible "lost voice" sound, he barked. During his next days in the ICU, he had food, he had water, he had his walk, he had his medicine… but he still barked.

The big white pit bull’s health improved enough for him to move outside of the ICU. At first, he stayed at the front of the camp, under the tarps, so that he would be close enough to the vets, since they still wanted to keep a relatively close eye on him. And, he barked and he barked, making that same strangely sweet "lost voice" sound. So, the volunteers, thinking that he might suffer from anxiety, tried to spend more time with him to help him save the little bit of "voice" he had left. It worked! He was better amongst the volunteers and barked less when he was near the "commotion", and his health seemed to be getting much better, so it was time for him to move into a kennel in the middle of the camp.

The big white pit bull then graduated from a crate under the tarps to a grassy kennel with plenty of room. But, he barked and he barked, in that tiny lost "voice", until a few great volunteers started to spend lots and lots of time with him. The big white pit bull LOVED being near them, and he would try to communicate with them in that tiny soft "lost voice" sound whenever he could see this human buddies running somewhere in his sights.

On the day that Hurricane Rita was moving into the already devastated Gulf Coast, a "rescuer" named Tammy Hanson came to Tylertown to pick up pit bulls that she would "care for" at her "sanctuary" in Arkansas. With the looming Hurricane on its way, HSLA could not house all of the dogs on the property, so they needed rescuers to help with alternative housing. The big white pit bull was supposed to stay behind in Tylertown, but a last minute decision was made to send the big white pit bull with Tammy when she said that she would take good care of him. So, along with the other doomed dogs, the big white pit bull was packed up onto Tammy’s horse trailer and the volunteers said their last good-byes to the big "soft-spoken" white pit bull with the "lost voice" bark. They didn’t know that soon after this horrible trip through the Hurricane’s wind and rain, their sweet canine friend would be dead, left to die in the same wired transport crate, amongst 500 other dogs, on a property that was not a sanctuary, but a hoarder’s piece of land.

Only after he left for EDNAH did it dawn on one of the volunteers, almost like a sledge hammer knocking some sense into the brain, that he might have kept barking because he was probably deaf. Many all-white dogs suffered from deafness, the volunteer explained, and a hearing test might have shown if the big white pit bull’s constant barking had anything to do with an inability to hear. An awful sadness fell over the volunteers as they realized that their big white canine friend might not have always been barking because of anxiety, but because he might have been deaf. Yes, everyone was sure that he barked because he needed to be with his human companions, as he loved being with them so very much. But, it is also possible, that he barked quite a bit because he couldn’t hear.

Each volunteer had their own personal "pet names" that they used when talking with the big white pit bull, but because he came to Tylertown in one of those very first chaotic waves of displaced animals from New Orleans, he was only given a number, but never given his own name.

But, that fact that he was given a number rather than a name does not mean that this big white pit bull was ever unloved or ever forgotten. Quite the contrary it true! The volunteers that played with him, hung out in the field with him, comforted him, and visited with him so many times during the day remember him all of the time. In their hearts, he lives forever, even though he never had his own name.