The Story of What Happened to Moki

I can't talk about the details. So I wrote them.

I’ll write the happy part first.

We got back from a summer in LA and decided we would do two things. Make our own feature film and get a dog. This was 2011. We dog-sat a fun little doggy named Sky in LA and after years of Devin saying she wanted a dog, I just said “Okay, let’s do it.” The film would have to wait.

We originally were looking to adopt Moki’s sister on petfinder but when she became unavailable they showed us Moki. Her name was actually Bella then. She was the cutest little squished-nose runt we’d ever seen. We fell in love just from her pictures.

The day came and we had to pick up Bella in a parking lot about an hour away in some Jersey town. It sounds shady, but I guess that’s how they transport all the small dogs from Tennessee who get adopted by young couples who live in apartments near New York City. We were nervous and excited. We woke up at five in the morning and drove a zipcar to pick up our new baby.

The man brought her off the truck and she could pretty much fit in one of my hands. When he gave her to us, she crawled into our arms and licked us all over. It was like she knew she was finally home. Our hearts were melted, the whole thing was quick, and we were back in the zipcar as the sun was coming up with our new puppy.

She crawled all over me while Devin drove us home. She was so little and cute, with so much energy. We got her home, with all the things we bought in preparation for this day that she would never use. She was a little shy and nervous, but pretty quickly opened up as we fed her and played together. We were a family from that day on.

Anyone who knows us knows that, from the beginning, we were that dog couple. Moki Bella went everywhere with us that a dog could go and some places dogs aren’t supposed to go. Moki’s traveled to Maryland, North Carolina, Colorado, Wyoming, and a handful of other states.  

She stayed with us in a fancy French hotel in Philadelphia on our first anniversary, where she felt right at home. She’s met professional soccer players, Andrew Garfield on the set of Spiderman, Keith Urban’s band at the airport, all of whom were smitten with her and she was uninterested in.  

She was great on airplanes, trains, buses, and cars. She wasn’t great at everything but we traveled with her when she was a puppy so she was great at that. She truly never cared where she was as long as she was with us.

Spoiled? Yeah. But life is even shorter for a dog. And she mostly obeyed us. When she was a couple years old we took her to visit my grandma. Grandma couldn’t believe how aware Moki was and how she followed Devin around like “what are we doing now?” I was glad they got to meet each other before my grandma passed away. Moki and Dorothy. Two tough-as-nails gals.

Years went by and Devin and I continued to live our lives with Moki. People stopped us every day on the street, without exaggeration, to ask what kind of dog she was. She was a real head-turner, to the point where it was super annoying but we tried never to be annoyed.

This may sound silly to non-dog-people, but there were times when Moki inspired us to be better to each other, me and Devin. When Moki was, in a sense, captain of the ship. I truly believe her innate sense of being “a pack” inspired us. That we were a pack, unbreakable and never without each other for long. When Devin and I got married, it was impractical for Moki to be there at the altar (although we absolutely kicked it around), but I said in my speech, “We’re a pack. Me, you, and Moki.” We all rescued each other, as the cliche goes, but I definitely learned so much from my magical little head-turner.

A year or two later, Devin did the inevitable. She set up a TikTok for Moki. @GrumpyMoki’s videos went viral due to her growling at us when we tried to put her harness on for a walk. She was never too serious about her grumpiness; she wasn’t going to bite us or actually refuse to go for a walk, she just had a certain way of expressing herself. Namely, that precious face turning grouchy in an instant, then as soon as the harness clicked shut, quickly turning back to cute and walking to the door. She gained over fifty-thousand followers on TikTok, with a few videos getting two-to-five million views. Companies started paying to represent her videos and Moki had more followers, likes, and views than any of our social medias or feature films put together. It had always been that if you knew me and Devin, you most likely knew Moki. Now people around the world were starting to know Moki without knowing us at all.

At this point, you probably think that this story is going to take a turn and I’m going to describe the winter of 2021, when Moki had to go to the emergency room at age ten. You’d be right, but this isn’t the turn that this story is ultimately going to take.

Moki contracted Lyme disease somewhere along our adventures and it started to affect her. She was lethargic and something was obviously wrong with her. We took her in and were scared beyond belief that we were going to lose our baby. She had low blood platelets and kidney problems. They kept her overnight in the hospital and it was one of the toughest nights ever for Devin and me. But she’s a fighter, tough-as-nails. And she pulled through.

She began a medication regiment and we started to see signs of improvement. Then she started having seizures. It was so brutal watching and holding our baby Mōk as she had multiple seizures over a period of a few months. We kept taking her back to the best animal hospital in northern New Jersey, Red Bank, and giving her medication to prevent them. Finally the seizures slowed down to infrequent, until we got through a couple months without one.

And here’s where the story actually takes its turn. 

Devin and I bought a house in late 2021 in Jersey City. The house has a tiny backyard, and even though Moki wasn’t running around like she used to, it was a good size to give her (and us) some much needed outdoor space. But the problems with the house started coming at us like waves at high tide and life became almost unbearable. In the midst of this, we moved into a basement apartment near our new house so that we could get out of our longtime apartment and be closer to all the renovation work that was taking place. All the while juggling my full-time job, Devin’s crazy job, and a Moki who was improving but still needed some care and supervision. 

It was in front of this basement apartment, as we were trying to move stuff from there into our new house, that the unthinkable happened at 9:30 in the morning. 

WARNING:

This part of the story contains violent, disturbing imagery and description involving harm to animals. If you want to know the basics without the details, skip to the next BOLD message.

Devin was getting into our car to drive over and Moki and I were starting our walk to the house, so she could pee and/or poop along the way. We got two houses down the street when I saw a flash of grey before me, like an angry rocket whizzing in front of me, and going straight down for my Moki. It was a German Shepherd. Off her leash, without a muzzle, behind an unopened gate at the top of the stoop, the German Shepherd attacked Moki with intent to kill.

The details of the next couple hours of our lives, I have not been able to talk about. When I’ve told people what happened, I tell them I cannot talk about this part, especially any details, or I’ll break down. I will truly break down wherever I am. 

This part of the story is about Moki, me, Devin, and a handful of others who were there. And each of us has their own perspective and trauma. I’m starting to get to know my trauma, along with Devin. And though I can’t talk about it, I’m a writer and this is my perspective and how I express it.

I instantly got down to fight the German Shepherd off. I was, unsurprisingly, fairly useless. I believe I got a left foot in, but I don’t know if it registered. I know that I got Moki into my hands. I don’t know if I caused the German Shepherd to release, if I was able to grab Moki away from the German Shepherd’s jaws somehow, or what exactly happened. The German Shepherd got at least one bite on my hand as well, but I wouldn’t be able to feel it for hours, due to the adrenaline. 

Before I was able to get her, Devin saw Moki being thrown around like a rag doll with the German Shepherd’s teeth, in our rearview mirror. But Devin’s perspective and trauma is hers to talk or write about, so I don’t want to interpret or repeat it too much. The owner of the German Shepherd was across the street and crossed to our side. I had Moki. I guess someone had control of the German Shepherd because she wasn’t attacking anymore. 

Devin was screaming at the owner of the attacking dog. I had Moki in my hands. This is the part I particularly can’t talk about. 

My baby Moki’s abdomen was ripped open. I saw her organs as they were hanging out of her skin. I got her to the stairs at the building we were staying in. Moki was still fighting and couldn’t tell it was me who had her. She was crying, yelping, making any sound she could. I yelled for someone to call someone, but Devin was now next to me, fighting other people away so she could be right there, and she yelled that there was no one to call.

There was no one to call. She was right. There is no 911 for dogs.

She said that we need to go, we need to drive to Hoboken. And when Devin said that, my brain snapped and went into hyper-focused survival mode.

I recognized this mode from when I got robbed at gunpoint years ago in Brooklyn. My brain slowed down like Cumberbatch’s Sherlock Holmes or The Matrix or something and I was able to analyze every single moment without panic.

Devin was right. She was going to drive and I was going to hold Moki so that her insides would not come out of her body. I knew that we had a large white towel in the car, that we had kept in there for her, so I ran into the passenger seat with Moki in my arms. An older neighbor lady was trying to stop us, asking us if she was okay, and telling us we need a towel, but I knew we had a towel there already. Devin was in and the car was started. The neighbor lady had to be pushed out of the way (by me) so I could close the door. Devin hit the gas. 

I wrapped the towel around my baby Mōk and put pressure where the wound was. I knew things were ugly under that towel and my shirt and jeans and sneakers were covered in blood, bile, and whatever else. Devin had dropped her phone somewhere so we put mine on the dashboard stand and tried to navigate to the emergency animal hospital that we knew of in Hoboken. The phone had blood all over it from our fingers. Devin navigated with a bloody google maps staring at her, flying through red lights and stop signs, which, it’s safe to say, no one in Jersey City noticed.

Moki was breathing. We knew she was breathing because it was labored. Moki was fighting to stay alive. Moki was crying a little with each breath. Her eyes were open and we just kept repeating her name. We kept talking to her while Devin sped through the urban streets and I held in her organs. 

QUICK SUMMARY WITHOUT DETAILS:

A German Shepherd attacked Moki on the sidewalk. It was brutal and horrific, and at this point, we were driving her to an emergency veterinary hospital in Hoboken.

“You’re such a fighter, Moki. Hang on. Hang on, Moki, we’re gonna get you help. You’re gonna be okay, Moki, you’re so tough. Come on, Moki, hang in there. We’re with you, Moki. We’re right here. We’re right here, Moki.”

Devin was holding it together enough to drive like Lewis Hamilton. We were weaving through somewhat unfamiliar streets to Hoboken. Devin wanted to call the Veterinary Emergency Group to let them know we’re coming. We dialed the wrong hospital a couple times. Then finally got through to them. They said they would be ready.

We parked in front of Trader Joe’s, with the voice on google maps telling us we’d arrived, but we saw no hospital. We looked around, not really caring that we were in the street, and Devin called again. They described their building and we saw it. I took Moki in my arms, across the busy street, still wrapped in that towel, still putting pressure where I had to, with Moki still laboring to do a half-breath-half-cry.

The staff at Veterinary Emergency Group had the doors open and were waiting. I walked fast, to the table they had ready for her, and put her down. They said she was in shock but I thought Moki was aware and wondering what was happening. Maybe a little of both. I stayed by her side as about five or six women got to work. Devin made her way in after speeding into a halfway legal parking spot and ran to us. 

Moki was looking up at us from the table, making sure we were still there. We were. We were a pack. The ladies at V.E.G. in Hoboken went to work on her, stabilizing her, giving her pain medication, analyzing and preparing for what comes next.

A couple of friends, one of whom was there on the street with us and one who was coming to help us pack and move, joined us at the hospital. I was still covered in blood as we figured out what we were all doing next.

The doctor explained to us that Moki needed emergency surgery, which was obvious, and that we have two options. We could stay and do it there in Hoboken, they have one person on who could do it, or we could drive to Red Bank Veterinary Hospital and they could perform the surgery there. 

Red Bank had been Moki’s hospital for the previous six months as she’s been dealing with all her health problems. It’s at least a forty-five minute drive away. But it’s the best place to be. They have all of Moki’s records, they have a surgery team there, they have more facilities and equipment in case blood transfusions were necessary. We made sure she would be stable enough for the drive. She had a bandage around her and a lot of pain medication. We decided that that’s what we would do.

Devin ultimately decided she couldn’t go to work, which sounds like “duh,” but she was supposed to be on camera that night to do stunts on a TV show. Still, as her boss said, “This is real life, what you’re dealing with.  TV is fake life.”

Devin held Moki on her lap, bandaged up and drowsy from pain meds, while I drove to Tinton Falls, New Jersey. I am not usually a speedy driver. But I’m a good driver. So I know how to do it. And I did it. I saw the thing hit a hundred a few times, but again, this is Jersey, I don’t think anyone noticed.

We called when we were ten minutes away, then pulled up, I picked Moki up from Devin’s lap and rushed her inside. There was someone in the lobby to get her, but she seemed a little relaxed for my taste. Before I handed over my baby Moki, I made sure she understood “the gravity of this situation.” She assured me she did and she knew what was going on and where she was taking her. I accepted it and let Moki go. 

Moki looked back at me with her heart-melting eyes, in the arms of some lady in scrubs taking her back to some other area. I looked at her with wide eyes and thought about how this might be the last time I see our girl. 

Devin had parked and joined me in the waiting room. I don’t remember who she had to call or what she was doing, or maybe she just had to be outside now that Moki was in the back, but I was alone on one of the benches, stinking like whatever was all over my clothes. People were looking at us, but being respectful. We were all there cause we love our pups.

I called my mom. My parents were in a spa in Virginia and my mom listened as I told her what was happening. I just needed to talk to someone and it was Mom. We didn’t talk long, we planned to update as soon as we could, and I was starting to break down.

After I handed Moki over at Red Bank, my brain and body started to soften. The control began to leave my body. From the moment Devin said we had to drive to Hoboken, I was a rock. I was an action hero. I was holding everything together to do what had to be done. And when Moki looked back at me, headed through the double doors, things inside started to crumble. 

I started to notice I had been bitten on my hand and actually, realized that I had no idea whether or not I had been bitten on my legs or anywhere else. I checked. Looked clear. I went to the bathroom. 

This moment was like Tom Hanks at the end of Captain Phillips. Devin and I have always thought that was some of the most brilliant acting we’ve ever seen on film and it came to mind after I started to experience a real break down. I bent my knees on the bathroom floor and cried into my hands. It was a weird cry. It was letting go of what I just had to do. I couldn’t believe what I had to do. It was brutal and horrific. I would do it again in a heartbeat to save my Moki’s life, but it was starting to hit me. What I had seen. What I had been a part of. All the feelings that were not allowed to have any oxygen while we solved every little problem to get her here.

Over the next few hours, Devin and I held each other, sobbed, sat in our own trauma and filth in the big shared waiting room of a place we already knew well. And yes, we were calling the police, animal control, and anyone else who could help us. We are not the types to roll over without a fight, especially my wife. And that fight was going to start right away.

The Jersey City police dispatch people were unsurprisingly and characteristically not only unhelpful, but rude to us and shaming us for trying to get a report filed, even after hearing that the dog had bitten me as well as mauled our dog. The Liberty Humane Society was the opposite, they were helpful and springing to action, however the real action had to come from someone called a Humane Law Enforcement Officer. The action of deeming a dog dangerous and getting her off the street. At this point I should explain the backstory that we were learning throughout this waiting period.

We knew who the dog was and we knew who the owner was. They were on the street a lot, with the dog always barking and behind the small metal gate. The owner had told our friends, who were renting us the basement apartment, that “She doesn’t like small dogs” as a warning. What we only found out after the dog attacked Moki was that this same dog had killed a small dog one year ago. We know the couple, it turns out, whose dog she killed, as they live next door to the German Shepherd’s owner. The dog also sent two other dogs to surgery. What we learned from Liberty Humane Society was that this same dog has killed or almost killed three dogs, with Moki now the fourth, in a span of two years.

Now obviously, this is 100% the owner’s fault and it gets more tragic all around when we start to think about it all, but regardless, Darcy at the Humane Society knew exactly who this dog was and when I talked to her, she knew of the attack already. The entire street has apparently tried to get this dog removed from her owner.

So Darcy was helping us any way she could and alerting the right people. The police are not trained properly, in that they don’t know that there is a police officer, the HLEO, who solely has the power to deem a dog dangerous, thereby making it absolutely a police matter and not sending anyone who says “dog” over to animal control. We tried to explain this to a police dispatcher and she got angry. She told us we were wasting her time, that people were being shot and in burning buildings (it’s always the shooting and the burning with cops, isn’t it?) and that she is so good at her job and was here when the towers fell. 

That’s right. 

Then she told us we were tying up the line. “You’re the one talking about 9-11!” I said loudly into the speakerphone. The rest of the waiting room must have been struggling to not look over.   

A minute later, she hung up on us after more of the aria of how great she is at her job.

We would continue to call the right people, with a little help from a good friend who knows people in local government, and we got help from a handful of amazing people working on our behalf.

But our number one concern was, of course, our baby.

I’ve always been a spiritual person, being raised Catholic and being a Buddhist meditation practitioner for the last eight years or so. I don’t have belief in a puppet-master God but I do have belief in the basic goodness of humanity, of the world. I have belief in a Star Wars force. Half-kidding. I have belief in the spirit of someone who has passed away being with us still and living on in us, through us. Whatever it is, I had been calling to my grandma’s spirit since rushing Moki into the first hospital. My grandma and Moki, two tough-as-nails gals. That’s the spirit we needed in that moment. That’s the something that I held onto, sitting in that waiting room, feeling a roller coaster of things, including hope.

Devin suggested we go to a human doctor while we wait, to check out my hands, which were scratched and bitten. We got into a nearby urgent care and the doctor there was an angel, bandaging me up and giving me antibiotics, but most importantly, sending her report to the health department, as required by law. This gave proof of the case being not just a dog attacking another dog, but something more important in the eyes of the law, a dog attacking a human. We were ready to do whatever we could to stop this from happening again and hold this dog owner responsible.

I went into J. Crew, with dried blood on my shirt and smelling like who-knows-what, bought a pair of pants and a T-shirt, went out into the car and changed my clothes. Before you start making fun of me in your head, this was the closest men’s clothing store, okay? This and Banana Republic, so I actually chose the more casual one, okay?!

We knew we would have to leave Moki overnight. We had no idea how long she would be there, but we didn’t want to drive away without knowing she was going to be okay, relatively. Alive. But they couldn’t promise anything, of course. The surgery went well. They were aware of Moki’s past medical issues and performed the surgery accordingly. We drove home, to our new house, without our baby, but with hope.

I kept a roll of poop bags in my pocket. I couldn’t take them out. And I vowed to keep them in my pocket everywhere I went until she was back with us. Because I would need them. It was a reminder of the hope, the strength we needed, that she wasn’t giving up the fight and neither was I.

In the middle of the night, we got a phone call from the hospital. Devin answered and woke me up with a sharp elbow. They had to do a blood transfusion and were asking permission. Things weren’t going perfectly but this didn’t mean we should panic, just that they needed to do this. We said okay and they would call us in the morning. Of course, it scared the hell out of us and we were both so worried. We knew we weren’t out of the woods.

The blood transfusion went well and now it was just about monitoring and recovering. We knew we couldn’t see her yet, because it would just stress her out when we had to leave without her, so everything was just communicating with the hospital on the phone. 

The next day I went to work, later in the afternoon. I didn’t think I could, but Devin was also going to work and I didn’t want to sit home alone with all this. The guys I work with are very supportive and they knew what I was going through, so I could stumble through it. While at work, Devin and I got the call that Moki was walking.

Walking?! The doctor had good news for us. The recovery was going well. She still needed to be there to be monitored. She still had multiple tubes in her; feeding tube, drainage, catheter, but she could walk. We were scared to allow ourselves too much relief, but after the doctor hung up, we shared in the hope we felt, in the joy of hearing that.

I reminded myself that I’m an actor and I hosted a wine tasting for two hours straight, teaching people about oxidative wines and sherries. Sometimes the show must go on, as long as there was nothing else I could do for Moki.

My parents drove up from Virginia to support us, to do whatever we needed, watch Moki when she comes home, whatever else. The hospital allows a comfort-call every night, so we definitely cashed that in, and they called every morning for an update. Things continued to improve. Moki started eating solid food and eventually, she pooped. No greater poop in the world was happening at that moment, as far as we were concerned, and I’d put that poop up against any poop for that weekend in the entire world of poops.

We finally were able to pick her up three days after we dropped her off. Everyone seemed pleasantly surprised at how well she was recovering. But when we went into the room to pick her up, it didn’t go great. It didn’t go terribly, but it was a little rocky.

She walked to us, she licked us just like the day we first picked her up in that parking lot in Wherever, New Jersey eleven years ago. We were holding back tears, but then she started bleeding from her leg. And she was pooping a little, losing control of her bowels. On more of my clothes. 

We were worried about the bleeding, the doctor took her back to check her platelets. We were so happy to see her but also worried now. They checked her out and cleared her to go home, eventually. She had a drainage tube attached to her, tucked under a doggy t-shirt. Her stitches went all around her abdomen and of course that whole area was shaved. She was on a lot of medication and would continue to be. 

But she was alive. She was with us, in our arms (carefully). We brought her home and started the new routines of making sure she’s safe, comfortable, healthy. We started scrambling to figure out who was going to be able to watch her when and how we were going to juggle life in the near future (still figuring that out, of course, and who isn’t?). We also didn’t have anything set up in our new house and barely any furniture. But when Devin and I ever got frustrated, we just reminded ourselves, Moki’s alive.

Before we brought her home that day, my friend Josh, who is like family, came over to help pack and move. I went with my dad, Josh, and our friend who lives above the basement apartment, and moved all our stuff out for good. I needed them there for the emotional support more than anything. I couldn’t look at the sidewalk and it was really hard to see the steps. The whole thing was hard. But we had family and friends there to support us. We had new friends and we had some really terrific city employees to counteract the not-so-terrific ones. Both hospitals were absolutely amazing.

The case, the attack, as far as the legal stuff is concerned, is ongoing, so I’ll refrain from detail. The German Shepherd is still there at that house for the time being, which is not okay with us. 

We are at our house, about five minutes away on foot. The three of us, the pack, are all recovering. Moki most importantly, and Devin and me as well, emotionally and everything else. We still have feelings of fear and trauma. But we have our Moki Bella here with us. It might be a long road to recovery and we don’t know what recovery even looks like, but it’s a miracle already and our hearts are beating with love in our new home.