At 101, Dunedin World War II veteran reflects on service during ‘Victory in Europe Day'
Bob Russell, 101, was a fighter/bomber pilot with the U.S. Army Air Corps in Europe when he heard the news that the Germans had surrendered.
While the Japanese had not yet surrendered in the Pacific region, May 8 marked the end of World War II in Europe with Victory in Europe Day.
Russell and everyone in his 405th fighter squadron received air medals for containing German forces during the historic Battle of the Bulge, which was a resounding battlefield success.
DUNEDIN, Fla. - May 8, 1944, is a day Bob Russell remembers well. A fighter/bomber pilot with the U.S. Army Air Corps in Europe, he was in a hospital room near Belgium recovering from being shot down when he heard the news that the Germans had surrendered.
"There wasn't much celebration. We were just ready to come home," Russell told FOX 13.
READ: Manatee County World War II veteran receives highest honor from France
The backstory
While the Japanese had not yet surrendered in the Pacific region, May 8 marked the end of World War II in Europe with Victory in Europe Day (V.E. Day). There is another day that is equally important to Russell, however. It was the moment that lit his patriotic fire.
When news broke of the Pearl Harbor attack by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, he knew that it was his calling to serve.
"We were all very patriotic then," he said. "Much more so than we are today."
Follow FOX 13 on YouTube
His memory remains sharp at 101 years old.
"I'm going after 102," he told FOX 13 with a determined chuckle.
Barely three years after enlisting, he'd found himself piloting a P-47 Thunderbolt in the Army Air Corps. He flew cover for General George Patton's troops on the ground in Europe during the Battle of the Bulge in late 1944.
"We were trying to keep the German Army out of Berlin," he recalled.
MORE: Air Force veteran shares artistic talent through personalized plaques and signs
He did just that, flying low-level bombing and strafing runs at tree-top level while dodging enemy fire. His memory is rivaled only by his confidence when asked if he was a pretty good pilot; "The best," he snaps back with a wry smile and another chuckle.
He would need those sharp piloting skills on his 13th and final mission. Shot down by an explosive German shell, he managed to pull off a perfect emergency landing, landing on the belly of his plane with no landing gear and Nazi forces on the ground around him. His knee was badly damaged by shrapnel, but that didn't keep him from running to safety once he landed.
He told FOX 13 he can't believe it's been 80 years.
Big picture view
But, opening doors of reflection often reveal the weight of the unknown. He's often haunted by the unintended victims down below who just happened to be near their targets. So, heavy remains his heart.
"I was always hoping we never hit any children," he said with a long pause. "But we probably did, you know," as he wiped a wet eye.
READ: Palm Harbor WWII veteran finds comfort in new mission at 100 years old: 'Life is golden'
Russell and everyone in his 405th fighter squadron received air medals for containing German forces during the historic Battle of the Bulge, which was a resounding battlefield success. But, it did not come without tremendous loss.
By the numbers
Between December 16, 1944, and January 23, 1945, the United States suffered 81,000 casualties with 19,246 killed, 23,000 captured and 38,000 injured, according to the National Archives. A handful of Russell's friends in the 405th were among those who didn't get to come home.
He thinks of each of them often.
"It's, uh... [wipes tear] a lot of good kids," he said.
He was just 20 at the time, as were most of his squadron pals. But, there's no mistaking youth for lack of character during war.
Russell reflects on all of them fondly.
MORE: Heroes' Village bringing first-of-its-kind veteran housing to Sarasota
"Of all the places I've been, it was the greatest group of people I ever associated with," he told FOX 13 of his 405th Fighter Squadron.
Another reminder that this was a generation of great sacrifice, but even greater valor, with a young Bob Russell leading the way.
STAY CONNECTED WITH FOX 13 TAMPA:
Download the FOX Local app for your smart TV
Download FOX Local mobile app:Apple |Android
Download the FOX 13 News app for breaking news alerts, latest headlines
Download the SkyTower Radar app
Sign up for FOX 13's daily newsletter
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
National Geographic
6 hours ago
- National Geographic
Demand for wolf-dog hybrid pets is surging—and that's a huge problem
Wolfdogs are becoming a popular choice worldwide with people looking for furry companions. Conservationists are growing increasingly concerned these hybrids could interbreed with wild wolf populations, especially in Europe. Sofia Imberti, 29, spends time with her three Czechoslovakian wolfdogs in the mountains close to her home in northern Italy. Imberti works early morning and night shifts at a textile factory, rising at 4 a.m. to make time for her dogs. Drawn to the breed for its wild appearance and primitive nature, she values the way it preserves behavioral traits close to its wolf ancestors. 'They belong in nature,' she says, 'and that's where I feel at home, too.' The dogs' independence and sensitivity mirror her own rhythms. With over 40,000 followers on Instagram, Imberti now uses social media to educate others about the breed—its beauty, its challenges, and the deep responsibility it requires. She hopes one day to turn that platform into a full-time pursuit, allowing her to spend more time with her animals while making a positive impact on how the breed is understood. Photographs by Jasper Doest It started, Alessio Camatta says, with 'love at first sight.' After his beloved German shepherd died of a common genetic defect in 2006, Camatta, a soft-spoken construction worker from a town on the hillsides overlooking Venice, Italy, went looking online for a heartier new pet. Soon enough, he found a website selling an imposing but beautiful breed: Czechoslovakian wolfhounds. 'After one month, I went to get a puppy,' he says—a female, Uma, which he bought for €800. On a sunny day in early April, standing outside the imposing 12-foot-tall chain-link enclosure he built to contain his five dogs, he laughs at how unprepared he was for owning the breed. 'People,' he joked, 'don't do this at home.' Czechoslovakian wolfdogs are a controversial breed. Bred as a war dog for the Czechoslovakian military, they combine the DNA of a German shepherd and a Eurasian wolf, a gray wolf subspecies. Today, they are just one of many varieties of wolf-dog hybrids increasingly marketed worldwide as pets. With maximum weights that rival Great Danes, and personalities sometimes more wolf than dog, these hybrid breeds can be demanding—even, in some rare cases, to the point of taking their owners' lives. Breeder Alessio Camatta and canine educator Erica Cesari visit a restaurant with one of their Czechoslovakian wolfdogs in northern Italy in February 2025. Together, they emphasize the importance of exposing wolfdog puppies to human environments from an early age—a key part of preventing anxiety and behavioral issues in a breed known for its sensitivity and high reactivity. With 30 percent wolf DNA, Czechoslovakian wolfdogs are not naturally suited to crowded or unfamiliar spaces unless carefully conditioned through structured socialization and emotional safety. 'This isn't a dog for everyone,' Camatta says. As interest in the breed rises—fueled by social media and the allure of owning something wild—both he and Cesari worry about growing numbers of under-socialized animals placed in homes unequipped to meet their needs, leading to fear-based aggression, isolation, or abandonment. After purchasing that first dog, Camatta went on to become one of dozens of breeders in Italy, where a Czechoslovakian wolfdog can now fetch a price of nearly €2,000. And across Europe, business is booming, popularized by TikTok creators and shows such as Game of Thrones, whose 'direwolves' were played by wolfdogs. Camatta, who also acts as technical director for the Wolfdog Genetic Indexes Project, an initiative to responsibly breed and document wolfdogs, says that 20 years ago only a few hundred wolfdogs were sold in Italy each year. Now, it's more than a thousand, he estimates. While wolfdogs are becoming popular pets, a growing population of wild hybrids—mixes between wild wolves and domestic dogs—is troubling conservationists in parts of Europe. Historically, authorities encouraged rural residents to use guard dogs to protect livestock from wolf packs. But in places where guard dogs are left free to roam, and are not strongly bonded with their flocks, they may interbreed with wolves, according to Valeria Salvatori, a conservationist and expert in wolf hybridization at the Institute of Applied Ecology in Rome. 'If it was happening naturally, then this is evolution. But it's like global warming—it is happening at a much faster pace, because of our intentional, or unintentional, lack of care," Salvatori says. Manuel Tomasi and his wife, Sara Tonon, with their daughters Emma Sofia, 12, and Maya, 3, and their Czechoslovakian wolfdog Ronnie. Drawn to the breed's genetic closeness to the wolf, the family envisioned Ronnie as both a companion for their mountain adventures and a guardian for their home—especially in a neighborhood where break-ins are not uncommon. But what began as a practical decision has deepened into something far more emotional. 'People say wolfdogs are unpredictable,' the couple says, 'but with our daughters, Ronnie is like a brother—protective, intuitive, and completely devoted.' Manuel Tomasi and his wife, Sara Tonon, with their daughters Emma Sofia, 12, and Maya, 3, and their Czechoslovakian wolfdog Ronnie. Drawn to the breed's genetic closeness to the wolf, the family envisioned Ronnie as both a companion for their mountain adventures and a guardian for their home—especially in a neighborhood where break-ins are not uncommon. But what began as a practical decision has deepened into something far more emotional. 'People say wolfdogs are unpredictable,' the couple says, 'but with our daughters, Ronnie is like a brother—protective, intuitive, and completely devoted.' After decades of careful work to restore Europe's wolves back to their original habitats, some countries fear the animals' genes may be compromised by the introduction of dog DNA. Gray wolf conservation statuses vary by country, but the International Union for Conservation of Nature lists the gray wolf as endangered in Slovenia, where wolfdogs are beginning to infiltrate. And in most countries, the scale of hybridization is still unknown. The animals pose a particular challenge in the mountainous border regions of Italy, Croatia, and Slovenia, where wolves have recently come back from near extinction. 'We would like to protect wolves with their natural evolutionary heritage and history,' Salvatori said. 'But how can I possibly control hybridization in Italy,' she says, where 'local studies talk about 50 to 70 percent of individuals being hybrids?' Together, these trends are challenging existing regulations and protections around wolves and dogs—and in each case, beg the question: What makes a wolf, a wolf? Czechoslovakian wolfdogs at Serlupi Kennel a breeding facility ran by Serena Balliana in northern Italy, With 30 percent wolf ancestry, these dogs require structured early socialization, emotional safety, and constant attention to their individual needs. 'The first weeks are foundational,' says breeder Serena Balliana. 'If you don't get it right, you risk raising unstable dogs.' As demand for the breed grows—fueled by fascination with its wolf-like appearance—so does the number of breeders entering the market, often without the necessary experience. In Italy, no special certification is required to breed Czechoslovakian wolfdogs, and the resulting oversupply has begun to drive prices down. Balliana warns this trend is dangerous: lower prices make it harder for ethical breeders to invest the time, care, and expertise that these complex animals require. 'This should never be about volume,' she says. 'The well-being of the dog must always come first.' Balliana has lived with Czechoslovakian wolfdogs since 2005 and has been breeding them since 2017, after years of collaboration with both Italian and international breeders. A trainer and show handler, she first encountered the breed as an eighteen-year-old visitor at a dog show, and was instantly captivated by its wolf-like appearance, atavistic behavior, and natural indocility. 'I fell in love at first sight,' she says. After years of study and saving, she purchased her first dog—an infertile female—and never looked back. Reputable breeders such as Camatta maintain the percentage of wolf DNA in Czechslovakian wolfdogs at somewhere near 30 percent—just enough, he explains, to maintain a wolfish appearance and personality while making the animals suitable for domestication. In Italy, by law, each new litter must have their DNA sampled and their parentage entered in a national database. Also under Italian and international law, as well as Europe's CITES treaty, wolfdogs can only be kept as pets if they have been interbred in captivity for at least four generations. Batting away one of his dogs as he jumps and wrestles with his forearm, Camatta sighs. In Italy, he says, a 'bad canine culture' is spiking demand. Online, it's still easy to find breeders selling wolfdogs without papers, many of which may be the result of 'backbreeding' with captive wolves, purchased on the black market and imported on false documents describing them as Czechoslovakian hybrids, Camatta says. Czechoslovakian wolfdogs at Serlupi Kennel a breeding facility ran by Serena Balliana in northern Italy, With 30 percent wolf ancestry, these dogs require structured early socialization, emotional safety, and constant attention to their individual needs. 'The first weeks are foundational,' says breeder Serena Balliana. 'If you don't get it right, you risk raising unstable dogs.' As demand for the breed grows—fueled by fascination with its wolf-like appearance—so does the number of breeders entering the market, often without the necessary experience. In Italy, no special certification is required to breed Czechoslovakian wolfdogs, and the resulting oversupply has begun to drive prices down. Balliana warns this trend is dangerous: lower prices make it harder for ethical breeders to invest the time, care, and expertise that these complex animals require. 'This should never be about volume,' she says. 'The well-being of the dog must always come first.' Balliana has lived with Czechoslovakian wolfdogs since 2005 and has been breeding them since 2017, after years of collaboration with both Italian and international breeders. A trainer and show handler, she first encountered the breed as an eighteen-year-old visitor at a dog show, and was instantly captivated by its wolf-like appearance, atavistic behavior, and natural indocility. 'I fell in love at first sight,' she says. After years of study and saving, she purchased her first dog—an infertile female—and never looked back. In 2017, Italian officials seized more than 200 hybrids, illegally mixed with wolves smuggled from the Balkans, Scandinavia, and North America, across 54 Italian provinces in an operation known as Ave Lupo. Similar stings, in 2014 and 2021, removed dozens more illegal animals from breeders. Before the courts, there is often a lack of clarity over whether these animals count as wolves or dogs. In some cases, prosecutors have argued the answer is essentially 'impossible to establish with certainty,' according to the Italian news publication Il Messaggero. One seized animal, Camatta says, tested at 96 percent wolf, but was allowed to return to its owner. Italian law makes it virtually impossible to euthanize problematic animals—the state has a legal duty to care for captured strays and even dogs that have attacked their owners. In North America, meanwhile, wolfdogs can be 'very easily' purchased, according to Alyx Harris, operations manager at the Yamnuska Wolfdog Sanctuary in Alberta, Canada. On the continent, tens of thousands of wolfdogs live in captivity—far more than its wild wolf population. Currently, Harris's sanctuary has 56 wolfdogs, most of them rescued from former owners and breeders. 'The fact that you can go out and get a wolfdog with no permitting… is a bit crazy,' she says. While many North American states and provinces ban wolfdog importation and ownership, neither the U.S. nor Canada restrict the breed under federal law. Sofia Imberti, 29, spends time with her three Czechoslovakian wolfdogs in the mountains close to her home in northern Italy. Imberti works early morning and night shifts at a textile factory, rising at 4 a.m. to make time for her dogs. Drawn to the breed for its wild appearance and primitive nature, she values the way it preserves behavioral traits close to its wolf ancestors. 'They belong in nature,' she says, 'and that's where I feel at home, too.' The dogs' independence and sensitivity mirror her own rhythms. With over 40,000 followers on Instagram, Imberti now uses social media to educate others about the breed—its beauty, its challenges, and the deep responsibility it requires. She hopes one day to turn that platform into a full-time pursuit, allowing her to spend more time with her animals while making a positive impact on how the breed is understood. Harris and others in the wolfdog business say owners are drawn to these breeds for their impressive size and ferocious reputation and are often taken with the idea of domesticating something powerful, wild, and free. 'The bond is with an animal that won't be your pet, but will be your friend,' says Moira Schein, a caretaker at Mission:Wolf, a wolfdog sanctuary in Colorado. But many owners don't fully appreciate what they are getting into when they buy a wolfdog puppy, says Mike Gaarde, refuge director at Mission:Wolf. 'Around two to three years old, that's when we get the phone call. Twice a week, we get calls from people hoping we can rescue their animals,' he says. 'We have to turn down thousands of dogs.' While Harris stressed that most wolfdogs are actually 'instinctually very shy, timid animals,' in captivity, their wilder nature can make them dangerous pets. 'They like to be in big open spaces,' she says. 'They don't want to be in your house; that's terrifying for them. Even walking on the leash, you are taking away their ability to flee.' Sofia Imberti, 29, spends time with her three Czechoslovakian wolfdogs in the mountains close to her home in northern Italy. Imberti works early morning and night shifts at a textile factory, rising at 4 a.m. to make time for her dogs. Drawn to the breed for its wild appearance and primitive nature, she values the way it preserves behavioral traits close to its wolf ancestors. 'They belong in nature,' she says, 'and that's where I feel at home, too.' The dogs' independence and sensitivity mirror her own rhythms. With over 40,000 followers on Instagram, Imberti now uses social media to educate others about the breed—its beauty, its challenges, and the deep responsibility it requires. She hopes one day to turn that platform into a full-time pursuit, allowing her to spend more time with her animals while making a positive impact on how the breed is understood. Worse, Harris says, unlike other breeds, wolfdogs often 'lack an affinity toward humans.' Even when well trained, they will often seek out opportunities to assert themselves as leader of the pack. 'They don't want to be pets,' she says. Camatta's wolfdog has picked up a wolf's scent in the Cesari works with a Czechoslovakian wolfdog in northern Italy in February 2025. Initially drawn to the breed for its striking resemblance to the wolf, Cesari soon became captivated by its complex behavior and subtle communication. Specializing in canine education, she helps owners better understand their dogs—especially wolfdogs—by teaching them how to read body language and respond appropriately to everyday behavioral challenges. Cesari also trains dogs in scent-based disciplines such as mantrailing, which harnesses the animal's powerful sense of smell to follow human or canine scent trails, both for recreation and real-world search operations. In addition, she is preparing for certification in HRDD (Human Remains Detection Dog) work, aiming to apply her skills in forensic contexts. These fields, she says, are particularly well-suited to the highly sensitive and olfactory-driven nature of the Czechoslovakian wolfdog. Alessio Camatta, a Czechoslovakian wolfdog breeder, works to protect the genetic integrity of the breed at his facility in northern Italy in February 2025. What began as a personal search for a more rustic and resilient companion after the early loss of his German shepherd evolved into a scientific commitment to responsible breeding. Using a zootechnical approach, Camatta aims to balance biological health—such as minimizing inbreeding and preserving genetic diversity—with the breed's distinctive physical and behavioral traits. Alongside his colleague Erica, he focuses on the critical first weeks of a puppy's life, shaping temperament through structured stimulation and individualized care. Nutrition is also guided by scientific principles, in collaboration with specialists in animal dietetics. Driving down the gravel logging roads that crisscross the forests near Slovenia's border with Italy, Tilen Hvala keeps a sharp eye out for the telltale signs of wolves. In 2023, Hvala became one of just a handful of researchers across the continent to successfully trap and collar a wolf— in this case, six-month-old Jakob, whose movements were tracked by the Slovenian Forest Service as part of the Life Wolfalps EU Project. Just over a hundred wolves live in the small European country today, a major victory after facing near-extinction in the 1990s. 'Sometimes I wonder, when I'm driving on this kind of road, how many times they are just looking out of the trees,' says Hvala, a biologist with the Slovenian Forest Service. Sure enough, we soon come upon a wolf pack's resting place from the night before—matted leaves surrounded by scat and bones just a few hundred feet from a logging road. Tracking data is instrumental to better understanding how the area's wolf packs behave and use the landscape. It can also reveal where hybridization occurs. 'If you have high mortality rates, unstable packs and, at the same time, a lot of dogs in the environment, shit happens,' says Miha Krofel, a Slovenian wolf researcher working with the EU project. Most wild hybridization occurs in areas where wolf packs are disrupted, usually by hunting or poaching, and female wolves go searching for a new breeding partner. Federica Merisio, a longtime enthusiast of the Czechoslovakian wolfdog, shares a quiet moment with her dogs Fides and Verbena—known as Pippi—at home in northern Italy. For the past ten years, Merisio has been immersed in the world of this extraordinary breed, realizing her dream of owning her first wolfdog nine years ago. What draws her in is not just their striking appearance, but their interior world—their sharp intelligence, emotional clarity, and instinct-driven behavior. 'They are victims of their own instinct,' she says. 'But that's their greatest wonder.' Merisio believes that to truly understand a wolfdog, you must learn to observe—reading the smallest shifts in body language and energy. 'You can't just watch them,' she says. 'You have to feel them vibrate in your bones.' Living with the breed is a lifelong challenge in emotional and behavioral attunement—'too wolfish to be dogs, too dogish to be wolves.' With her two females, she continues to train in utility and defense work, a practice that strengthens their bond and mutual trust. 'Having a Czechoslovakian wolfdog means embracing not only its wild appearance,' Merisio says, 'but also falling in love with the instincts that make it so unique—and never wanting to live without them.' It was such circumstances that likely produced Slovenia's first recorded hybrid, a large, black animal that entered the country near the Italian border in 2021. In response, Slovenia took no chances, killing the animal and its offspring, save one that escaped back over the border. In neighboring Italy and Croatia—where escaped, feral, and unmanaged dogs are a much more common phenomenon—wild hybridization is a much more serious problem. In some parts of Italy, more than 70 percent of wolves have dog DNA, according to research by Sapienza University in Rome. In Dalmatia, a narrow strip of land on Croatia's Adriatic coastline, the rate is as much as 80 percent, says Tomaz Skrbinsek, a researcher at the University of Ljubljana in Slovenia. There, a so-called 'hybrid swarm' has formed after wolves colonized war-torn areas vacated in the 1990s and encountered abandoned strays. With 30 percent wolf DNA, Czechoslovakian wolf dogs retain subtle body language and movement patterns that often confuse domestic dogs. Unlike most companion breeds, wolfdogs tend to move with quiet confidence, make prolonged eye contact, and communicate in ways closer to their wild ancestors—signals that are frequently misread as threatening. 'They walk differently, they look differently,' says breeder Alessio Camatta. 'Other dogs don't know how to interpret them, and that can lead to trouble.' As a result, wolfdogs are sometimes met with fear or aggression in public spaces, making socialization and early conditioning critical. For owners, it means constant awareness—and sometimes, physical risk. Camatta and others warn that without proper training and understanding, these misunderstood signals can turn everyday walks into confrontations. In places like Dalmatia, where hybrids are not yet being tracked with radio collars, Skrbinsek worries hybridization could lead to animals that are more comfortable with humans and urban environments. That, in turn, could erode support for protecting wolves from hunting and encouraging their return. 'If you have these behaviors, these traits, in a wild animal that is wolf-like, that could spell disaster for wolf conservation,' he says. What is a wolf, really? Hybrids also raise difficult ethical questions, such as how to define what makes a 'natural' wolf. With millennia of crossbreeding between wolves, domestic dogs, and other canids like jackals, there is no standard definition for how much foreign DNA makes a wolf no longer a wolf. Some conservationists view any mixture as a symbol of 'pollution' in a once pure species. 'It's us humans that have caused that,' says Luigi Boitani, a zoologist at the Sapienza University of Rome and one of Europe's main experts on hybridization. 'It's like an extinction. It's our responsibility to do something.' But it's not known if hybridization really does produce worrying behaviors, such as fearlessness around people, or if hybrids crowd out gray wolves from their native habitat. Sara Meloni reveals the fresh puncture wounds from a recent dog attack, alongside tattoos of wolfdogs inked across her skin. Just days earlier, she and her Czechoslovakian wolfdog, Era, were attacked by a Labrador—one of several incidents she encountered in recent months. With 30 percent wolf DNA, Era doesn't move like most domestic dogs. Her head is often held high, her posture confident but composed, and her movements are measured—more observant than playful, more intentional than reactive. 'She walks through the world differently,' Meloni says. 'With a presence that says she knows exactly who she is—and that unsettles other dogs.' While this quiet confidence can provoke fear or aggression in unfamiliar animals, it also reflects the depth of their bond. The tattoos on Meloni's legs are more than symbols of admiration—they are markers of a shared journey built on trust, mutual respect, and an unwavering sense of loyalty to an animal that, in walking bravely beside her, has helped her become more of herself. Sara Meloni and her Czechoslovakian wolfdog, Era, photographed together in Costa di Mezzate, Italy, in February 2025. For the past five years, the two have moved through life as a tightly bonded pair—one human, one animal, both shaped by each other. With 30 percent wolf DNA, Era is sensitive, intelligent, and instinct-driven, requiring trust rather than training, presence rather than control. 'She changed me,' Meloni says. 'Not for myself, but for her.' Their relationship is built on mutual respect, where emotional safety flows both ways. Era's quiet confidence is mirrored in Sara's stillness; their connection is visible not just in touch, but in the space between them—a recognition of two beings who have chosen each other completely. 'It is really critical that we get this knowledge,' says Krofel, the Slovenian scientist. Without it, he says, it's hard to convince policymakers to cull hybrid wolves, or implement other measures to prevent their spread. For now, without a clear definition of what makes a hybrid, strange paradoxes have arisen. In Italy, a 96 percent wolf hybrid can be returned to its owner, but a similar hybrid in the wild, exhibiting all the behaviors of a wolf, may well be selected for a cull. These paradoxes bother researchers, too, many of whom advocate for an end to the wolfdog trade worldwide. 'I would personally ban the market, the production of this breed,' says Salvatori. For Boitani, breeding new hybrid pets simply 'doesn't make sense.' 'Humans already made the dog [through interbreeding] 10,000 years ago. Why do you want to do it again? Really, it's like playing God.' But wolfdog advocates assert the animals still have a right to live. 'These animals didn't choose to be bred,' says Harris, of the Canadian sanctuary. 'I don't think trying to cull them all is a very fair way to go about it.' At least for now, wolfdog advocates and conservationists agree on one thing—humans must improve how they handle both domesticated and wild wolfdogs. 'Education will be the key,' says Gaarde. 'What we don't understand we try to control,' he says, 'and what we can't control, we try to destroy.' Sara Meloni walks with her Czechoslovakian wolfdog, Era, through the streets of northern Italy in February 2025. With 30 percent wolf DNA, the breed moves differently—calm, focused, and highly attuned to its surroundings. 'When you build a real relationship with them, you become part of their pack,' Meloni says. 'And that bond gives them the confidence to be fully themselves.' But that confidence, expressed through subtle, wolf-like body language, often triggers misunderstandings with other dogs. In recent months, Meloni and Era have been attacked several times, including one incident that left her with bite wounds while trying to protect her dog. Still, she remains committed to the quiet strength of their connection. 'She doesn't just walk beside me—she walks with purpose,' Meloni says. 'Because she knows who she is. And she knows I do too.'
Los Angeles Times
7 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
From rescued to rescuer: Sydney helps Eaton fire evacuees heal
Two years ago, before the Eaton fire would change my life and his, I met Sydney —half German shepherd, half Great Pyrenees and enigma with a capital E. Two days before I met him, I'd put down Lord Byron, my 15-year-old shepherd rescue, after nursing him for a year. I was a wreck. My friend Bob finally put me in his car, a la 'let's just hang out with dogs and stop the tears.' A half hour later, we walked into Westside German Shepherd Rescue where, a few feet away, stood this tall, elegant beast of a dog. We looked at each other. I was struck. I ran over, wrapped my arms around him and wouldn't let go. A nervous staffer pulled me away because he was mostly an unknown. That week, Sydney had arrived from the Apple Valley shelter. He was a runner and escape artist. Too many times. No owner. No tags. No chip. A volunteer brought him to safety in downtown's longstanding no-kill refuge for shepherds. That day, Sydney rescued me, and I took him home to Altadena. Sydney was aloof, scared, always turning away. He surveyed my house and settled into a small, three-sided doorway in a dark hallway. I was pretty sure he'd been caged his first few years. Within a month, Sydney escaped four more times. Three times he was recovered by Good Samaritans. His final attempt could have killed us both. As I careened after him in my car up Maiden Lane, his abrupt fixation on a squirrel gave me a few precious seconds to jump out, grab him by the neck, skin both my knees, and barely escape the rush hour traffic on Altadena Drive. If Sydney were a human, he might be considered a bit on the spectrum. He's stealthy, awkward around others and profoundly unaware of his beauty and power. From the moment we met, I recognized he had a special gift. In the aftermath of the Eaton fire, in an odd way, he would discover it too. On Jan. 7 , Sydney and I, along with three women and four dogs from the neighborhood, found ourselves frantically driving south to Pasadena's iconic, grand hotel — the Langham Huntington — to escape the fast-moving fireball. There were hundreds in line. The front desk managed to find a room. The last room. Exhausted, but grateful and with only the clothes on our backs, the nine of us crammed into Room 401 for the night. Syd and I chose the tiny vestibule so he could sleep in the small, dark closet, away from the crowd. The rest were glued to the big screen TV and watched the orange fire line spread fast and furious throughout the night. Early the next morning, Syd and I ran through the bustling lobby filled with pretty people, giant floral arrangements, and dozens of fire victims. Sydney's striking presence caused a stir, but he continued next to me, then out the sliding door. Two young valets wearing smart suits and tweed caps ran over. They'd been searching for Syd after spotting him the night before. Sydney weighs 75 pounds, with shaggy locks and has large ears that make his already handsome face even more expressive. 'What is that dog?' they asked. 'A German/Pyrenees mix. Check out the giant furry feet and you'll get it.' Sydney and I were heading out to see if our house had survived. I promised we'd be back soon. The streets were crowded with first responders, but we slowly made our way north until I could see our corner, our street, our house. I put on an N95 mask and gloves and entered through a broken front door. The roof was damaged, soot covered the floors and everything smelled of smoke, but the house was still there. The winds picked up, signaling more destruction, so we quickly gathered dog food, meds, a few clothes, jacket and an overnight bag. Syd grabbed Lambchop, his favorite toy, and we high-tailed back to the hotel. At the Langham, the same two valets, Rhandall and John, found Sydney and me. On their haunches, they scratched and loved up Syd. We swapped stories and I told them how Syd and I found each other. Syd, ever the introvert, could only handle a few minutes, then pulled me to move on. By now, Peggy and her two goldens had left for Palm Springs and Sally was able to move back home. Agatha had lost her house; she and her dogs would move in with friends. Our cramped room of nine turned into just Sydney and me, so we moved to Room 411, a cozy space with four big picture windows. On cue, Sydney began looking up into the trees for squirrels. I walked into the black-and-white marble bathroom and noticed, next to the tub, two silver bowls and a cushy, hot pink dog bed. I found Maria, the fourth-floor housekeeper. She'd fallen for Sydney and wanted him to be comfortable. We hugged and she became part of our hotel family. That evening, Syd and I took the elevator down to the famous tea room. Syd, unaccustomed to elevators, let alone crowded ones, had to be pulled in, then splat like a cartoon character on the floor each time there was a shift down. His act delivered laughs and conversation starters with several guests as we headed for dinner. It was packed. A mix of chic internationals, tourists, a group of young, trendy up-and-comers, and the rest of us wearing yesterday's attire. Sydney plopped down in the middle of the room, unconsciously posing, as if he were Cary Grant. Like a magnet, he drew all kinds of interesting people who wanted to meet him and hear what it was like to be us. Jess, the bartender who makes mixing drinks look like art, made me the perfect Arnold Palmer, the first of many, and served up a bowl of water for Sydney. Syd pressed his cold nose on my face at 6 a.m. every day, shaking his tushy, desperate for a walk and to see more than just me. We picked a different street or path each morning. He discovered a new world of smells, critters, and people who would, inevitably, stop and ask, 'Wow, what is that dog?' We met many standouts: Eric and Patrice from Sacramento, Nicole from Santa Monica, Miguel from Pasadena, among them. They all wanted to meet Sydney, and I was the beneficiary. Sydney began to look for his valet cohorts who were usually speeding like racehorses to fetch cars for the long line of guests. Rhandall and John always took a few minutes to grab and tousle Syd. Back inside, we'd hang around the coffee cart near the front desk, a makeshift meeting place for swapping fire stories. There were lots of us coming and going — all ages, occupations, and circumstances, united by trauma and confusion. As time went on, the once-shy Syd began awkwardly licking and kissing the hands and faces of people gathered, as if moving down an assembly line. I worried it was off-putting but, within seconds, people loved it. Syd was developing this remarkable gift of sensing people's needs and giving back to them. One afternoon, a doctor sprinted past us. He was the first speaker at a convention and was late. He yelled, 'Oh my God, what's his name?' I yelled back, 'Sydney!' after Pollack and Poitier. (I'm in the entertainment industry.) Near the end of the long corridor, he said, 'What the hell,' ran back, wrapped his arms around Sydney. This scene happened over and over again. A daily chorus of, 'Can I hug your dog? What is he? Where did you get him?' Throughout our long stay, people approached or chased this big dog without fear. Singles, families who lost homes, kids whose schools burned down. Pretty soon, Syd, with his funny feet, hockey stick legs, thick swishy tail, and ballerina-like moves, pranced down hallways and welcomed outsiders into his new neighborhood. The dog who always shied away seemed to understand we all needed contact, and so did he. He quickly learned the geography of the entire hotel and majestic outdoor gardens. I took his lead. We met nurses, an upscale bridal party, a myriad of fire attorneys, watched a 5-year-old's birthday celebration, and talked with a couple from Romania. He dragged me to the coffee shop to see Isabelle and Wilson. At night, to the lounge to find Jess, Ernesto, and Grace. One evening, while we drove back to the hotel from somewhere, he poked his head out the window, and I heard this loud, painful cry of excitement when Sydney saw Rhandall and John in the circle drive. When they approached, this time Sydney raced back and forth in the backseat, jumped out with Lambchop, and leaned into them. After a little more than two months, we were finally cleared to move back home, and Sydney and Lambchop spent their 62nd night on that hot pink bed on the marble bathroom floor. The next morning, we packed our things and took one last ride down the elevator. Sydney was a pro by then. There were bittersweet goodbyes. When we got home, Sydney ran out the back door, raced through the grass and around the jacaranda tree, hoping for squirrels. Now, months later, I marvel at how, during our stay at the Langham, Sydney bloomed. Every day, new people came, some people left, but the constant was Syd, his presence, his waggle, his ability to give unexpected joy. A new Sydney had emerged. I can't help but wonder if he dreams of being back there. Henderson is a special correspondent.
Newsweek
7 hours ago
- Newsweek
China Fired Warning Shots at US Ally's Warship in Chinese Waters: Report
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. China fired warning shots as a Japanese warship strayed into Chinese territorial waters in the East China Sea last year, according to a new report. Newsweek contacted the Japanese and Chinese foreign ministries for comment via email. Why It Matters Heightened friction continues between China and Japan, and U.S. defense treaty ally. These tensions are driven by China's rapid military buildup, the increasing frequency and scale of People's Liberation Army (PLA) military drills around Beijing-claimed Taiwan, and Chinese coast guard patrols near the Japan-controlled Senkaku Islands, known in China as the Diaoyu islands. What To Know On July 4, 2024, the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force Akizuki-class destroyer JS Suzutsuki was operating in international waters off the coast of China's Zhejiang province, north of the Taiwan Strait. The ship was monitoring the live-fire drills being carried out by PLA's Eastern Theater Command. Zhejiang's maritime authority had previously declared a no-sail zone for July 3 and 4. In a surprising turn of events, the 6,800-ton vessel then sailed toward China's territorial waters, which extend 12 nautical miles (13.8 miles) from Zhejiang's coastal baselines. This 2016 file photo shows the Japanese destroyer JS Suzutsuki. This 2016 file photo shows the Japanese destroyer JS Suzutsuki. Wikimedia Commons After repeated demands to change course went unheeded, Chinese forces fired at least two shells in warning—one before the ship crossed into the zone and another once it was in territorial waters, Japan's Kyodo News reported on Sunday, citing multiple sources familiar with China-Japan ties. Neither shell struck the Suzutsuki, and no damage was reported. The ship remained in the territorial sea for about 20 minutes. The cause of the incident was later traced to a crew error—failing to activate the navigational chart display that marks the boundary between international and territorial waters, per Kyodo. Newsweek was unable to independently confirm Kyodo's report. Beijing criticized the "illegal and improper move." It also called on Tokyo to mount an investigation and take measures to prevent a similar incident. The captain of the JS Suzutsuki was replaced that month after only two months in the role, then-Japanese Defense Minister Minoru Kihara confirmed in September. He told reporters it was not Defense Ministry policy to share the reason for personnel transfers. According to the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, foreign-flagged vessels—including those of other navies—are permitted to transit territorial waters under the principle of innocent passage. China, however, has asserted that foreign warships must obtain permission to pass through its territorial waters. In August 2024, a Chinese spy plane drew a strong protest from Tokyo after briefly entering Japanese airspace in what Beijing said was an accident. What People Are Saying Collin Koh, a senior fellow at the Institute of Defense and Strategic Studies, wrote on X: "[People's Republic of China vessels] fired warning shots at JS Suzutsuki last July, including before the JMSDF ship even entered PRC territorial sea. Escalatory for sure." What Happens Next Japan's Defense Ministry, in a 2025 white paper, described Beijing as Tokyo's "greatest strategic challenge," citing an increase in Chinese naval deployments near Japanese territory and deepening military cooperation with Russia. The paper also warned that the gap in capabilities between Chinese and Taiwanese forces continues to widen. Beijing claims the self-ruled democracy as its own territory and has vowed to unify with it, by force if necessary.
