Tia Maria Torres is a patron saint of lost causes -- she rescues pit bulls, dogs so notorious that many shelters immediately kill them.
A pit bull bit off part of a mail carrier's nose last summer in Los Angeles. Another pit bull mauled a 2-year-old in La Habra, tearing into his face and scalp. It's also the type of dog that sleeps curled up by Torres' head, while another snores beneath her feet at night.
Torres provides sanctuary and training in Agua Dulce for about 80 dogs at the Villalobos Rescue Center, one of the nation's largest pit bull rescue efforts. She takes in dogs no one else wants. She teaches free obedience classes at city shelters. She pairs pit bulls with juvenile delinquents in a program called Pets in the Hood. Courts throughout California send her problem dogs, telling the owner that the animal either trains with Torres or dies.
In Los Angeles, it's like swimming against a tsunami. Of the 70,000 dogs at city shelters each year, nearly half are pit bulls or pit bull mixes, said Jackie David, spokeswoman for the Department of Administration of Animal Services, which runs the city's six animal shelters.
When possible, Torres finds homes. A Burbank-based German shepherd rescue group, for instance, places 20 dogs a month. On average, Torres places one.
"We take the animals that people want to walk across the street from," said Torres. "I give priority to hard luck cases."
These are dogs like Piglet, who was stabbed and then doused with battery acid. And Peanut, whose face resembled hamburger after being confiscated from a man suspected of staging dog fights. And Poppy, one of 39 emaciated dogs found chained to a barn in Bakersfield.
"Tia shows that these animals can be trained and can be good pets," said David. But even among dog lovers, rescuing pit bulls is controversial.
"The nicest thing you can do for those dogs is euthanasia," said Eric Sakach, director of the West Coast regional office of the Humane Society of the United States. "People who think you can rehabilitate these dogs are well-intentioned but naive."
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Torres is more comfortable with animals than with people. She sees pit bulls as big-hearted animals that are always loyal and, when necessary, fierce. It is how she sees herself.
On a recent afternoon, hearing panicked barking, Torres ran into the kennel of Jack, a border collie with a history of biting. A rattlesnake, coiled and hissing, was trying to strike.
