Elusive 'Ghost Dog' Haunts Prospect Park No More

Looking at the 109-pound mastiff lumber around Sean Casey’s feet, “ghost” is decidedly not the first word that comes to mind.

For years, the dog has been a mainstay in Prospect Park lore, a mythical being that appears one minute and vanishes the next, developing over time a reputation of Sandlot-like proportions.

And yet, here he is—the famed ghost dog of Prospect Park, which, after four years of roaming the park’s fields and meadows, was captured by Casey last Wednesday. Now, sitting at Casey's feet, he doesn't look so mythical or mysterious. Brown and sedate, he looks a bit like a small cow.

“Part of me didn’t want to catch him. Part of me felt he was happy where he was, and he was living a nicer life than we could have provided for him, . “But at the same time I knew that at some point that would come to an end, and he would need to be brought in.”

Virginia Cahill, a Windsor Terrace resident, said she first spotted Ghost Dog in 2010, when he was barreling down a hill near Center Drive. Assuming he had broken away from his owner only moments prior, Cahill alerted a park official, who told her simply: “Oh, that’s ghost dog.”

“Since I heard of him that day, he’s just become such a part of the fabric of the park,” Cahill said. “The lore just grew. Everybody had their own Ghost Dog story.”

While Casey said he's been tracking the dog for as long as he’s been haunting Prospect Park, actually capturing the creature was not on the agenda.

Unlike the , Ghost Dog had never posed a threat to any park-goers, man or beast, according to Casey. In fact, the dog—a type of mastiff called a Cane Corso—was on friendly terms with many pets who regularly romped in the park, emerging from the woods to play in Nethermead meadow with any animal who would play back: small dogs, big dogs—anyone, really, except humans, of whom he has always been wary.

Bob Ipcar, who keeps track of the park's lost and found dogs for the advocacy group FIDO, recalled Ghost Dog's skittishness toward people.

“Anyone who tried to approach him, the minute they would try to get a little close, he would back away," he said. "It was a little like he was a tai chi master.”

But lately, Casey noticed that Ghost Dog had been acting strangely. He was lying out in the open, allowing the protective buffer he typically kept between himself and human foot traffic to shrink to only a few feet.  

Moreover, he was limping.

“I think ultimately he made the decision at the end of the day,” Casey said. “He was always somewhat guarded, and his guard was just really down. I think he was saying, you know, it’s time.”

After much deliberation, Casey decided that the dog needed help. But despite having a handle on the dog’s daily habits, actually catching him was a different matter entirely.

Casey enlisted the help of a local man who had been feeding Ghost Dog regularly since February. (The man asked not to be identified.) Each morning at 6 a.m., the two would rendezvous at Vanderbilt Playground, with Ghost Dog accepting food while carefully avoiding the possibility of being pet.

At 5:30 a.m. last Wednesday, the stakeout was set. Casey, along with six of the shelter’s other employees, gathered in a loose ring around Ghost Dog while he enjoyed his regular morning meal.

Little by little, the circle tightened. Another mastiff, a dog of one of the employees, was introduced as a distraction. His playful nature compelled Ghost Dog to take the bait, and before long, a rabies pole—a long steel rod with a noose on the end—was procured.

The pole was wrested around Ghost Dog’s neck, much to his angst—in all his years of dog-catching, Casey said, this was the first time the pole actually threatened to break—but another pole, a rope and two hours later, Ghost Dog was ushered into Casey’s rescue van, headed to the vet.

Reports from the vet confirmed what Casey suspected: Ghost Dog—who Casy estimates is between 5 and 7-years-old— had an injured back knee, a bone ailment called OCD common in large dogs. He also tested positive for Lyme disease, likely courtesy of the many ticks that inhabit Prospect Park.

Ghost Dog is a gentle giant, and when the time is right, Casey is certain he’ll be adopted into a good home. But first, he must undergo medical treatment and a fair amount of training. And despite already feverish interest from Ghost Dog’s cadre of devoted fans, Casey intends be very careful when selecting an owner.

“I’m not going to hand that dog to somebody who's going to take him out on a leash and then he’s lost again and we’re back where we started,” he said.

Ipcar agreed that while Ghost Dog certainly made for an interesting tale, he's not just the stuff of legends: He's an actual animal in need of a good home.

“It’s good for everyone in the park," he said of the the capture. "He was entertainment, but dogs really belong inside. It's remarkable that he survived that long in the wild.”

In a way, though, Ghost Dog will always belong to the park.

“So many people have formed such an emotional attachment to him without ever touching him, without ever doing much more than just seeing him every day," said Casey.

“He’s a mythical creature. Everybody has had their minute or two with him.”

Do you have your own Ghost Dog story? Share it with us in the comments below.