Boyd, found wandering the streets of Schenectady, picked up by animal control and taken to a shelter, which turned him over to Out of the Pits rescue because he was a pit bull. OOTP moved him into a foster family and put him up for adoption. He had at least four homes before I adopted the clever lad at 8 months old. One of the best decisions I ever made.
From my earliest recollections, I have measured out my life in dogs. I’ve never liked walking down a road—any road—without one. And never met a pup—from anywhere—who did not pique my interest. The moment I saw Boyd, pictured above, I wanted to bring him home.
Where I get my dogs, one the other hand, is important. I go to shelters and rescues and here is why you should, too. I admit there are few good breeders, but there are thousands of bad ones. Not to mention the fact that purebred dogs have above average health issues. Moreover, shelters, all over the country, are currently flooded with amazing dogs.
When writing my first book on animals, years before I had met Pearl and Spike, the lovable heroes of these substack essays, I was invite to help out on a puppy mill raid. The target was owned and run by a breeder who sold mini-poodles, dachshunds, West Highland terriers, Yorkies and Cairns, among other larger, popular breeds. At first, its business prospered, but selling puppies often leads to financial ruin unless the females are bred continuously, and then, of course, the older pups mount up as the youngest ones sell first. Breeders become hoarders. To lighten their loads, they often dump whole litters on shelters. Even when they are treat well (that means healthy food, daily exercise and vet visits), dogs are expensive to maintain. Try vetting 40 dogs.
In this case, I was invited along on the raid because I had a SUV. The animal cops had no idea how many dogs they would need to cart away; so they needed extra transportation and I actually wanted to go. I had never seen a puppy mill.
Despite facing protests and busts mounted by major animal welfare organizations, most puppy mills still operate with impunity. When there is a demand, suppliers prevail. Popular breeds enter the puppy mills. For instance, King Charles Spaniels are visible in pet stores where they are sold like pots and pans. Ditto Yorkies, the most popular small breed. And don’t start me on doodles. (They will get their own essay.)
My SUV was spanking new, a week old, so I thought it best not to tell Peter that I was about to stuff it with rescue dogs. He’s possessive about our cars; I’m possessive about our dogs.
This morning’s raid had been in the planning stages for one year. Eight New York State shelters were participating and a dozen vans, including mine, were lined up at a gas station in Pittstown, New York, close to our target. Sue McDonough, a retired trooper from NYC held the warrants and would lead the charge.
McDonough knocked on the front door of the house that doubled as a kennel, and served the breeder in question with the search and seizure warrant. Then, one by one, we pulled up to the house, parked, went in to bring out as many dogs as possible, and drove away. I was in the second car. When I got out, maybe 20 feet from the building, the stench—garbage, feces, urine—hit me like a cloud of thick smoke. It was winter, and I couldn’t imagine what the place must smell like in the summer.
Late at night, pitch black, snow on the ground, dogs barking, it was a frightening scene. I was partnered up with Laura Ann Cammisa, director of the Columbia-Greene Humane Society. She’d been on countless raids and I was comforted to have her by my side. Not only was she brave, but she knew what she was doing. McDonough waved us into the house where there were two dog trainers (Cydney Cross and Catherine Crawmer) pulling animals from cages, crating them and then handing the crates over to the drivers. With factory line precision, we waited for our crates, containing one or two dogs, each, and carried them to our car. Eleven crates were packed into my car.
Most of the dogs were not in the house but in a shed that had no electricity, insulation or heat. It was freezing. The floor was covered in dirt and some unidentifiable squishy substance so thick we couldn’t really see what was under it. The cages were stacked on top of one another and the urine and feces dripped into the ones below them. Many of the small dogs had been defecating on each other for so long they were stuck together. They were all barking like crazy dogs—scared out of their minds. When I shined my flashlight towards a dark corner of the space, I spotted four large cages filled with Great Danes; two were pregnant. Harlequins.
In another room, there was a makeshift pen on the floor filled with small dogs, mostly poodles. When I reached down to let the dogs sniff my hand, they swarmed me, like bees; when I moved closer, they scattered, terrified.
Outside, the trainers carried the Great Danes to the cars; they either couldn’t or wouldn’t walk. I was hoping that all these dogs understood that life was about to get much better.
Before we left, Cammisa discovered a set of stairs leading to a basement room in the house. I was scared to even look. She went down first and found only one dog in a filthy kennel. It was an ancient, female pit bull! I wondered how long she has been down there alone, with no water or food.
A short while later, I saw Cydney Cross escorting the pit bull to her car. The dog was shivering in the cold and having trouble walking. Cross took her home that very night and named her Sita. Sita died a few months later in Cross’s arms. At the very least, she had a name and a full belly.
About a dozen puppy mill dogs were taken in by the Columbia Greene Humane Society where an army of volunteers groomed them, held them, walked them, and tried to teach them that not all humans are wretched. They remained terrified for months but eventually they were adopted. People want small, purebred dogs.
This is why I advise people not to shop for a puppy on the Internet. One close friend recently went to a breeder in Lancaster, Pennsylvania (home of many Amish puppy mills) to buy a husky, a breed that is a dime a dozen in virtually every shelter. I love their puppy, but what about his relatives left behind to breed?
Pearl was a breeder for five years, working diligently for a dogfighting operation in Alabama. Her puppies must have been fierce, which is the only reason she would have been selected for this job. Still, at age 14, she remains allergic to all other dogs and will not allow them near her or into our house.
The Humane Society of the United States estimates that there are 10,000 puppy mills in the US. Then there are the small backyard mills, like the one described above, which are completely hidden from the public. Few know they exist, and no one knows how many there are.
Pearl