These two got to me. Look at their faces! Barb Nizinkirck, rescuer-extraordinaire, picked up these beauties in the parking lot of the Albany municipal shelter. Their owner had been trying to surrender them to a safe place, but the pups were turned away. No room at the inn. Barb packed them into her car and delivered them to Out of the Pits (outofthepits.org), a rescue in the area that would care for them until longterm homes could be found. Barb has been the difference between life and death for countless dogs. Not to mention cats. You’d be surprised how many of them come from parking lots next to shelters that are overwhelmed and have closed their doors.
The first brick and mortar animal shelter in the US opened its doors in 1869. It was not the ASPCA. Apologies to Henry Bergh, founder of the “A,” as it is called, but a group of activist women began sheltering dogs and cats outside of Philadelphia. The Women’s Humane Society, now The Women’s Animal Center, is still standing and operating in a building made exclusively of recycled materials. (The roof tends to leak.) All animals who knock on its door are welcome. In NYC, the Animal Care and Control Centers (ACC) take in the bulk of homeless dogs and cats—not the ASPCA. It has given up responsibility for animal control programs, which are aimed at caring for the neediest, local animals. In a newish, long overdue program, the A provides veterinary services to some shelter animals. But that’s another story…
Not so long ago, most people went to their local shelters to adopt a dog. The facilities weren’t so great—but the animals were great. Never blame the dogs and cats for the poverty of the facility housing them. Today, people searching for a companion seem to prefer rescue groups, which are not only proliferating but doing a damn good job sweeping up animals who slip through the cracks of our lives and through shelters, like the pups at the top of this page. Shelters are actively turning away “owner surrenders,” people who cannot keep their animals for various personal reasons or they just don’t want them any more. My guess is that readers of this column would be horrified at the number of people who dump their animals at a shelter and never even call to find out what happened to them.
I was once volunteering at my local shelter when a man brought in an elderly, sick hound who I knew would never get out of the place alive. I told the man exactly what was likely to happen to his dog and suggested that he take him right home. But he didn’t want the dog, regardless of the outcome. “I don’t want to know,” he told me. Then he got in his car with his two children and drove away. I hoped he was a little more enthusiastic about keeping his kids.
Several years ago, I walked into the ACC shelter and asked to see the oldest pit bull in the house. As I explained to my ACC adoption counselor, a moonlighting poet, I had only one criterion: I needed a dog who got along with other dogs. I have walked too many difficult dogs in New York City to take another. Sorry, but true. Like everyone else, I like well behaved dogs. The counselor immediately pitched Oreo. He assured me that she was dog-friendly and leash trained. Afterall, she was eight years old, plenty of time to learn how to behave. Oreo had only been in one family, which was rare for a dog her age. She was 80-pounds, silky, with big, brown, saucer eyes, and a white patch on her chest. I liked her look—both tough and elegant. She had been on The Today Show as an ambassador for older, shelter dogs and was a staff favorite, but no one had been able to find her a home. Everyone loved her—but no one wanted her. Black dogs are adopted last—or never.
Handsome Archie (AKA Oreo)
Oreo clearly liked people. She had an affectionate personality, knew the basic commands (sit, stay, down) and was eager to please. Her expressive ears and puppy like face belied her age, and she looked me right in the eye the moment we first met, wagging her tail, hard. That’s all it took. After I signed the adoption forms, a staffer told me that the dog had been scheduled for euthanasia the following morning because her time had run out. She had a mild cough, which was enough to earn her a death sentence in this shelter. I took her home to the West Village, along with a packet of antibiotics. I was thrilled. Oreo, who became Archie (for actress Archie Punjabi, then a mainstay on The Good Wife) was saved.
On day one, however, I was walking Archie in the street when she spotted another dog, pulled like a maniac and then lunged. The leash and collar I had put on her were dramatically inadequate. I managed to control the dog, but I was worried. We immediately walked to the nearest pet supply store (Beastie Feast) where I purchased a heavy halter and a shorter, stronger leash. But on the way home, a puppy came running towards us despite my alarmed shouts to her distracted owner. (Yes, she was on her cell.) Archie bit the pup, opening a cut on her ear. A puppy? She bit a puppy. Archie was not displaying Day One nervousness. She was “reactive” to other dogs, exactly what I did not want.
“Reactivity” is not a reason to euthanize any dog, especially a pit bull, bred as they have been for generations to fight other dogs. I knew Archie had been a breeder, but now I wondered if she had been owned by someone involved in dogfighting; the dog had a serious prey drive, which is what certain breeders look for in their bitches. Archie’s antagonism towards other dogs was so intense that I was frightened to walk her in my neighborhood where there were likely to be two or three dogs on every block. A trainer friend rushed over with an even more serious harness and gave me a few tips. But after we took Archie for a short walk, she advised me in no uncertain terms to return the dog. Archie was too much for both of us.
This was a sensible suggestion, albeit one that I knew I would never take. I simply can not return dogs. The ACC would not give her another chance. I was not going to sentence Archie to death because I couldn’t handle her. I hadn’t even cured her cough. At home, she was sweet and surprisingly obedient. With the help of another trainer, Archie and I struggled to reduce her hostility to other dogs to a manageable level. It took weeks of daily training, but the dog seriously adored my husband, and he her, which helped. Dogs often have a preference for one gender or the other and Archie preferred men. Finally, Peter had a dog who liked him best. There was no way he was going to give up on her.
Archie’s cough, however, did not disappear. Worse, on her first visit to my veterinarian, he noticed a lump on her neck and soon diagnosed her with lymphoma. We were crushed. Archie was euthanized only six months after I brought her home. RIP Archie.
There is no science to adopting out the right dogs to the right people, but there is a way to carefully match people’s expectations with animals. Rescue groups have rationalized the systems to save animals. I frequently hear complaints about rescue groups that refuse dogs to people for a variety of ridiculous reasons. In one case, a friend who is a veterinarian was refused a three-legged, older pit bull who had been in rescue for almost a year. The vet’s home was too close to the Hudson river. But the surprise is that this doesn’t happen more often. Placing animals in the right homes takes skill and a little luck.
News Flash: This just in from the LA Times. The euthanasia rate at the LA County shelters has “nearly doubled” over the past few years. While the LA County board of supervisors has pressured the system to euthanize fewer dogs, it’s not happening. COVID can be blamed in part for this situation, but so can lack of funds in a system that is short-staffed and over burdened. Why don’t politicians care? Their constituents sure do.
My guess is that the same conditions can be found in NYC’s city shelters where staffers look for reasons to pick an animal for euthanasia. One sneeze is all it takes.
Archie lounging in my office. Not so long ago, dogs and cats could get colds in shelters and receive treatment, rather than a death sentence. Archie came home with antibiotics.
How lucky for Archie, who had such an unlucky life, to spend the last months of his life with you in your home.
An education. Riveting too.