Saving Gracie (16 page)

Meanwhile, the ad hoc committee came back with two more key recommendations. The first was that the state hire a special prosecutor to handle egregious cases of animal abuse and neglect. The second was that the inspector general’s office investigate the worst violations of the dog law. Rendell agreed. He said Pennsylvania’s current law had left dog wardens “undermanned and outgunned.” The wardens weren’t equipped with law degrees and couldn’t begin to compete against private attorneys hired to defend kennel owners charged with violating the dog law.

In January 2007, the governor’s office began circulating sixty-seven pages of proposed new dog regulations. Breeders launched a new outcry. Twelve thousand people sent in comments.

The legislature would have to approve the changes, and opposition was swelling. But support was building, too. Baker joined one hundred animal welfare advocates on the steps of the state capitol building to urge a tougher dog law. They produced as Exhibit A a three-legged West Highland Terrier named Aidan. A former breeding dog, his leg was sliced off by his owner when it got caught in a wire fence.

For months,
the
Philadelphia Inquirer’s
capitol reporter,
Amy Worden, had exposed the loopholes bedeviling the state dog law. Now the
Allentown
Morning Call
weighed in with an exhaustive series that demonstrated just how loosely the dog law was enforced. The newspaper analyzed 20,000 inspection records compiled over a three-year period and concluded that state dog wardens were often a kennel owner’s best friend. Even when dogs were confined to cramped cages filled with dirty water bowls and feces, and even when diseased or dead dogs lay about, breeding and boarding kennels were virtually assured of a passing grade. Despite rampant problems, more than 90 percent of Pennsylvania kennels got perfect ratings in all twenty-six categories. Because it had no idea how to analyze its own data, however, the Bureau of Dog Law Enforcement itself hadn’t fully realized the extent of its dismal track record.

As an example, the
Morning Call
cited the case of Long Lane Kennel in Lancaster County. The dog warden assigned to the kennel had cited it twice in March 2006, but nevertheless had rated it as satisfactory. Later that year, other inspectors and a cruelty investigator with the Humane League of Lancaster County found conditions so terrible at Long Lane that they confiscated twenty-three dogs, one of whom had to be euthanized. Among other things, the kennel was strewn with feces and had a broken heater and exposed wires.

Then there was breeder Aaron Burkholder of Kutztown, who had been cited for thirty-one violations over the previous three years. Even when the dog warden filed five criminal citations against Burkholder, he continued to sell nearly 200 dogs a year. “If you have a good product, you’ll have sales,” Burkholder said.

At Bear Track Acres in Bucks County, dog warden Verna North noted dismal conditions. Water in the dog bowls was frozen. Some of the more than two dozen dogs lacked food. There was no bedding, the temperature fell below regulations, and North found fecal matter in every one of the runs. She gave owner David Greenlaw a week to correct the problems. A week later the kennel had been cleaned, but the dogs still had no bedding or heat; the temperature had now plunged to a bone-chilling eighteen degrees. Yet despite those deficiencies, the dog warden gave Greenlaw satisfactory ratings in both her reports.

The most shocking finding of all was the sheer size of the state’s breeding industry. In Pennsylvania alone, nearly a million dogs had been sold in 2006. The
Morning Call’s
website offered a link to state inspection records, so in a matter of clicks, readers could troll the records for themselves. Soon afterward, Rendell announced the creation of a similar new online database that would enable consumers to access inspection records for every dog kennel licensed by the state.

Cori Menkin, senior director of legislative initiatives for the ASPCA, scoured the databases and discovered that rescue shelters were being inspected nearly twice as often as large commercial kennels. Shelters that received state money for rescuing stray dogs were required to be audited quarterly. Even so, the bureau’s priorities made no sense, Menkin said. Large-volume breeders were the problem, and in all practicality the large-volume breeders were being ignored.

Chapter 17: A Bond Develops

The summer of 2006 was winding down fast. In a matter of weeks, Linda Jackson’s kids would be back in class at Lebanon Catholic School. (Ryan was a high school sophomore, Erika an eighth-grader, and Julia was in fourth grade.) The timing of Gracie’s adoption had worked out nicely; for those first few weeks in her new home, she was able to enjoy the kids’ company. The Cavalier insisted on Velcroing herself to Linda the first hour of the day, waiting patiently outside the shower and pacing back and forth between the makeup table and the closet while Linda got ready for work. But by 7:45 a.m. Linda was out the door, and for the next eight hours it was up to the kids to look after their new pet.

Gracie wasn’t exactly high-maintenance. Ordinarily, a new dog might attempt a little mischief—chew a stray sock, steal a sandwich off the kitchen counter, sneak out an open door. But Gracie was accustomed to the most draconian of rules: no trouble-making, no calling attention to herself. Two months after her arrival, she still behaved as if the old rules applied. The family’s previous dog, Spike, would not have thought twice about bolting out the front door or rifling through a closet for a forbidden item. Gracie was too timid to even consider it.

Her faulty eyesight was partly to blame. Those dry, scratched eyes seriously hindered her vision. Even after she felt comfortable exploring, she was mostly content to stretch out and wait for the end of the day, when Linda walked through the door.

Yet even a bashful dog needs basic care—someone to let her out on potty breaks, feed her an afternoon meal, and maybe take her on a short walk. Ryan made an effort to help out, but Gracie was terrified of him. When he tried to hold her, she writhed to be put down. Instead, Erika and Julia handled most of the chores. Feeding Gracie was no problem. As she circled in anticipation, the girls would fill her bowl full of dry food and set it on the floor. The same dog who had picked at her kibble at the shelter now inhaled it, even though no other dogs were around to steal her meal.

Letting her out for a bathroom break was a fairly straightforward task, too, although Erika occasionally had to remind herself that Gracie was outside. The backyard wasn’t fenced, and there was nothing to stop the Cavalier from meandering. Erika discovered that the hard way one afternoon when she let Gracie out, went back inside to pour herself some juice, and then answered the phone. A girlfriend was calling to chat. The two girls talked for some time, and after they hung up, Erika decided to call another friend. By the time she remembered to check on Gracie, the dog had disappeared from the backyard.

Overcome with guilt, Erika called Linda at work to tell her the bad news. Linda panicked. She was just about to rush home to scour the neighborhood when a neighbor three doors down phoned to ask, “Did you just lose your puppy?” Crisis averted. But it was now apparent that Gracie was capable of roaming after all. She did so several times before she finally settled in.

Walking her was a challenge all its own. Gracie liked the
idea
of going on a walk. She lit up at the words “bye bye,” the phrase that signaled a walk was imminent, and she learned that if she went over and stood by her leash, which hung on a hook inside the back door, she might hasten matters along. Once outside, though, her resolve melted. She strained against her leash to return to the house, to that safe space where life’s hurdles were surmountable. The Jacksons had to remind themselves that for years, all Gracie had known was a two-by-four-foot cage. The four rooms that comprised the first floor of their brick house were enough of a brave new world to last her a lifetime. To Gracie, those rooms offered an endless supply of alluring corners and hallways. There was even the occasional surprise, like the insouciant smack of Kitty’s paw. In contrast, the kingdom that lay beyond the back door was so vast that it was intimidating.

Erika persevered with the afternoon strolls. Having to tug Gracie along was more than a little annoying. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t anything
better
Erika
could be doing. She took singing lessons and loved nothing more than to practice her music. Or she could be hanging out with friends. Nevertheless, most days she managed to coax the Cavalier up the hill on South Thirteenth Street, right on Elm Street, right again on Twelfth, and back around by way of Poplar. Like clockwork, Gracie still bumped into almost every curbside they encountered, and if they happened to meet another dog on the sidewalk, her tail instantly disappeared between her legs. Still, she derived some enjoyment from the outings. Her flattened nose went into overdrive—she sniffed every bush, tree, and light pole they passed. And just to make certain the other dogs in the neighborhood knew she’d made the rounds, she left her calling card early and often.

Six months flew by. By Christmas, Gracie was behaving differently, in a good way. Maybe it was the hot pink collar that showed off her striking coat. Maybe it was the play-sleep-eat schedule she had learned to rely on day in and day out. Maybe it was the deluge of kisses she received first thing each morning and last thing each night, just before she lay her head on Linda’s pillow and fell asleep.

Whatever the reason, Gracie was morphing into a more confident dog than the pitiful creature Linda had brought home the summer before. The same sweet innocence was still there, but overnight, it seemed, she’d begun to assert herself. If she liked something, she let her family know about it. If she didn’t like something, she was pretty good at letting them know that, too.

The first time she let out a bark, it startled Linda. It wasn’t like Gracie to pipe up. The family had grown accustomed to having a silent dog—as if by keeping quiet, Gracie could deflect attention and not be forced to leave. Faced with anything new or unfamiliar, she retreated quietly. The day she finally opened her mouth and made noise, it occurred to Linda that her raspy-sounding
woof
didn’t sound like a bark at all. It sounded more like a scratchy piece of sandpaper. “Oh my goodness,” Linda thought, “she must have been debarked.” Whatever she’d experienced, Gracie had responded by shutting down altogether.

Now, years later, she felt self-assured enough to bark again. She began to yelp at any sound that struck her as frightening or unusual. She barked at Ryan and also at the hum of the microwave oven. Her vision may have been damaged, but her sense of hearing was tightly tuned.

Despite her protectiveness, she was starting to open up to outsiders. She befriended the Jacksons’ cleaning lady, Kim Kessler. Kim came every other Friday to scrub, dust, and vacuum, and she made a point of doting on the shy little Cavalier, giving her treats and even taking her for short walks. In no time, Gracie stood on her hind legs and fluttered her paws with excitement at the sight of Kim coming through the door.

After several months, Gracie also warmed up to Linda’s boyfriend, Eric, a printer with the Hershey Company. He spent most weekends with the family. His easygoing manner was a soothing antidote to Gracie’s anxiety. She wasn’t nervous about going on outings with Eric; he’d walk her a mile at a stretch and let her take her time to explore anything of interest she came across. Gracie normally slept with Linda, but when Eric was around, she knew better than to try to wedge between them. Gracie just went to sleep in her own bed.

Her days of bearing litters were over. As part of her agreement with the Berks County Animal Rescue League, Linda had Gracie spayed. After that, her appearance improved greatly. Her scarred right eye still bulged—Linda continued to put drops in both eyes every morning. But the postpartum belly-drag disappeared. The patches of baldness grew in, as well. Her coat, shaved at the shelter to minimize dirt, grew back with a thick, wavy sheen.

After six months, Gracie finally got the hang of doing her business outside, not in. And once she learned the do’s and don’ts of housetraining, she never again had another accident. She also learned a couple of tricks. Erika taught Gracie to sit, and together, Linda and the girls instructed her on the fine art of bestowing kisses. “Gracie, gimme kiss,” they’d say to her, over and over. The first time she licked Linda’s face obligingly, they were so full of praise—“Yay, yay, Gracie!”—that before long she was dispensing kisses nonstop. When Linda dropped Erika off at camp the following summer, the nurse fussed over the Cavalier in Linda’s arms, but wanted to know, “She’s not a licker, is she?” He wasn’t terribly interested in having a rough tongue lap his shins. Linda was about to warn him that, as a matter of fact, Gracie did indeed like to give kisses, when Erika corrected her. “She’s
not
a licker,” she told her mother. “She only licks you. Not anybody else.”

Gracie’s life revolved around Linda, no question. Linda was her sun, her moon—her whole galaxy. When Linda was around, Gracie was truly able to let down her guard. She’d never forgotten that it was Linda who had plucked her out of the shelter, driven her away from the cacophonous, hard, cement den, and invited her into her home—a genuine home with a cushiony bed just for her, smells of dinner wafting off the stove, and, best of all, endless shows of affection. Ryan took his cue from Gracie and gave her some distance. The girls showered her with attention, but at times they wanted more from Gracie than she was willing to give. Linda was different: She let Gracie decide for herself how much interaction she wanted—whether to climb up on Linda’s shoulders or relax in her lap. Gracie returned the favor with unswerving loyalty.

She slept in Linda’s bed, her head on Linda’s pillow, her gentle, rhythmic snoring right in Linda’s ear. When the alarm clock went off in the morning, the two of them would start the day with a little banter. Linda, still sleepy, would wave her hand obligingly from one side of her body to the other, and Gracie would follow it, jumping back and forth across Linda’s torso. She pawed at Linda’s face teasingly and licked her ears and face. “Gracie, lie down,” Linda would murmur, but she made no move to stop her. Gracie was livelier in the morning than at any other time—as if she had awakened to discover that her wonderful new life wasn’t a dream after all. It was
real
and, what’s more, a whole promising new day was about to begin.

She glommed on to Linda as much as possible. In the bathroom, while Linda was getting ready for work, Gracie would nose open the door and make a beeline for the freshly applied lotion on Linda’s legs. In the evening, while Linda cooked dinner, Gracie parked herself in a corner of the kitchen and watched, fixated. When Linda mowed the grass, Gracie followed behind her, no matter how nonsensical the path. If Linda circled the yard ten times in a row, Gracie tagged behind unquestioningly. Linda laughed out loud at her dedication.

The unwavering attention was intense, but Linda liked it. She’d known other people who’d felt a close attachment to their pets—whose dogs loved them no matter what—but until now she’d never experienced anything close to that feeling. She wasn’t looking for it when she adopted the Cavalier. She’d wanted a dog for her kids, not herself. But, inexplicably, a bond had formed between them, a connection that felt both powerful and good.

Linda was drawn to Gracie in ways she could never have imagined. (
Carol Bradley
)

There was a flip side, of course. If Linda suddenly left the room, or if someone lifted Gracie out of Linda’s arms, the little dog’s heart pounded. She whipped about, frantic, until Linda called to her. Her separation anxiety operated on high alert.

The first time Linda took Gracie to Karen’s Pet Stop to be groomed, the Cavalier paced back and forth with apprehension. Linda usually bathed Gracie herself, but she relied on a groomer to trim the dog’s nails, clean her ears, and clip the hair out from between her paws. Being left at the doggy spa for hours at a time was nerve-racking for Gracie. The Cavalier seemed convinced that once Linda walked out of the shop, she would never come back.

The same thing happened the first time Linda took a vacation. She and Eric planned a trip to Aruba—a romantic getaway for just the two of them. They left Gracie with Eric’s mother, Anna. Gracie, distraught, spent the first night running from room to room in Anna’s house, searching for Linda. By day two she had calmed down, but just knowing that Gracie was upset dampened Linda’s enjoyment of the trip.

Traveling was the one downside to the new job Linda took after the holidays. She left the YMCA to work for the Team Pennsylvania Foundation, a public-private partnership that fostered economic development. As the director of development, she not only had to commute thirty miles to Harrisburg every day, but she spent an average of two days a week on the road. There was no way to explain her absences to Gracie. The Cavalier lay in her bed, her ear tuned to the back door, waiting for what must have seemed an eternity for Linda to come home.