Saving Gracie (21 page)

Despite AKC policy, Bernardi said, records showed that some of the most problematic kennels went two years without an inspection. Peterson said registration privileges of problem kennels can be put on hold until the deficiencies are corrected. If they’re not corrected, the AKC’s board of directors may suspend the breeder. The organization’s goal is to treat all breeders equally, regardless of the size of their kennel, the spokeswoman said. “We do not believe that intentionally excluding large numbers of purebred dogs from these AKC requirements is doing a service to the dog or to the pet-buying public,” Peterson said. She said refusing to register puppies from certain breeders would not discourage breeding, it would only mean fewer breeders were inspected.

•  •  •

Across the country, Americans have reached out to puppy mill survivors, no matter how daunting the odds. Breed rescue groups nurture sick and injured dogs and help them find new homes. Among the twenty dogs the Elmbrook Humane Society rescued from a kennel in western Wisconsin in 2007 was a 3-year-old Poodle they named China who was missing two of her legs. Her mother had chewed them off, a sign of stress commonly manifested in puppy mills. In a matter of months, officials had fashioned a custom-fitted cart that enabled China to scoot around happily, and a local resident stepped forward to adopt her.

At dog auctions, ardent animal lovers show up with enough money to outbid breeders on at least a few of the dogs. The salvaged dogs are taken to rescue groups, which work to find them new homes. Rescuing dogs at auctions is somewhat controversial: Critics say it enables kennel operators to make money off of their worn-out breeding dogs and creates openings in kennels that must be filled by still more breeding dogs. But rescuers feel they are giving deprived dogs a well-deserved chance at a decent life.

At an estate-sale auction of a Georgia breeder in 2006, the Chattanooga-based Humane Educational Society spent $20,000 buying dogs who might otherwise have gone to other puppy mills. The next year, Helen Hamilton, a veterinarian from the San Francisco Bay area, drove to a kennel liquidation auction in Arkansas with $9,000, enough to rescue more than a few breeding dogs. Of the 300 Pugs, Dachshunds, Boston Terriers, Pekingese, Scottish Terriers, Yorkies, and Cairn Terriers for sale, she bought sixty-nine. Two of the dogs were 11 years old and still producing puppies. Awaiting them back home was Loree Levy-Schwartz, chairwoman of the American Shih-Tzu Club and the Golden Gate Shih-Tzu Fanciers, who had offered to help find homes for as many Yorkies as Hamilton could deliver.

“You know, you’re never going to save them all,” Levy-Schwartz told a newspaper. “But . . . it’s one dog at a time. To me, it’s worth it.”

When Wallace Haven, the owner of Puppy Haven Kennels north of Madison, Wisconsin, decided to go out of business in 2008, the Wisconsin Humane Society swooped in. Haven sold roughly 3,000 designer-breed puppies a year—Puggles, Peekapoos, and dozens more hybrids—and boasted that he had dog breeding down to a science. His animals had food and water and access to small indoor kennels, but no beds to sleep on and no toys.

To keep him from selling off his remaining dogs to other breeders, the Wisconsin group did something unprecedented: It bought the dogs—1,600 of them by the time several litters were born—at a steep discount. The dogs were so unsocialized that to prepare them for adoption, volunteers sat on stools and read to them until they became accustomed to the sound of human voices. The kennels at the rescue shelter automatically dispensed treats any time a person walked by in hopes that the dogs would learn to associate human beings with something good. When the time came to adopt the dogs out, a number of area pet stores allowed rescue groups to display the animals in their shops. Six months later, all of the dogs had new homes.

By mid-2009, the HSUS had a staff of six devoted exclusively to fighting puppy mills. A task force was formed to help law enforcers process cases, especially in communities that found themselves overwhelmed at the prospect of caring for hundreds of rescued animals.

Shain takes part in puppy mill rescues whenever she gets the chance. In the spring of 2009, she helped other rescuers remove more than 350 matted Shetland Sheepdogs, Shih Tzu, Poodles, and other dogs who had been squirreled away in a series of ramshackle buildings in the hilly countryside around Paris, Arkansas. One animal in particular stood out: a dignified-looking Akita who’d been confined alone to a fenced-in outdoor cement pad connecting two of the barns. At the end of the day, after the other dogs had been removed, a worker slipped a leash-collar around the Akita’s neck and began to lead him toward safety. The dog did just fine until he reached the edge of the cement. Then he stopped. He refused to go any farther. It finally dawned on rescuers that he was blind. Despite years of deprivation, the dog was afraid to venture into the unknown.

Workers finally coaxed him out and, once he was freed from puppy mill life, the Akita surprised everyone. He was sweet and loving—so much so that the first shelter that cared for him named him Gentle Ben. An Akita rescue group in New York State took him in next, and not long after that, Shain received a photo in the mail of Gentle Ben posing happily alongside his new owner. The mellow countenance of the big dog is what she remembers most about that raid.

“It’s so sad to see dogs in those conditions,” she said, “but it’s so wonderful to be able to take them out.”

Chapter 20: Two Lives Changed

Linda was acting nonchalant, but Erika and Julia could tell something was up. She’d told them, “I have to run an errand out to Frystown. Why don’t you come with me?” But it was clear the girls didn’t really have a choice in the matter. When they quizzed their mother for details, she refused to say anything more.

It was Christmas Eve 2007. The house was decorated, the presents were already under the tree, and the girls couldn’t imagine what would necessitate this last-minute trip. For the duration of the thirteen-mile drive, Linda was conspiratorially silent. Gracie was along for the ride, although there was nothing unusual about that. The girls’ brother, Ryan, was bagging groceries at Weis Market; if he wasn’t, he would have been dragged along, too.

On an isolated stretch of the highway, Linda turned in to a driveway and pulled up next to a car plastered with Cavalier King Charles Spaniel stickers. Erika immediately put two and two together.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” she said. “Are we getting another dog?”

Linda kept up her silence. But just as Erika suspected, the sound of barking dogs from a nearby building greeted them as they walked down a brick path by the side of the house. A woman stepped onto the back porch and invited them into her kitchen, where a handful of Cavaliers were milling about.

Linda finally admitted the obvious: “I was thinking we could get another dog.” She seemed to have one in particular in mind, the dog she was kneeling by—a tricolor Cavalier with especially curly hair.

A second dog could work, the girls agreed. The family cat, Kitty, had died of a respiratory infection right after Thanksgiving. Having another Cavalier around might be fun—even more fun if it was the chestnut and white puppy chasing a ball in the corner.

“Why can’t we get a puppy?” Erika wanted to know. She thought but didn’t say, “instead of an old dog who isn’t even potty-trained.”

But the decision had already been made. A short time later, Linda and the girls were headed home with Gracie in the front seat and the new dog, Jackie, nestled between Erika and Julia in the back. The irony of the moment wasn’t lost on Linda: Here she was, the same woman who two years ago had given away the family’s Yorkie and sworn off dogs for good, inviting a new dog into her life—to go with the
other
dog she’d vowed never to get. Yet if she really thought about it, the turn of events made perfect sense.

Ever since she adopted Gracie in the summer of 2006, Linda could not stop thinking about the plight of puppy mill dogs like her. An image would flash through her mind, fleeting but memorable, of thousands of breeding dogs trapped in deplorable cages, destined to produce puppies until their bodies were ravaged and their spirits destroyed. By happenstance, Gracie had escaped her fate. Most puppy mill dogs weren’t so fortunate.

A year and a half had passed since Gracie had begun her new life. Emotionally she was transformed, thoroughly acclimated to living with a family. She was loving and sweet-natured, almost serene at times, as if somehow she’d been able to erase the memories of those first six years. Her bond with Linda was closer than ever. The only thing missing was a canine companion—not just for Gracie, but for Julia, too. Julia still yearned for a dog of her own. Gracie clung so steadfastly to Linda that the kids felt a little left out. There was a time when Linda would have preferred a puppy over an older dog. But what better solution than to give another breeding dog the chance to be just a pet?

She began combing Cavalier rescue sites on the Internet, but none of the groups responded to her inquiries. Then a stylist at her hair salon overheard her talking one day and told her about a Cavalier kennel in Frystown. The owner had a breeding dog she was looking to get rid of, the stylist said. She insisted the kennel was not a puppy mill.

Linda contacted the woman. The dog she had for sale was three years old and had produced three litters. The woman did not intend to breed her again. They haggled over a price. The breeder wanted $800; Linda countered with $500. The breeder asked if Linda had a fenced-in yard—her dogs were accustomed to running freely outside, she said. Linda’s yard wasn’t fenced, but the new dog would have a playmate in Gracie. And she agreed to sign papers promising to have the dog spayed. They agreed on the terms.

Jackie resembled Gracie physically, but she was bigger—twenty-two pounds to Gracie’s sixteen. Her coat was a bit whiter and her tail fanned out into a gorgeous plume. And her personality could not have been more different. She was a daredevil, always nosing open the back door and ducking out. More times than Linda liked, she had to chase Jackie down the block in her pajamas. Inside, Jackie scampered through the house, tipping over trash cans. While Gracie liked to plant herself in Linda’s lap during car rides, Jackie thrust her head out the window, eager to take in the sights. Gracie had mastered the rules of potty training in a matter of months, but Jackie never did seem to get the hang of it.

Early on, when Gracie growled at Jackie out of jealousy, Linda wondered if she’d made a mistake trying to introduce a second dog. But in a matter of weeks the Cavaliers warmed up to each other. To keep Jackie from marking territory all over the house, Linda crated her whenever she was out. Jackie didn’t mind the confinement. She seemed to actually like the den-like feel of the crate.

Before long, to Linda’s surprise, Gracie began climbing into the crate with Jackie. The two dogs curled up together and slept side by side. When they weren’t napping they were playing. Jackie was more assertive, the ringleader: If she grabbed a mouthful of grass from the yard, so did Gracie. If Jackie lay on her stomach and spread her back legs out as if she was bodysurfing, Gracie imitated her. On Linda’s bed, the two dogs would go at each other, jumping back and forth in mock combat. Linda had never seen Gracie act so lively. She was glad to see her focused on something other than herself.

Between the two pets, one thing was understood: Linda belonged to Gracie and no one else. If Jackie slept on Linda’s bed, she was relegated to the foot of it. Gracie alone claimed the coveted spot next to Linda’s pillow.

Anxious to be with Linda from the start, Gracie grew more so as time passed. Where once she relished going on errands in the car, she now grew frantic if Linda left the car to get a cup of coffee or to run into the grocery store—even if Erika and Julia stayed behind to keep her company. One afternoon when Linda dropped Erika off at a friend’s house and got out of the car for just a moment, Gracie panicked and hurled herself out the open window. She wasn’t injured by the fall, but Linda decided the car rides were becoming too traumatic. She began leaving Gracie at home.

The Cavalier’s eyesight exacerbated matters. Gracie’s vision, poor to start with when Linda adopted her, had worsened over time. Now she was practically blind. No longer able to see Linda, she went in search of her constantly. Gracie had committed to memory the floor plan of the family’s house, but if she was anywhere unfamiliar, she was in trouble. At the family’s beach house in Ocean City, New Jersey, she was completely disoriented; she constantly ran into furniture and doorways. At home, when Linda let Gracie outside to use the bathroom, the dog often had trouble finding her way back—she would run in circles until she heard Linda’s voice. One wintry afternoon, when Linda’s back was turned, Gracie toppled headfirst into the goldfish pond at the edge of the patio. Linda quickly fished her out, but it disturbed her to see Gracie having so much difficulty.

The Cavalier still suffered from dry eye. At one point her veterinarian, Dr. Kezell, recommended remedying the problem by surgically removing her eyeballs. It seemed too drastic a cure; Linda couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Another sign of Gracie’s past remained: While Jackie ate her food slowly and patiently, Gracie inhaled hers—as if her kibble would be taken away if she didn’t consume it fast enough. She never learned to eat at a leisurely pace.

Although her eyesight worsened, Gracie was still able to enjoy life. (
Carol Bradley
)

Despite her problems, Gracie was happy, and she had become far more sociable than she once was. Linda noticed this especially with her cycling buddies, the friends she got together with most weekends for long bike rides on country roads outside of town. For months, when her friends pedaled into the driveway on Saturday mornings, Gracie stuck by Linda’s side; she wanted nothing to do with the interlopers. In time, though, she let down her guard. If one or another of the cyclists called to Gracie, she would venture toward them. She would even stand still next to them and let them reach down and pet her.

•  •  •

In june 2007, a fire swept through a dog kennel in a nearby town, killing eighteen Pugs and French Bulldogs, just hours after an official had investigated conditions there. The fire looked suspicious. Upset by the surprise inspection, the breeder had threatened to have the dogs put down rather than clean up the kennel. For the first time in memory, Linda was compelled to go public with her feelings.

“Like many, I was horrified after reading the story about the kennel fire in Bethel Township,” she wrote in a letter to the editor of the
Lebanon Daily News
. “The owners should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Kudos to Gov. Ed Rendell, a true animal lover, for recognizing that the proliferation of exploitation and animal abuse in Pennsylvania requires swift and arduous punishment.

“As an owner of one of the infamous Chester 300 (300 animals rescued last year in Chester County, Pa.),” she wrote, “I have seen the lasting effects of an animal held captive in a puppy mill for her entire first years of life. When I see her stumble into objects because her vision has been greatly impaired from scar tissue and disease, or see her struggling to chew food because her teeth had to be extracted because of neglect, I can’t fathom how humans can be so heartless.”

She ended the letter with a word of advice.

“When considering pet ownership, please do your homework,” Linda wrote. “The Internet is a powerful means of marketing and selling animals bred in puppy mills. These breeders offer below-market prices and will even ship the animal to you. Purchase only from reputable breeders, and better yet, consider adoption.

“Let’s put an end to puppy mills in Pennsylvania.”

Her cycling friends teased her about her conversion into an animal lover. “They’re thinking: Where did this come from?” she said. Linda laughed along with them. “Yeah, I’ll be one of those eccentric old women living in a house with fifty dogs. Me and all the dogs.”

•  •  •

The year 2008 was full of change. In February, fourteen months after going to work for Team Pennsylvania, Linda switched jobs again. Her new position was development director for Luther Care, a nonprofit continuing care retirement community that operated three nursing home–assisted living centers as well as a couple of large childcare programs. The new job meant a little more money, it was closer to home and, best of all, it involved little to no travel. Still, any work-related change entailed a degree of stress. Linda was just settling into her new position when, after being together for six years, she and Eric split up. They reconciled in April, but by the end of May they were separated again. “I think my life is too complicated for him,” Linda said.

She struggled to get over the breakup. At 47, she was blond, blue-eyed, and fit and could easily pass for someone ten years younger. Yet she wondered if she was getting past the point of finding a meaningful relationship. She had the kids, of course; they were talented and good-looking and she was crazy about them. But at 17, 14, and 11, they were also a handful.

For all her challenges, Gracie offered the sense of grounding Linda needed. There was something about the dog’s unfailing loyalty, her complete and unreserved focus that Linda found comforting. Did it stem from gratitude? She had no way of knowing. She sometimes wondered if Gracie hadn’t survived such hellish conditions whether she would be the devoted dog she had become.

Linda’s friend Jennifer was amazed at how faithfully Gracie would sit at Linda’s feet, gazing up at her in utter adoration. “Enjoy her while you can,” Jennifer told her. “She’s your once-in-a-lifetime pet.” Jennifer had developed a close bond with her own pet, a Siamese cat named Kirbie. When Kirbie got hit by a car and died, Jennifer was overcome with grief. Linda knew that if something happened to Gracie, she would be equally devastated.

By the end of summer 2008, Linda and Eric were back together and her personal life regained some stability. And on a completely different level, thanks to Gracie she found herself concerned about animals in ways she’d never been before.