DogTown (5 page)

At Dogtown, groups of dogs live together in indoor/outdoor homes, where they can run, play, dig, and romp to their hearts’ content.

A NEW, NO-KILL MISSION

The spiritual aspirations of this small group of friends had, over time, evolved into a sharply focused earthly mission: to rescue soon-to-be-killed dogs and cats from shelters, rehabilitate them, and find them new homes. But Best Friends began growing so rapidly that in the early 1990s the number of animals coming in vastly exceeded the amount of money that was being raised to pay for operations. Everyone worried that they were getting in over their heads and in danger of going bust.

The solution was to dispatch the troops to every population center within striking distance—Denver, Salt Lake, Las Vegas, Los Angeles—set up tables in shopping centers, and begin soliciting donations, taking names, and passing out brochures. Within a few years, said Francis, by means of “tabling” they had compiled a mailing list of 70,000. And Best Friends Animal Sanctuary—officially founded in its present form in 1986—turned into a functioning, self-funding, nonprofit organization that was quickly becoming known as one of America’s most admired animal welfare rescue groups.

From the beginning, Best Friends staked out a position that was considered radical, almost unheard of among animal rescue organizations. It was determined to be a no-kill animal sanctuary, meaning that no animals would be euthanized unless it was to spare them from painful, terminal illness.

“We believed that animals shouldn’t be killed as a form of population control,” Francis said. “We are a country of wealthy animal lovers and we shouldn’t be killing [animals] because of minor behavioral problems, or because we bought them as fashion statements and now we’re tired of them, or because we just can’t get it together to spay or neuter.”

But because shelters were absolutely overwhelmed by unwanted animals, a couple of decades ago euthanasia seemed the only way of managing the population. In the late 1980s, an astounding 17 million animals were being killed in shelters every year. The conventional belief was that this tidal wave of homeless animals was simply so overwhelming that there was no way for shelters to keep from drowning without resorting to euthanasia.

The idea of no-kill shelters was considered unrealistic, perhaps quixotic, and was opposed at the time by many respectable animals rights groups, including the Humane Society of the United States.

But the Best Friends Animal Society became an early, earnest voice in favor of a new vision: a vast grassroots effort to place dogs and cats that were considered unadoptable into permanent homes and to reduce the number of unwanted pets through spay and neuter programs. Today, Francis Battista points out, the number of animals euthanized yearly has been reduced to somewhere between four and five million—a long way from perfect, but a dramatic improvement. (Feral cats and pit bulls, he said, compose a huge part of the animals that are killed.)

Now Best Friends acts as the flagship of an armada of people and organizations, leading the way toward a better future—a future in which the number of animals killed in shelters is reduced essentially to zero. Such a goal may seem idealistic. But it may also come true.

Meanwhile, the whole idea of the no-kill shelter has moved from the lunatic fringe to somewhere close to mainstream—something Francis considers one of the society’s biggest achievements.

BIG RESCUES

A kind of turning point in the society’s history occurred after Hurricane Katrina came ashore on the Louisiana coast on August 29, 2005, drowning the great American city of New Orleans and leaving several hundred thousand pets homeless, frightened, and starving.

Best Friends mobilized like a kindhearted military invasion, sending rapid response teams into the disaster area on September 2, 2005, and working for 249 days in and around New Orleans from a “base camp” in Tylertown, Mississippi. Using volunteers from across the country, including veterinarians and vet techs, the society was able to make an important contribution to the hurricane relief effort, helping those least able to help themselves.

It was, said Francis, the largest off-sanctuary effort in the society’s history, and it brought the group to national prominence. More important, team members such as trainer John Garcia rescued and cared for more than 4,000 animals. They also helped transport another 2,000 to new locations for adoption.

The following year, Best Friends teamed up with another group to rescue dogs in a war zone in Lebanon and helped local vets in Ethiopia learn to spay and neuter animals there. It also assisted local animal rescue groups after disastrous earthquakes in Peru in 2007.

But the organization has had some second thoughts about trying to save the world in such an ambitious way. “I think, in retrospect, bounding from disaster to disaster didn’t really suit us as an organization,” Francis said. “It was a demonstration of principle but it didn’t move us forward towards our larger agenda of ‘No More Homeless Pets.’

“We are pretty critical of ourselves,” he said. These recent undertakings, worthwhile as they are, may force the organization once again to rethink the way it deploys limited resources to achieve its long-term goals.

NO MORE HOMELESS PETS

The Best Friends sanctuary is only part of a national and international outreach on behalf of animals. The society helps other organizations set up spay/neuter programs, develop animal fostering programs, and respond to disasters like Katrina. The Best Friends Community Animal Assistance department extends the work of Best Friends by handling around 24,000 inquiries about pets each year. The society also publishes a slick bimonthly magazine called
Best Friends,
focusing on animals and animal welfare, with around 300,000 subscribers. And the hour-long television series
DogTown,
filmed at the sanctuary, which debuted on the National Geographic Channel in January 2008, is now in its fourth season.

The founders have created an organization that today is both enormously effective and widely beloved. In addition to more than 250,000 contributors, Best Friends is supported by innumerable celebrities, including comedian and talk show host Ellen DeGeneres, actress Charlize Theron, comedian Bill Maher, director Wolfgang Petersen, actress Laura Dern, and comedians Robin Williams and Dan Akroyd.

Even so, the Best Friends sanctuary, in Angel Canyon, remains the hub of all these far-flung activities. It employs about 250 staff members who care for, train, and house all those animals. Every year about 7,000 volunteers also donate their time, exercising and feeding the animals, cleaning cages, answering phones, and doing whatever else needs doing. Part of the Best Friends philosophy is that visitors and volunteers are a vital part of helping animals prepare for adoption into new homes.

Dr. Patti Iampietro was able to save Ava’s injured paw from amputation. After her recovery, Ava found her forever home in Denver, Colorado.

Best Friends gets as many as 60 inquiries a day from people wanting help finding a home for a stray, vet care, or medical advice about one of the world’s vast throng of unwanted animals. Despite its size and the devotion of its staff, the sanctuary cannot keep up with the magnitude of the need out there.

But there is an impassioned and constant public interest in the work of the Best Friends sanctuary. Every year almost 30,000 visitors come to Angel Canyon and take a tour of the facility, which is available daily throughout the year (for details, visit
http://www.bestfriends.org
). Some visitors even turn their visit into a volunteer vacation, spending a few days tending to the needs of animals. (There are pleasant rental cottages on the sanctuary grounds for visitors.)

Best Friends Animal Society, like all living things, has continued to evolve and grow over the years, and it appears ready to do so into the future. Francis, who is 64, says that “most of the founders are now hitting their 60s—some are beyond that age—and we’re not going to be able to do this much longer very successfully.” But there is a great young staff at Best Friends—capable, well trained, and passionate—and he’s confident they’ll take over the work for the next generation and continue to strive to bring about a time when there are no more homeless pets. At the heart of that effort is the sanctuary itself. Francis says it is “the core of everything we do.”

Including tending to Ava, the beautiful golden retriever grievously wounded in a coyote trap, who used to bump around the clinic foyer greeting visitors while collecting back scratches and sympathy for her mangled paw. Over the ensuing weeks, in a series of delicate operations, Dr. Patti Iampietro performed a partial amputation—removing only two dead toes and the surrounding infected tissue from Ava’s paw—restoring Ava to her full, four-footed glory. Ava has given up her plastic collar in favor of a new adoptive home in Denver. She’s happily living with her new family thanks to the sort of veterinary heroism that is routine at Dogtown but that is virtually unheard of at the average animal shelter in the “real world.” Of course, this isn’t the real world.

This is Dogtown.

I
will never forget the day she arrived at the emergency clinic where I was working as an ER vet. It was early January 1997. She was found by the local animal control officers after being hit by a car. They carried her into the hospital on a stretcher, where she was lying quietly but still lifting her head to look around. Her ears were held partly down in a submissive manner, and she was clearly worried. She had good reason. As a stray with severe internal trauma and two fractured legs, she was not a likely candidate to survive the next 24 hours. I had less than a day to decide whether to take responsibility for her myself or to euthanize her due to her injuries and the cost of her rehabilitation. The clock started ticking from the moment I saw her. But there was something special about this dog, something that spoke to me. When I think back, what struck me about this girl was that, even though she was frightened, injured, and clearly in pain, she never attempted to bite anyone. I remember thinking, Wow, this is a really great dog. My decision was made, and I started working to save her life.

Today, Bacci is that 40-pound, black, pointy-eared, mixed-breed dog that I rescued over 12 years ago, and she is the dog that has most changed my life. Rather than change, it may be more accurate to say that she has added to my life, and I have learned from her. I wouldn’t have missed a minute of the time I have had with her. (OK, there may have been a moment here or there…) It hasn’t all been easy, but it has all been worth it.

I knew that Bacci (then unimaginatively called Stray) was young, probably not quite a year old, and obviously had a difficult life out on the streets. She had three major broken bones—her right femur and her right radius and ulna. She had evidence of internal trauma bleeding in both her abdomen and her lungs, and she had developed heart arrhythmias. Maybe I was looking for a challenge when I decided to help Bacci, because there was no doubt that this dog’s injuries would put me to the test.

I set Bacci up in a well-monitored corner of the ER and started to care for her injuries. With time, pain medication, and intravenous fluids, she slowly stabilized. Those first couple days were difficult; there was no way to work with her without aggravating her injuries, but I learned a lot about her personality. She was tough, brave, and instantly loved everyone. Her other standout trait was her devotion to cleanliness. Having both a front and a back leg broken, she could not stand up—even for her “bathroom duties”—but she managed to scoot herself off her bedding, do her business, and then squirm her way back up on to her bed. Pretty amazing. I didn’t know much about dog training, but I felt that getting away from your own poop even when you can’t walk was a good sign of Bacci’s determination and confidence in her recovery. She impressed me, and our bond began to grow.

Once she was stable we planned to fix her legs. Working in a referral practice has its perks. A board-certified surgeon repaired both of her fractures for me over the ensuing week, and Bacci recovered like a champ. Luckily (if it can be called lucky to have two fractured legs), Bacci’s fractures did not involve any joints, which meant that she would most likely not develop arthritis as she aged. It also meant that she would heal faster and with fewer complications.

I took her home for the first time about two weeks after she first came in to the ER. She was doing well, her fractures repaired, and it was time to make “the introduction.”

OK, so I realize I am one of the featured doctors on DogTown, but I do have a confession. I am at heart a cat person. Yes, really.

I had a cat back then named Mr. Booshi. I had virtually no experience introducing dogs to cats, so I really didn’t know what to expect when I brought Bacci home. However, Bacci was still healing and unable to walk or even to get up, for that matter, so I felt things would be pretty safe as I carried her into the apartment. Booshi walked out of the bedroom to see what was going on, paused, gave an indignant hiss, and then continued on as if Bacci didn’t exist. Bacci’s pupils dilated, and she tracked that cat all over the house, which didn’t seem like a very good sign. She looked very predatory, for lack of a better word, but after a short while everyone relaxed. Over time, I can’t say there was a lot of love between them, but I do think there was tolerance and probably a mutual respect of personal space. So that is how my four-legged best friend came into my life.

Over the years I have learned so much from her. Before Bacci, I had no experience training a dog. I was a cat person, and in comparison to dogs, caring for them is easy: food, water, litter pan, done. The first few years with Bacci were, in a word, challenging and definitely the steepest part of my learning curve. I realized that dogs are basically like small kids. There is selective hearing, selective memory, accidents every day, lots of pent-up energy, the need for lots of attention, and little personal space. Every day, Bacci reminded me, “Your food is my food, your bed is my bed.” Every day, Bacci asked me, “Do we have to keep the cat?” and “Wanna go for a walk?” She was demanding in a way that Booshi was not.

To help make things easier, Bacci and I began working on dog commands—walking on a leash, sit, stay, the basics. When we began, I remember walking her around my apartment complex, and, just when I thought things were going well, she would bolt after a rabbit or squirrel or whatever. She took off once on the way out through the patio door and hit the end of the lead—hard—pulling me forward and cracking my chin open on the door frame. I dropped the leash, she ran off, and I had to take a really big time-out.

It wasn’t easy, but we kept at it. I don’t know how much I actually taught her, but somewhere in those years she learned a few basic doggy skills that she occasionally practiced. As we spent every day together we learned about each other and developed a wordless familiarity. It was kind of funny: The less I tried, the better she did with me. The more flexibility I gave her, the more she rewarded me with cooperation and an easy stride at my side. She became my running partner and hiking companion. We camped, read books at parks, and drove across the country twice. We moved four times together, worked in the yard, painted the house, and then did it all over again somewhere else. The best part about my dog is that she is always willing to do whatever I want to do, whenever I want to do it, and she never thinks I am weird. She truly is my constant companion and my very best friend.

As I look back on everything, I realize that she has “trained” me as much as I have trained her. I have learned that she thrives when I give her more freedom, allow her to choose her mood, and trust in her nature. She rewards me most when I give her praise and show her patience. She is at her best when I restrict her least and let her be who she wants to be. I have learned to appreciate who she is, just as I think that she appreciates who I am. Having a pet can be difficult and challenging and rewarding and wonderful all at once. I have gone through all of those emotions more times than I can describe in the 12 years that I have spent being Bacci’s mom.