The right kind.

Recently the Shelter Medicine program at the University of Florida conducted a survey of rescue/adoption staff and volunteers and volunteers with Alachua County Animal Services. They presented some of the results at a public meeting last week. The discussion was sometimes frustrating, driven as it was by some nitty-gritty concerns of rescue staff, such as the three-day stray hold (a matter of state law) and repeated complaints that ACAS should not do adoptions, only rabies tags, cruelty investigations, and stray returns. This point was made again and again, despite the obvious fact that private groups do not have the space or resources to handle all the homeless dogs and cats in our area.


That doesn’t even touch the philosophical question of whether everything that has to with the common good should be the sole responsibility of private groups. A thousand points of light, anyone?

So most of the discussion portion of the meeting focused on procedural issues rather than positive steps that we might take. This is a shame, since so many innovative and effective initiatives all over the country are increasing adoptions, reducing owner surrenders, and reducing euthanasia. We can learn from and probably implement many of these even without much money. That’s a matter for another conversation, which probably needs to be initiated by volunteers.

That said, the most interesting part of the meeting was the initial presentation of information, and, for me, the fact that local rescue groups see a lot of potential for increasing dog adoptions. The two biggest obstacles they saw were the need for more foster/adoptive homes and the need for “the right kind of dogs."

Our radar is already on the need to recruit and train foster volunteers. Foster homes not only buy time but also increase adoptability, by making dogs more sociable and providing fuller information about them. Foster volunteers also reach new potential adopters, including those who would not dream of stepping into a shelter for their next pet.


The other two issues seem to go together: there will be more adoptive homes if we have the "right kind" of dogs. The “right kind” implied at the meeting was the kind potential adopters seem to want – small, fluffy ones and puppies, rather than the medium to large, short-haired adult dogs that abound at our shelter (and almost every shelter around the country, although apparently San Francisco is overflowing with Chihuahuas).

No one wants to bring more small, fluffy puppies into the shelter system. But what if we could redefine the “right kind” of dog? Instead of a dog that looks a certain way, what if potential adopters looked for a dog whose temperament and energy level matched theirs? The ASPCA has launched a program called “Meet Your Match” that tries to do just this. It’s still a young program but seems to have been very successful in shelters that have implemented it.


Imagine if we could persuade people that among the medium to large, short-haired hound and pit mixes at ACAS are dogs for every individual and every family: running partners and couch potatoes, apartment dogs and suburban dogs, one-man dogs and family dogs, child-friendly dogs and cat-friendly dogs, dogs who fetch and dogs who nap, dogs who can learn agility and dogs who can keep you company during the late show – and every other kind of dog anyone might want.

Maybe we need some slogans and a marketing campaign.

Shelter dogs can do anything.
We have your new best friend.
Whatever you want, we have it.

Obviously I am not a marketing genius.
But someone out there is.
Maybe it's these guys?

Feral cats and dangerous dogs

Recently I ran across this image, which in one sense is just another entry in the “meme” trend, which began by imagining “how my parents see” various jobs. The feral cat meme is not as funny as some, but it points to some weighty issues in animal rescue.

Whoever put together the meme obviously knows the debates about feral cats. Most conservation groups do indeed consider the cats to be dangerous threats, just as homeowners often view them as pests and advocates see them as innocent victims of human neglect, no less deserving of care than other cats.


What most caught my eye was (no surprise) the image of how “your local animal shelter” sees feral cats: a pit bull. This image sparked some of the more interesting comments under the Facebook posting I saw.* Some commenters objected because they saw the dog’s image as an example of the prejudice that considers pit bulls bad dogs. Others, however, believed that the meme’s creators did not mean to condemn pit bulls but rather to show parallels in the stereotypes about feral cats and pit bull type dogs. I think that is a more accurate reading, or at least one that opens up the way to a more interesting conversation.

The conversation starts with comparisons between feral cats and pit bulls. What do these critters have in common?

One similarity, as one of the commenters put it, is that “they used the Pit Bull specifically because it is a misunderstood animal. This graphic is about a misunderstood animal after all.” Feral cats and pit bulls are misunderstood, at least in the eyes of their advocates, because they are seen as representatives of largely negative stereotypes, e.g. all feral cats are afraid of people, or all pit bulls are aggressive. Stereotypes cause harm because they erase individual differences and are often used to justify harmful treatment.

Another Facebook commenter pointed out a second similarity: “a lot of places don't really treat [pit bulls] like dogs and kind of assume they're damaged goods before they even know the full story. It's unfair, but I can see where the comparison of feral kitties to pit[s] comes in when you consider that a lot of people assume that they're ‘broken beyond repair’ before giving them a chance.” The notion that these dogs and cats are “broken beyond repair” is why many shelters and adoption groups automatically exclude them from the category of “adoptable animals.”


A third similarity is that both “feral cat” and “pit bull” are social constructs. In other words, the meaning attached to those terms is based not on objective criteria (such as DNA evidence or rigorous temperament evaluations) but on the perceptions, assumptions, and biases of the person or group assigning definitions. These definitions are not mere semantics. They are literally matters of life and death, because both feral cats and pit bulls are so often excluded from opportunities for rehabilitation and adoption that are given to animals defined in other ways.

Puppy mill survivors, for example, are often psychologically and physically damaged, both from inbreeding and, even more, from the horrific conditions that many are forced to live in. Many require a great deal of medical and behavioral treatment before they can live like “normal” pets. However, puppy mill survivors are seen, rightly, as victims deserving of sympathy and care; they are not routinely excluded from the “adoptables” section because of their label or their history – even though some of them have lasting damage that makes them less than ideal pets for most families.

Feral cats and pit bulls -- even those who have suffered greatly at the hands of humans - rarely receive these gifts. Things have gotten much better for pit bulls in the past few years, however, especially since the successful rehabilitation of almost all the dogs seized from Michael Vick's fighting operation. Now even dogs from fight busts sometimes -- though still not often enough -- get the chance to be evaluated and cared for as individuals.

(Georgia, rescued from a fight bust in Florida)

Because they are stereotypes and social constructs, the labels “feral” and “pit bull” are often applied without knowledge of a particular animal’s genetics, history, or temperament. Some cats picked up at feral colonies are former pets who have been living rough for a while and could easily, with a little time and patience, live happily as pets again. If they are identified as feral, however, at many shelters they will automatically be euthanized (or at best, neutered and returned to the dangers of a free-roaming life). Similarly, dogs identified as pit bulls are often defined as “vicious” or “dangerous,” at least by custom and often by law as well. Even when there is not a law prohibiting the adoption of pit bulls, a large number of public and private shelters and rescue groups voluntarily refuse to adopt them.

This means that most pit bulls who enter the shelter system are euthanized and that they do not count as deaths of “adoptable animals.” For example, in early versions of the agreement between the San Francisco SPCA and the city’s public animal control department to pursue “no kill” status, pit bulls and feral cats were the two groups excluded, en masse, from the category of “adoptable,” along with animals judged individually to be too sick, too aggressive, or too damaged to be rehabilitated. Under those terms, the city could kill 100% of the dogs called pit bulls and the cats called feral – a very large proportion of their overall intake – and still call itself “no kill.” This policy (which is no longer in force in San Francisco, at least for pit bulls) is repeated at many “animal welfare” groups. Some groups do adopt out pit bulls but have special requirements, such as a fence, the absence of other pets in the home, or previous experience with “bully” breeds. These policies are often well-intentioned but perpetuate the notion that pit bulls are radically different from other dogs and need special handling. Obviously, this deters many potential adopters. The result of all these obstacles to pit bull adoptions is that fewer of these dogs are living in our communities as neutered, well cared-for companions – thus perpetuating the vicious cycle that identifies them as anything but the pets of “nice” people.


Finally, the animals labelled "pit bull" and "feral cat" have in common their relationship to animal rescue more broadly. These animals are at the edge of rescue, literally and figuratively. Their advocates are often people who are willing to go where mainstream animal welfare groups fear to tread. Not only are the animals themselves thought to be risky, but both feral cats and pit bulls are often associated with or thought to inhabit social worlds far from “nice” middle-class communities. Edges can be dangerous, but they are also the key to the expansion that is necessary for genuine social change. Feral cats and dangerous dogs push us out of our physical and metaphorical comfort zones, demanding that we reconsider our own assumptions, our relationships to both animals and other people, and our capacity for effective action where it is most needed.


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*http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=299204683467106&set=a.167394789981430.45853.110911218963121&type=1; posted by Vox Felina on Feb. 17, 2012.

Dedicated to the one I love.

Our first dog was a present for my 5th birthday. I don’t remember, but I must have been asking for one (although my dad is as soppy about dogs as I am, so I may just have been an excuse). After all the family dogs of my youth, I adopted my first “grown up” dog a few weeks after my 21st birthday – the biggest, blackest dog at the Berkeley Humane Society that day. He was a huge lab mix, with only one note on his kennel: “Loves cats.” He did, and he loved everyone else, and was perfect in every way. Even non-dog people adored him; my cat-loving friend Jane called him the “teen angel,” and when I was in graduate school, my friends used to call to ask if they could borrow Fred to go for a walk or a run, or just to hang out.

A few years after I got Fred, I adopted another big black dog from the Berkeley Humane Society. Chula was definitely not a teen angel. She was half-feral, or maybe three-quarters feral, no less terrified at home than she had been at the shelter. For fifteen long years, she was as high-maintenance as Fred was easy. Her extreme fear of new things meant that when we put up a new window curtain, added a piece of furniture, or even placed a box of tissue paper on a table, she refused to enter the room. If a garage door went up suddenly during a walk, she would have to be dragged down that block the next time (and the time after that).


When I got married and moved to Gainesville, Chula was still insane and Fred was showing signs of age. A few weeks after we arrived, we found a woman giving away a four-month old puppy that she called a “Weimaraner mix.” He had eaten all the shrubs in the tiny patio where she kept him, all alone, all day long. As we were thinking about it, she said, “That’s okay. There’s a guy wants to hunt him.” So we took him home. Inti was a Florida brown dog, whose only resemblance to a Weimaraner was his almond-shaped amber eyes, which more likely came from the same pit bull ancestor who passed on his enormous mouth, into which he could fit four tennis balls at once, maybe five if one of the other dogs showed interest. Inti was never very gracious with strangers, but he was the love of my life and the best possible family dog. He even tolerated our kids’ idea of fun, playing hide-and-seek with his precious tennis balls.


After Fred died, we started fostering dogs for Gainesville Pet Rescue. Inti and Chula hosted a series of visiting dogs until the inevitable foster failure, another big black dog, Balo, who was smart, nervous, and bonded like crazy glue with grumpy Inti.


I was hesitant to bring in another dog after Chula died, because Inti and Balo were both elderly and I didn’t want to upset their golden years. Still, we missed having a dog who didn’t sleep 23 hours a day. One afternoon I took my youngest son, who was three at the time, to the Humane Society to visit the cats (yeah, right). As we were leaving, a volunteer was taking out a stocky little brindle dog. (She seemed little to me – at 48 pounds, she weighed 30 pounds less than most of the dogs I had lived with.) Rafael ran up to her, squatted down, and pulled a toy from her mouth. (So much for all his training in proper dog etiquette.) She wagged her tail and kissed him. We brought her home a few days later.


Tozi was almost perfect right from the start. She was polite and gentle not only with kids but with my old dogs, letting Inti hobble down the hall after tennis balls and cuddling up next to them on cold nights. However, she failed to meet the gold standard set by Fred because she has a prey drive that puts your average terrier to shame. She has gone over, under, and through every type of fence imaginable and killed every animal smaller than her that she can reach, from dragonflies to an adult raccoon. Most recently she blasted a hole in our living room in order to reach some rodent in the wall. Tozi is good at reminding us that prey drive has nothing to do with behavior around humans or, indeed, around other dogs.

Inti and Balo died exactly two weeks apart, both of osteosarcoma. Tozi seemed as inconsolable as I was. Having only one dog in the house was way too lonely, so we made the rounds of local rescues. Tozi let us know when she approved of a candidate, and we took home the one she liked most – a handsome, goofy American Bulldog mix who was named Thunder because of his fear of thunderstorms.


A couple of months later, we added Libby, another Florida brown dog with an incredible temperament despite the fact that she had grown upon the end of a tether and had to have her harness surgically removed because her skin had grown over it.


Our little pack fit together well, with Tozi as benevolent dictator, Libby as enforcer, and Thunder as sometimes clueless underling who always managed to be first in line for cookies. Three seemed to be the right number, until I went to the shelter for a volunteer event and met another pair of amber eyes. Boomer stared at me all afternoon and climbed into my lap when it was finally his turn to get out of his kennel. When I left, I couldn’t help myself: I asked the adoption staff to let me know if that gray dog ran out of time. I lost sleep worrying that the wrong person might adopt him. It was almost a relief when the shelter called to say that he was on "the list" for the next morning. I did not hesitate, except for a passing thought about what this might mean for my marriage. On the way to the shelter I called a friend who directs a rescue and asked if he could go into her program as a foster dog. I am eternally grateful that she said yes, even though my husband believes that I never had any intention of letting that dog go.


He might be right. Boomer was a mama’s boy from the start. He follows me everywhere he can and never misses a chance to fall asleep with his giant head in my lap. He embodies for me what Vicki Hearne says about pit bulls: they “do grab on and hold; but what pit bulls most often grab and refuse to let go of is your heart, not your arm.” Happy Valentine’s Day. Please don’t let go.