Cowardin - Down South Justice Animal Rescue in the Deep South

THERE IS A GUN ON ALMOST EVERY SIDE TABLE AND NIGHTSTAND inher house and 40 rescue dogs howling from runs and kennels in her backyard.

Bonnie Miller is making a laststand in rural Greene County, Alabama. The crazy lady on the hill is pushing60 and still investigating animal cruelty against her better judgment becausesomebodys gotta do it.

Armed witha revolver, badge, and store-bought CSI hat, Bonnie noses her SUV down dirtroads in Alabamas rural ghettos, looking for signs of dog fighting. She alwaysfinds something.

Joe Olivieri and I were sitting inBonnies breezeway on fold-out lawn chairs waiting forthe humidity to break. A gibbous moon hung in the night sky, crickets chirped achorus with howling dogs, and mosquitoes emerged from the woods. Everything washot and sticky. Nothing about the scene was spectacular. Nothing was special.

I slouched back in my chair andlifted my arms to air out my sweaty armpits. It had been days since my lastshower. A soap container hung mockingly from the rearview mirror of the 25-footRV we borrowed from Joes grandfather. It had no water or air conditioning, andit smelled like old marijuana and sultry ballsack .But, it was home.

I could hear Bonnie flip on ablender inside the house, mixing us drinks.

Joe gave me a look that hesgiven me before, one that said how thefuck did we end up here?

Then the screen door swung openand Bonnie walked out with a sweating pitcher of pina colada. She poured us drinks in plastic cups and we debriefed on our first dayin the field with her.

It was pathetic. Heaps ofgarbage burned in yards everywhere we went. Dogs lay dead in ditches withrotting gun shot wounds maggots occupying their insides. It was a real shithole, a third world country hiding in the swamps of our nation. Overlooked andforgotten.

We followed Bonnie as she kickedup dust in neighborhoods where drug dealing and dog fighting were ubiquitous.Bonnie normally refused interviews with journalists but figured, what thehell. A couple of college grads with cameras certainly cant make thesituation any worse, and at least this way she would have some company andbackup in the field.

Bonnie refilled her cup to takethe edge off and reached down to pet a jumpy rescue dog she adopted. Then sherepeated something she told us multiple times throughout the day: The peoplein this county, they just dont give a damn, she said. Not a damn.

Shes right. Nobody gives adamn. Not the people in rural ghettos, not the law enforcement, and not thepeople insulated in nearby cities. Heck, Bonnie barely gives a damn anymore.Shes been abandoned and left to fight a war on her own.

According to state law, everycounty in Alabama is supposed to have an animal shelter and animal controlofficer. Greene County, however, has Bonnie and her husband, Tim. Theirproperty stands as the de facto shelter, with Bonnie the officer and Tim thefinancer. The operation has absorbed their retirement fund and at times,threatened their marriage.

You can see it in Bonnies eyesas the sun goes down and her transitional lenses unveil more of her emotion:agony, stubbornness, and fearful pride. Shes the embodiment of the dogs sherescues. But nobody is coming to rescue her because nobody gives a damn.