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ISBN: 978-1-5439017-3-3
Contents
PART I
The Trees
Time had not done much to contradict my memories. The farm fields still stretched along the sides of Virginias Old State Highway 10. The whitewashed gas station still stood peeling in sun. And the turnoff to the little street remained nearly invisible among a stand of trees. Once found, the roads curbless, winding blacktop stretched out past the houses and fields. Until, finally, the white clapboard church rose on the right, directly across from the white-brick house set against the trees.
In the seven years since Id visited 1915 Moonlight Road, the home of Bad Newz Kennels, very little had changed, yet something was clearly different. The place had first come into the public consciousness on April 27, 2007, when law enforcement officials executing a drug warrant uncovered evidence of a dog-fighting ring. A subsequent search led them to uncover 66 dogs, 51 one of which were pit-bull types thought to be key to the operation. As the dogs were removed from the property, news choppers hovered overhead, capturing images of the scared and thin animals being led out from beyond the four outbuildingspainted black from top to bottom, including the windowshidden in the woods behind the house.
I pulled into the church lot and parked, gazing across the road at the house. The white iron fence looked the same, but gone were the ribbons of yellow police tape that read D O N OT C ROSS . G one were the red-and-white signs that said N O T RESPASSING , A NYONE C AUGHT ON THE P ROPERTY W ILL B E A RRESTED . The grass seemed a little greener, the landscaping refreshed and blooming. A new sign, a permanent one, mounted on the fence told the difference:
G OOD N EWS R EHAB C ENTER
F OR C HAINED AND P ENNED D OGS
It was April 30, 2016, almost nine years to the day after that original raid, and I had been invited back for an event that was one-part reunion, one-part memorial, and one-part celebration. A check-in station sat just beyond the gate. A large white tent stood on the front lawn with a jumble of tables spread beneath. A few dozen people and a handful of dogs wandered around the grounds. I had stayed in touch with several of the people Id gotten to know while writing The Lost Dogs, but I wasnt sure who would be here or what exactly to expect as I got out of the car and walked across the street.
Dogs Deserve Better is a non-profit rescue organization that started in 2002 with the aim of identifying pets that spent significant portions of their lives outside, either tied up or in pens. The groups volunteers would approach the owners and try to persuade them to change the way they were treating their dogs or to give them up. Over time the mission and approach evolved. The group still focuses on chained, penned, and abused dogs, but it addresses the problem by advocating for legal protections, educating communities, offering fencing grants and financial support for veterinary care and spay/neuter of rescued dogs. There are branches in Nashville and northern Virginia and volunteers spread across the country.
In 2011, the group raised funds and bought Michael Vicks former house, turning the headquarters of Bad Newz Kennels into the HQ of Dogs Deserve Better. The grounds, once the site of so much canine fear and pain, became a sanctuary where rescued dogs are rehabilitated and taught to live in a house before being put up for adoption. Today, up to 20 dogs are sheltered in the house where Vick and his cronies plotted their dogfights, including several pooches that live in what used to be the master bedroom. After checking in I popped into the house, entering through the garage and emerging in the kitchen. A maze of doggie gates divided the space, toys squeaked from every corner, and a mop of leashes dangled from pegs. Pictures of each of the dogs rescued from Bad Newz Kennels decorated the walls.
Outside again, I made my way toward the sheds that stood beyond the back gate. They were still surrounded by trees, although far fewer than in 2007. Part of the mission of the weekend was to let those who had adopted Bad Newz dogs and other guests see these sheds before they were torn down. They were a natural point of curiosity and many of the people on hand had gathered near them.
Among them were Roo and Clara Yori, who had adopted Hector, (I had written a book about another of their dogs, Wallace, a rescued pit bull whod gone on to become a flying-disc world champion), and Jim Knorr, the USDA agent who, along with local deputy sheriff Bill Brinkman, had led the 2007 investigation. I had kept in touch with Knorr over the years, and it was good to see him. Within minutes he was leading me, the Yoris, and a handful of others on a tour through the sheds.
Knorr explained what the law enforcement agents had found and where. He pointed out the stalls in the infirmary, the scales, the exercise equipment. He noted where they had seen syringes and questionable mixtures. He led us up to the second floor of the main shed, where the dogfights had taken place and showed us where hed cut out bloodstained pieces of the plywood floor to have forensics testing done on them.
The details were gruesome and troubling but the mood was not. Time had passed. The early-spring day spread warmth and sunshine through the entire compound. Also, the more emotional portion of the weekend had occurred the day before.
Beyond the sheds, the largest tract of the 15-acre property stretched out in a sort of trapezoid. When Vick owned the land it had been thick with trees, which had obscured many of the dogs, who were stashed in small pens or confined by heavy chains with only a ramshackle wooden box or half a plastic barrel as shelter.
Dogs Deserve Better had cleared the field, leaving a large meadow. For the anniversary they had purchased 51 dogwood trees, dug 51 holes, and inscribed 51 plaques with the names of each of the dogs rescued nine years earlier. The day before, April 29, the adopters had been allowed to plant their dogs tree.
For those who had already lost their dogs, the process functioned as a second goodbye, dredging up deep feelings of loss and remembrance. For those whose dogs were still alive, the tree burial foreshadowed a sadness to come. Adopter Catalina Stirling, who took in Sweet Jasmine, expressed yet another impact of attendance. Being there, walking those grounds, poking through those buildings, had made her dogs previous life real to Stirling. Yes, Stirling had seen and felt Jasmines pain, the fear so debilitating that at first the animal could not even walk outside on her own to relieve herself. But now the actions that had so impacted Jasmine were made actual in a way they had never been before. The way the heat built brutally in the sheds in the late hours, the smell of the clay soil, the taunting promise of the blue afternoon, each brought the realities of Jasmines earlier life home.
Other adopters expressed a range of emotions: anger, sadness, relief, anguish, triumph, contempt, gratitude. The group included Stacey Dubuc, who works at the SPCA of Monterey, which took in three of the dogs, had adopted Ginger. Kevin and Jacque Johnson, who both worked at Best Friends, the Utah sanctuary that had taken in 22 of the dogs, adopted Ray. Molly Gibb, whod taken Alf; Rachel Johnson, whod adopted Oscar; and the publicity-shy couple whod given a home to Shadow. Most, in some way or another, felt closure.