I spoke too soon. I don’t hate New York. Just New York City.

We were ushered out of the city by a ominous thunderstorm while returning from our Central Park morning walk. What started as a light drizzle under gray skies turned into big, wet splotches that stuck to my glasses and obscured my vision. Everyone scurried about under umbrellas as Loren and I ran back to our hotel unprotected.

“I haven’t seen it turn black like this in years,” I heard a man say as we tried not to slip on the streets.

Both soaked to the bone, we made it to the Novotel and walked through the elegant lobby with as much dignity as possible. In our room, I toweled Loren off tenderly and tried to laugh it off.

“We’re getting the hell out of here, girlfriend,” I told Loren. “Back to the country, where we belong.”

We were only parked 1,000 or so linear feet from the hotel, but it still took us 25 minutes to get back to the Novotel and collect our luggage. It felt good to be back in my truck, though. You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take the California out of the girl.

Longing for some green, it was a thrill to drive out of the congestion and into the lush, open landscape surrounding the Hudson. I thought of the flight that landed there. That must have been quite a ride.

“Tragedy” by the BeeGees came on the radio and I sang along with the high-pitched parts, enough to make anyone’s hair stand on end. Loren barely gave me a second glance. She was sitting up front with me, instead of snoring away in the back, out of petting reach. I laid my hand on her back and smiled, settling in for the day’s journey.

Our first stop was to meet Christelle, a Best Friends writer, in West Hartford, Connecticut, a two-hour drive that took us through an upscale side of New England.

Christelle was waiting for us in the parking lot and gave us a big hug. She knew what we’d been through in NYC. We settled on the patio and Christelle watched Loren so I could get some lunch. When I got back, Loren had her arms wrapped around Christelle’s knees, giving her a hug.

“So, why did you pick Loren out of all the dogs at Brittany to bring with you?” she asked me.

It was a trip being the subject rather than the interviewer.

“She’s just such a sweetheart,” I told Christelle. “I had a feeling she really loved people and would be well-behaved and want to snuggle up with me at night.” Boy, was I right.

I went on. “My second choice was Buffy, a big, black Lab and pit mix. She’s just about as sweet as Loren and has lived at the sanctuary practically her whole life,” I said. “Still, Loren was always my first choice.”

“She is a very sweet dog,” Christelle said, patting Loren on the head. “This is the first pit bull I’ve really had any interaction with.”

Suddenly, Loren was straining on her leash and whining, a most unusual behavior. She had spotted a squirrel, the first of many during our lunch. It’s one of the only times on the trip that she got visibly anxious. Once the squirrels were out of the picture, she settled down and laid by our feet.

Christelle and I talked about the trip and her involvement with East Coast Dachsund rescue. She has a 16-year old Dachsund named Simon, whom she adopted at eight years old. “It took him a while to adjust because he was a puppy mill survivor, but once he did, he was a very happy dog,” Christelle said.

Two hours went by very quickly. This tends to happen when animal welfare people come together - never a shortage of conversation.

"Nice to meet you...wait...was that a squirrel?"

We bid Christelle goodbye and went on our way to Amenia, New York, to meet the women of Animal Farm Foundation, a 400-acre pit bull rescue and training center that had invited us to stay for a few nights. Their mission is to restore the image of the American Pit Bull Terrier and to protect them from discrimination and cruelty.

Crossing into New York from Connecticut, I was struck by the beauty of this state. Signs dotted the road, announcing that some areas had been established in the 1700s. The pastoral scenery was breathtaking, especially when we pulled up to the Animal Farm Foundation.

The picturesque property boasted a massive red and white main residence, with several smaller houses and barn structures placed throughout the acreage.
 

Side view of Animal Farm Foundation

I started pulling up to the main house when my cell phone rang. It was Stacey Coleman, AFF’s manager.

“Am I going the wrong way?” I laughed.

“Yes, you need to turn around and head the opposite way. We’ll be waiting for you,” Stacey said. I could hear the smile in her voice.

Three women were standing outside a grey, two-story apartment, waving us down. We got out of the truck and Stacey engulfed me in a big bear hug. I was going to like it here.

Our AFF welcome crew - Stacey, Courtney & Caitlin

She, Courtney, kennel manager and trainer, and Caitlin, assistant, fussed over Loren before showing us to our apartment, located under another employee’s house. It had a separate room with a doggy door and kennel for Loren, plus a bed room for us both to share, bathroom, small kitchen, and laundry facilities. Nirvana.

“Do you want to go on a tour or settle in? We’re having dinner at my house around 6:30,” Stacey said.

I opted to settle in as Courtney offered to feed Loren. She did it in a unique way, though, stuffing the wet and dry mixture into a series of Kong rubber toys.

“We like to make our dogs work for their food,” Courtney said. She used to be a dolphin trainer and has been at AFF since October. “This is a great enrichment technique for dogs who spend time in kennels.”

Wow. I’m going to have to bring this back to Brittany, I thought. Pam, the kennel worker there, is always looking for ways to keep the dogs entertained and this could be very effective. It was just one of many tips I was to learn over the next 48 hours.

Courtney drove us to Stacey’s house, located about 10 minutes away from the AFF property. She is the proud mother of Brisby, a handsome brindle pit mix. His Christmas photo was posted next to her speedometer.

Stacey’s house is a charming, wood-sided two-story that smelled heavenly when we entered. She was making lasagna and garlic bread. Yeah. A home-cooked meal.

One by one, Stacey introduced me to her pack of six dogs. Gertie came first.

“She hopped in my car eight years ago and changed my life,” Stacey said.

At the time, Stacey was working in Indianapolis. At lunch time one day, a co-worker was terrified to find a dog chasing after the fast-food sack in his hand. Stacey called the dog over and it promptly jumped into her car.

The dog was a one-year old female pit bull, suffering from mange. With hardly any fur to protect her, Gertie, as she came to be known, was bleeding from her skin, which was covered in sores.

“I had two dogs and couldn’t possibly take her home,” Stacey said, rolling her eyes. “So I took her to the Humane Society and told them to treat her for whatever she needed. I would pay for it and help find her a home.”

The humane society refused, slating Gertie for euthanasia and letting her suffer unmedicated in a kennel. Why? Because she was a pit bull and thereby unsuitable for adoption.

“One kennel worker tried rubbing bacon grease on her to ease her suffering, because that’s what his father had taught him to do,” she said. “He was the only who attempted to help.”

When Stacey decided to adopt Gertie, she was told by the shelter that she couldn’t because she had lost all rights when surrendering the dog. That’s when she brought in a lawyer. One week later, Stacey was the proud owner of her first pit bull, after signing extensive paperwork releasing the shelter from any liability.

Gertie has proven to be the soft touch in her pack, nursing foster kittens back to health and often acting as peacemaker for the rest of her dogs, including Franklin, a high-strung, very sweet Schnauzer.

“We call him the trailer park Schnauzer, because we don’t know what he’s mixed with,” Stacey said.

Then there’s Rudy, a black lab mix, and Josephine, a golden shepherd mix who inadvertently bit off Stacey’s pinky finger when she had to break up a dog fight. Oggy, a sweet little fluffy dog, constantly hugs your legs for attention, while Petunia, a fawn and white pit bull, shares a separate space in the house with one of Stacey’s five cats.

“The other dogs pick on her,” Stacey said. “But Petunia and the cat get along great.”

Six dogs, including two pits, living in a house with five cats? How did she manage that?

“The cats know they run the house. I never let the dogs get too aggressive or assertive with them, otherwise it would never work,” she said.

At bedtime, the dogs settle in with Stacey and her husband Mike in their room, all of them on the floor in dog beds except for Oggy, who scored a spot with the humans. The cats have free reign.

After the delicious vegetarian lasagna, salad, garlic bread, and coffeecake, Courtney drove me back to the apartment. I met Rich, who shared the upstairs with Ashley, his girlfriend and AFF trainer.

There was a warty, glistening frog near the door.

“He comes here every night,” Rich said.

Ugh. Afraid of pits? No. Frogs? Yes. I inched my way around the creature, hoping not to touch its slimy skin. Talk about the heebie jeebies.

Loren was happy in her dog room, having eaten half of the food out of the Kongs. While I got ready for sleep, she ran to and fro, in and out of the doggy door, which she guarded until I called her in the bedroom.

She immediately jumped on the twin bed, giving me approximately one-third of it to sleep on throughout the night. We snuggled tight.

I stroked her wrinkled forehead, making out the red and white markings in the twilight. She and I sighed at the same time. I love her, I thought. I’m going to miss her very much when this is all over.

The next morning, Loren and I took a half-hour walk through the property, watching a line of geese make their way into a shimmering pond to join up with the other birds gracefully skating across the water. I admired the rolling hills, the wide skies, the peace of it all.

"So much grass, so little time..."

At  9 a.m., I met Stacey and Caitlin at the office/training facility, which doubles as a house for a couple of dogs. Most of the dogs here have their own “room,” with a bed and toys, with a doggy door that leads to a large, fenced enclosure.

Vincent, a fawn and white male, just one year old, was out and about when I came in. A shelter rescue with big, pointy ears, Vincent roamed the office area excitedly, tearing into a squeaky, thrashing it about like a shark, stopping only for occasional affection breaks.

"I'll get you, squeaker!"

Ashley took Vincent into the training room and worked with him on a technique called shaping. For example, throwing an object on the floor and getting a dog to touch it without pointing to it, but rather giving the treats and positive reinforcement when they get anywhere near it. Eventually, the dog figures it out.

“Shaping requires them to think more. It’s a really good mental exercise for the dogs,” Ashley said.

"That was fun!"

Within minutes, Vincent was following Ashley’s suggestion of touching her right and left palms with his noise. Every time he did, she’d make a noise with her clicker and give him a treat.

Each treat has a value - low is kibble, medium is a chunk of dog food roll, and high is something really pungent, like dried liver, salmon, or beef. The stinkier the better.

Punky, a brown and white charmer, was next. This incredible girl can actually jump rope!

 
"You should see my double dutch!"

Training time over, we delivered Punky back to her room, which was decorated in a cheerful Hawaiian theme in a standalone building with a large yard outside the kennel. It even had a custom pit painting by Beth, an AFF employee, above her futon. Pretty stylish.


"Welcome to my pad!"

Courtney took us to “downtown,” which was a more traditional kennel setting, with wire enclosures inside and a place to potty outside.

“Some dogs are actually calmer in a kennel where they can see other dogs and have more stimulus,” she explained.

Scarface was one such resident, a one-year old male with a serious bulldog underbite and a lot of character. We petted him through the gate.

"You dirty rat...you  killed my brother!"

Overall, Animal Farm Foundation has about 20 dogs at any given time, mostly pulled from NYC shelters. These are some very lucky pit bulls, as AFF not only has killer accommodations, but they spend every day training, socializing, and exercising the dogs.

“We don’t subscribe to the myth that every pit bull is dog aggressive,” Stacey said. “Many of our dogs enjoy play dates together and can be housed with other dogs, should potential adopters already have one.”

Since we had plans to go into the city for an art exhibit and were leaving at 2:30 p.m., Ashley and Stacey had me get Loren for a brief training session in the office area. She responded very well to the clicker and was soon sitting on command.

"How's this, Aunt Stacey?"

Outfitted with a clicker and treat-filled pouch, after Ashley demonstrated how, I had Loren sitting and stopping to make eye contact with me in no time. It was shocking how easy this was, it just required patience and time.


"I see you, Aunt Michelle...and the treat!"

“This is a great technique for when you’re walking and she gets excited about another dog or distracted by something,” Ashley said. “You can have her make eye contact with you and get refocused.”

“What if you only have time to do this for a few minutes, three or four days a week?,” I asked, thinking of the Brittany dogs and how beneficial this could possibly be for them.

“Any time you spend doing this for the dogs is good for them. It not only helps make them more adoptable, the mental stimulation is tiring for them, which is helpful when they spend a lot of time in a kennel,” Ashley said.

I switched from my standard uniform of jeans, tennis shoes, and a hoodie to new dark jeans, my Kenneth Cole strappy sandals, and a sweater, topped off with my $5 “Pashmina” scarf for our trip to NYC. The SUV contained me, Stacey, Caitlin, and Bernice Clifford, the lead behaviorist at AFF, who supplied us with her trusted GPS, Sally. (Everyone seems to name their GPS - my parents is Barbie and mine is Gidget).

We were off to attend “Dutch Seen: New York Rediscovered,“ an exhibit of contemporary Dutch photographers at the Museum of the City of New York. Charlotte Dumas, one of the artists, had photographed several NYC shelter pit bulls, including an AFF rescue named Gretel.

First, we had dinner at Hanratty’s, a leather and wood neighborhood restaurant that has been in business since 1917. I had the Cajun chicken and pasta with broccoli rabe, not finishing much after scarfing down too many hot, fresh rolls with butter. The rest of the table went vegetarian. Unsurprisingly, many animal welfare workers and volunteers don’t eat meat.

“What has been the most surprising thing for you about AFF?,” Stacey asked me.

I paused for a moment. “I knew it was going to be amazing, but I’m just so impressed with how much time and effort you spend on each dog,” I said. “I didn’t realize the training was going to be so extensive.”

I thought again.

“That and how nice the facilities are for each dog. They have it better than a lot of people,” I said.

They laughed.

We had our leftover pasta wrapped up so we could try to find a homeless person to give it to. Stacey and I were on the lookout as we made our way back to the museum.

Turns out, she used to help refugees from other countries find housing and work when she lived in Indianapolis, including a Pakistani woman and her five children. Stacey took in the latter personally when the mom fell ill and was hospitalized.

“For how long?,” I asked.

“Oh, about three weeks,” she said.

“That’s a long time!”

Stacey shrugged her shoulders.

“Wow,” I said, impressed. “You’re a chronic philanthropist, huh? I mean, a chronic do-gooder…”

“When I see wrong in the world, I just can’t sit back and accept it. I have to do what I can to change it,” Stacey replied.

We left our pasta on a park bench, having found no candidates along the route. Inside the museum, the rich, the powerful, and the beautiful were mingling in a sea of Chardonnay and designer labels. Tall blondes with amazing bone structure abounded, as the audience was largely Nordic. It was like something out of “Sex and the City.”

I put my camera around my neck and observed through the lens, always more comfortable in the worker bee role than making any attempt to be social. Not in this crowd, anyway.

The photographs ranged from the whimsical to the sad to the serious. Dumas’ dog portraits were very powerful, illustrating the tough lives these dogs led in a single snapshot.

Onlooker at Dumas' exhibit

Stacey, Bernice, and Caitlin were all very proud of the Gretel portrait, which represented a Guardian Angel over the other dogs, as she had found a home and new life.


AFF's Bernice, Stacey & Caitlin with Gretel's portrait

The epilogue for the rest were a mystery.

As we read the artist’s biography and exhibit copy, the mood turned somber. In the text, was the phrase “many given up because of their aggressive nature.”

“Oh, this is unacceptable,” Stacey said. “I am going to get this changed.” (She did, the next morning. The museum took her call, apologized, promised to fix it, and even offered an opportunity to bring the AFF dogs up for a night. Score another victory for Stacey.)

An impromptu visit to NY Animal Care & Control shelter was next. Bernice wanted to see if there were any dogs there they might be good AFF candidates.

I struggled on whether or not to go in. I hate shelters. It always makes me cry to see the dogs in cages, many without any hope. In the end, I decided to accompany them. I am a journalist. I have to see things like this and report back my findings. Whether I like them or not.

A volunteer was walking a large brown boxer/pit mix on the street. I called over, “Handsome boy.”

“He needs a home,” the volunteer responded.

I smiled in recognition. Always working the adoption angle.

We went to the adoption area, which was located at the back of the building. First dog I saw was an older black pit with a scarred face, wagging her tail. Second dog I saw was a black and white pit. Third dog a red and white. And so on.

Pretty pitty awaiting adoption at NYC Animal Care & Control

At least 80% were pits or pit mixes. Dogs that look like pit bulls, as AFF likes to say. That can include up to 25 different types of breeds including boxers and American bulldogs. A playful chocolate pit caught Bernice’s eye.

Unfortunately, we weren’t done yet. Bernice led the way to the intake area. While there, we saw a woman taking home a mature cat and tiny little kitten she had adopted. She was very excited about her new family members, named Ginger and Bella.

A happy family at NY's Animal Care & Control

Down the hall, dogs were separated in a series of kennels for temperament evaluation, since they have to be determined eligible for adoption. Again, pit after pit after pit, with a few fluffy shepherd mixes thrown in.

Dogs awaiting assessment at NYC Animal Care & Control







There’s also a quarantine area for sick animals and lastly, a death row area for those scheduled to be euthanized. I only made it to the third door down, which had double decker kennels. An old black cocker spaniel was on top of a pit bull. I knew who would be more likely to survive.

I ran back to the lobby area, where I wasn’t the only one crying. A young girl, her lip pierced, was holding a stuffed Rottweiler, silent tears running down her face as her mother and boyfriend brought in a trash-bag wrapped dog. They were there to have their Rottweiler cremated.

A volunteer came over to me, bending down to look me in the eye.

“Are you OK?”

“No, I’m not,” I replied. “I just hate this.”

She nodded in sympathy.

“We are a horrible species,” I said. “Humans are a horrible species to let this happen.”

“I know,” the volunteer said. Her name was Megan. “I know.”

I sighed. “I really admire you for what you do here, though. I volunteer at a no-kill shelter because I can’t handle this.”

“Yeah, it can be really hard,” she said. “I’m signing up for the compassion program, but I’m not sure if I‘m going to be able to do it or not.”

Megan went on to explain that the compassion program is for the euthanasia-scheduled dogs, where they get to go for extra walks, have a nice dinner, and be doted on by volunteers before they are killed.

I sobbed harder. What a beautiful and ugly thing.

She also told me about the “Safety Net” program, aimed towards public housing tenants of NYCHA, or New York City Housing Authority, who have recently been ordered to turn in their over-25 pound dogs. Some feel it was just a cover to rid the area of pit bulls without instituting an actual breed ban.

According to Megan, pits were being turned into the shelter in droves.

“I have a lady who has two pits she’s desperately trying to keep. I told her I’ll do everything I can to help her,” Megan said. “We can often put dog owners in touch with legal resources and avoid them having to turn in their pet.”*

Our conversation was interrupted by a massive, golden pit bull mix dragging a cop into the lobby. He had a four-inch wide leather belt around his neck, a makeshift leash or chain that looked like it had been snapped off at the end.

"Got any food back there?"

“Yeah, we found him knocking over trash cans and breaking into stores, eating Vanilla Wafers,” the male cop said, struggling to manage the dog. “Poor guy. Happens all the time. People get puppies, then they don‘t want the responsibility, so they just dump ‘em in the streets…or they get free from their chains and run away.”

I watched the golden dog taken away by shelter workers, who were very kind and genial with him. Perhaps for some dogs, a shelter is a step up. At least they have, well, shelter, food, and attention. For however long. I prayed this awkward boy would get a second chance with a family that would love him, not treat him like a burden or a piece of trash to be disposed of.

"On to better things, I hope."

On the way home, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “I’m sorry,” I said through sniffles.

“No need to apologize here,” Stacey said. “We all get it.”

“What is it that’s specifically bothering you?” Bernice asked gently.

“How do you choose? How do you choose who’s going to live and who’s going to die? How do you walk through those kennels, knowing most of those dogs won‘t make it out alive?”

Bernice looked out the window, pausing before she replied.

“I try to look at it from a positive perspective. This shelter has improved so much over the last few years. They used to all be double decker kennels, with no protection at the bottom and lips on the edges that would often break the dogs legs when they were being pulled out,” she said. “The staff and volunteers have changed, too. They used to be somewhat indifferent, and now it seems like they really care.”

She continued. “It’s not just the conditions that have improved, but the adoption rates have jumped from 5 percent to about 45 percent for the pit bulls and 70 percent for overall breeds,” she said.

“That’s great,” I acknowledged, still sad.

The car was quiet for a moment.

“You can only do so much,” Bernice said. “At least our dogs get a chance at a whole new life.”

So did Loren, thanks to the Brittany Foundation. She was pulled from a high-kill shelter in Lancaster, California, just another pit bull scheduled for death, before being rescued.

At bedtime, I gave Loren the new woobie that Stacey and the rest of girls included in a goody bag for us. She snuggled right up with it and went to sleep.

  
"New friends and a new woobie...life is good...nighty night..."

*For more information, visit www.nycacc.org/safetynet.htm or call (917) 468-2938.