Niagara Falls was a turning point for us - literally and figuratively. We had gone as far east as our itinerary allowed and were turning back for California for the stretch home.

I hugged Loren as we got back in the car. “We did it, Loren, we did it,” I said, nuzzling into her soft muzzle. She was panting and slightly slobbery, but I didn’t care. “Thank you for being such a good companion. Thanks for putting up with me.”

Our next stop was Pittsburgh, as we had rerouted our path to avoid Ohio on the advice of Animal Farm Foundation. Ohio has enacted a “vicious breed” ban that apparently allows officers to confiscate dogs that look like pit bulls and euthanize them. I trust AFF implicitly and was happy to skip such an ignorant part of the country. (Breed specific legislation will be a hot topic in our book, when I have more time to research).

Pittsburgh was originally suggested to me by Rebecca Courtad, a volunteer for the Western Pennsylvania Humane Society. Rebecca was kind enough to sponsor me and Loren and became a friend via Facebook.

Unfortunately, she was going to be out of town when we arrived.

“I can’t believe I’m going to miss you,” she emailed me. “But there are several volunteers and staff that would love to meet with you and Loren.”

One of them was Abby Kirkland and her 11-year old son, Reid, who rendezvoused with us at Rita’s, a frozen custard stand in the Greentree neighborhood.

It was Abby who introduced Loren to frozen custard. The cashier had given her a small dish of vanilla for free.

"Hmm, what's this?"

“Are you sure it’s OK if she eats ice cream?” I asked like a nervous first-time mother.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Abby reassured me. “My dogs eat it all the time.”

Loren sure loved it, lapping it up like an eager kid on a hot summer day.

"More please!"

While Reid took Loren on a series of several small walks, I got to know Abby. She’s volunteered at the WPHS for several years, sometimes fostering, but usually playing matchmaker for prospective adopters and the available dogs. She, like a lot of volunteers, has a soft spot for bully breeds, which make up the majority of dogs at the shelters.

“It’s a tough situation,” she sighed. “They’re such great dogs.”

Abby often brings Reid to the shelter to walk dogs. He had an ease with Loren that belied his years, walking her with strength and controlling her with authority when a couple came to the same patio with a small black dog. He also fielded questions about her by curious patrons.

"Keep the love and custard coming..."

By the end of our date, she was sitting in his lap.


"Lap dog!"

“What a cool kid,” I told Abby. “I wish there were more like him.”

Since Reid had a pressing game of Capture the Flag to attend to, they bid us goodbye and we went back to our room for a long night of watching “True Blood” on HBO.

Our trip to WPHS coincided with the big Penguins Stanley Cup victory parade in downtown Pittsburgh, not too far from the shelter’s location. Surprisingly, we sailed through the light traffic and were early for our appointment.

A volunteer named Theresa greeted us with a big friendly smile. Loren immediately introduced herself with a big sloppy kiss and forceful hug, nearly knocking poor Theresa out of her wheelchair.

"Hi Theresa!"

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling Loren off.

“No problem,” Theresa said. “I love all the dogs that come in here.”

Once Loren was deposited in the executive director’s office, Gretchen Fieser, the WPHS director of public relations and business relationships, gave me a tour. The WPHS facility is a large, open, two-story building painted in bright, cheerful colors, with appealing graphics and several kennel areas, as well as an adoption area.

Gretchen in the kennel area

WPHS, started in 1874, is one of America’s oldest humane societies. As an “open door” shelter, they take in all types of animals…and I mean all. Goats, chickens, rabbits, gerbils, even…

“We get one or two alligators a year,” Gretchen said. “The biggest one was about four feet. He lives at a sanctuary in Florida now.”

Approximately 14,000 animals come through WPHS’ doors every year, with cats making up the largest number of intakes. Some are feral, but many are owner-surrendered. Gretchen took me into their area, where teeny tiny kittens were in cages alongside more mature cats.

A young black cat pawed at his crate, meowing for affection. I scratched his head and felt the tears coming. Others just looked at me, wide-eyed. Every cage was full. I shook my head and got angry. How hard is it to take care of a cat, for Christ’s sake?

The reasons varied, as Gretchen read their tags. “Moving. Allergies. Kid left home and mom didn’t want to take care of cat,” she recited.

Next, we met the dogs who were in the intake area being evaluated for temperament. Just like NYC, it was bully after bully after bully. Black ones, white ones, beige ones, spotted ones, sad ones, friendly ones, young ones playing together, somewhat oblivious to their surroundings.

Pittsburgh pits looking for love...


for homes...


for a second chance...

“Pits and pit mixes make up 50 percent of what’s available on the adoption floor,” Gretchen said.

There were also shepherds, beagles, Sharpeis, and the fattest yellow lab I had ever seen. “Owner got ill and couldn’t take care of anymore,” read his chart.

All of the animals are vaccinated at intake and spayed/neutered if determined eligible for adoption. We witnessed the spaying of Shy, a beautiful brown female pit bull, at the onsite medical clinic.

The veterinarian was especially pleased to perform the procedure on Shy, since she was going to a home soon. “It’s always good to know they’re being adopted, especially the pits,” she said.

WPHS has seen an increase in the adoption of pit bulls due to their “Super Seven” program, created last July by intake team leader Susie Gilbert.

“There were just so many pits here,” she said. “We put together a dream team of dedicated volunteers who train them on the basics, as well as how to interact with other dogs. It just makes pit bulls much more adoptable.”

Since “Super Seven” started, 77 pit bulls have been adopted from WPHS and five are currently in the program. Volunteers don a “Super Seven” t-shirt at events around town and talk up the program, which has been featured on local radio, television, and print.

Gilbert has received requests from close to a dozen shelters across the country, asking for information on how to start a “Super Seven” in their community, which she is more than happy to share.

“What is it about pit bulls for you?” I asked Susie.

“They’re the underdogs. I always pick the underdogs,” she said. “They remind me of me. They have a rough, tough exterior, but once you get to know them, they’re real softies.”

Gretchen is in her seventh year at the shelter, Susie on her sixth. Ask how they keep going day after day in such a challenging environment and you get two very different answers.

“I have to focus on the ones who get out, on the successes, on the whole picture,” Gretchen said. “I can’t just focus on one.”

Susie pointed to a series of black and white photos taped next to her computer monitor. “This is my wall of shame,” she said. “These are the ones I couldn’t save.”

Susie & her wall of shame

The group included Whoopi, a sweet-faced female white pit bull who was returned to the shelter five times, mostly due to separation anxiety, before being euthanized.

“As much as she was my everything, I had to let her go. We have a kennel full of pits waiting for one chance, let alone five.”

While we spoke, a man was surrendering two pit bull puppies to the shelter. The unrepentant backyard breeder had sold four from the litter; these were the unwanted remains.

Disposable inventory

According to Gilbert, the puppies are far more adoptable than the shelter’s never-ending supply of one and two year old bullies.

“The puppies aren’t as scary to people,” Gilbert said. “Super Seven gives the dogs that normally wouldn’t get looked at more of a chance. We teach them how to behave appropriately in a kennel, so people are drawn to them, which is especially helpful if they’re black or plain-looking.”

One pit that beat the odds was Joey, a 12-year old, crop-eared black male graying at the muzzle who was surrendered when his owner went to jail. His new mama? Gretchen.

Gretchen & Joey

“It was love at first sight,” Gretchen said. “I was just struck by his face and personality.” Today, Joey accompanies Gretchen to public relations events, including an annual trip to meet employees at Saks Fifth Avenue and educational programs at juvenile detention centers.

Paco, a nine-year old male graduate of the Super Seven program, was recently adopted by a 67-year old retiree.

“We believe we can teach old dogs new tricks,” Gretchen said.

The women of Hello Bully believe they can give pit bulls a new image. The non-profit foster network/advocacy organization created their logo to include a friendly, iconic cartoon of the breed that will soon be featured in comic books and other educational materials.

“We’re hoping to get into schools with Hello Bully,” said Daisy, founder and freelance graphic designer. “It can make a big difference when kids come home and tell their parents, ‘I got to meet Hello Bully today!.’”

Loren and I met Daisy and Hello Bully board member Amy, at a funky south Pittsburgh diner called the Doublewide Grill. We were running close to an hour late, thanks to the maddening crowds cheering on the Penguins (the news reported later it was 375,000 people!) and were grateful that they waited for us.

March of the penguins fans

The patio was perfect for Loren, who made herself right at home with a bowl of ice water and lots of attention from Daisy and Amy.


"I'd make a great Hello Bully model!"

Hello Bully has a board of seven and 25 volunteers to fund their outreach programs that include free spay and neuter vouchers, as well as training and exercise resources that provide pit owners with the tools to deal with unwanted behaviors.

“If we can give people management techniques, we can avoid getting these dogs turned into shelters,” Amy said. “About half of the pit owners we deal with decide to keep their dogs.”

The rest are often fostered by the Hello Bully network. Amy has two pit bulls; the male is a therapy dog. Daisy’s pit pack includes Miko and Mizuki.

Funds for the programs and foster resources are raised by several small events and a new gala, called “Lovers Not Fighters,” which was recently held at a local restaurant and attracted close to 300 guests.

“We had lawyers, doctors, mechanics, and tattoo artists. It was a true melting pot,” Daisy said. “It was just a devoted group of pit bull owners lovers bonding over their affection for the breed.”

Their five-year plan includes opening a non-traditional shelter where adoptable dogs live in a home rather than kennel environment. They see it as a “halfway house,” so that the transition to being homed wouldn’t be such a shock for the dog or its new owner.

“Temperament tests and evaluations are done while the dog’s in a high-stress shelter, where they often fail,” Daisy explained. “We want to give them a better chance to succeed.”

Unfortunately, as Amy illustrated, it’s an uphill battle.

“Some people still have the impression that shelter dogs are defective, that they have to go to a breeder, even if its an ad in the Pennysaver from some guy that‘s doing it in his backyard,” she said.

“You can’t stop stupid,” Daisy said.

That night, Loren and I were contacted by another WPHS volunteer, Laurie, who offered to meet us for breakfast. The following morning, Laurie parked next to our truck at the hotel and made the mistake of leaving her door open. Loren jumped right into her car and proceeded to drive over to Panera Bread with her new best friend.

"Are we there yet, Laurie?"

The meet and greets didn’t stop there. Loren was soon enamored of Carly and Connor, two kids out for breakfast with their mother, who had stopped to talk dog with us for a while.


"Kids are cool!"

As I came out with my food, Laurie introduced me to another WPHS volunteer, whose name escapes me. She was dressed in a pretty red suit, having started a new job. Previously, she had volunteered at the shelter close to seven days a week, but found it increasingly difficult after one of her favorite dogs was put to sleep.

“It was so hard on me, much more than I expected,” she said through tears.

Laurie nodded sympathetically.

We ate our breakfast on the patio, so Loren could join us. Laurie, originally from Virginia and the proud mom of boxer-pit mix Mercer, has volunteered at WPHS for almost three years. It has its high points and low points.

“A few weekends ago, we had 80 owner turn-ins on cats in 48 hours,” she said in disbelief. “People were lined up around the block with crates in hand.”

Laurie said the shelter was working on some Trap-Neuter-Return (TNR) programs on feral colonies with help of willing Pittsburgh residents. This approach spays and neuters feral cats and returns them to their environment, rather than turning them into a shelter, which is a mark of almost certain death for the un-socialized creatures.

Pits aren’t the only ones with problems.

Loren & I headed to Charleston, West Virginia, next, a drive of about 250 miles. Having had such a good experience at Panera, we stopped there again at lunchtime for a long overdue salad.

On the patio were a college professor, Doug, and one of his former students, Charlie, discussing poetry and music. Doug took an immediate liking to Loren and offered to hold her for a while so I could eat. He and his wife rescued a Corgi and were looking for another dog.

"I am pretty cute, aren't I?"

Too bad Loren is a bit particular about her four-legged friends. She doesn’t seem to have any problems with the two-legged variety.

(For more information on the Super Seven program or WPHS, visit www.pahumane.org and for more information on Hello Bully, visit www.hellobully.com)