RONKS, Pa. — Megan Anderson’s nerves are shot. But she presses ahead. The dogs need her.
She pulls into the driveway of Scarlet-Maple Farm Kennel. She tells the adolescent boy who greets her that she’s looking for puppies to give her nephews for Christmas.
Will the boy swallow her story? How about the Amish man with the long gray beard, straw hat and plain dress — the kennel’s owner? Will he discover her ruse and chase her away?
She hopes not. If all goes well, Anderson will leave with at least one dog, maybe more — and perhaps with evidence that could help put this kennel out of business for good.
Over the past four years, Anderson — who works for Main Line Animal Rescue, a shelter outside Philadelphia — has managed to coax some of Pennsylvania’s largest commercial breeding kennels to part with their unwanted canines, usually females past their reproductive prime or young males they couldn’t sell.
Main Line’s founder, Bill Smith, would like to shut down Scarlet-Maple Farm Kennel and others like it. Smith and other animal welfare activists pushed for a new state law — regarded as the toughest in the nation — designed to end the inhumane treatment of breeding dogs in the large commercial kennels popularly known as puppy mills. Kennel owners say the law is unnecessary and too expensive to comply with, and that it is eliminating many good breeders along with the few bad apples.
After listening to Anderson’s tale, the boy disappears into the kennel. Large operations like Scarlet-Maple rarely allow prospective buyers inside. They don’t want the public seeing how their breeding dogs live.
Puppy mill life
Puppy mill dogs spend most of their working lives inside cramped wire cages, stacked one atop the other. They get little grooming, veterinary care or attention of any kind.
Lacking a toy to occupy their time, some dogs go into a frenzy every time they see a human. Other dogs circle endlessly. Still others just sit there, staring, like a “warm statue,” says Jessie Smith, special deputy secretary of dog law enforcement at the state Department of Agriculture.
Breeders often act as their own vets, performing delicate surgical procedures — docking tails, “debarking” dogs by hacking at the vocal cords, performing Caesarean sections on pregnant females. The lack of medical training can have disastrous results. Main Line recently took in a critically ill boxer with a mummified puppy in her belly, the apparent result of a botched Caesarean. She was rushed to the hospital with bleeding and a severe infection.
The physical wounds, horrific as they may be, are treatable. Tougher to heal are the psychological ones. Bill Smith says the volunteers at Main Line spend weeks or even months working with rescued dogs so they can be adopted.
“Every day it must be so difficult for them to try new things, especially when they’re 7 or 8 years old and they’ve spent their entire lives in a box in a dark barn,” says Smith, 48.
All of this has contributed to Pennsylvania’s reputation as the puppy mill capital of the East Coast. It’s an image that state lawmakers and Gov. Ed Rendell are working to shed.
In 2008, Rendell signed off on strict health and safety standards for large breeding operations. Key provisions that went into effect in October required large-scale breeders to double cage sizes, eliminate wire flooring and provide unfettered access to exercise. The new law also banned cage stacking, instituted twice-a-year vet checks, and mandated new ventilation and cleanliness standards.
Punishment for puppy mill conditions
The boy returns with three dogs. They cost $500, $400 and $300, he says. Too rich for Megan Anderson’s blood.
“Do you have anything cheaper?” she asks.
The boy goes back to the kennel. This time he brings her two small dogs, offering both for a discounted price of $250. At five months, they’re too old to sell as puppies, he explains. He tells Anderson they would make a good breeding pair.
Deal, she says.
It’s an unusual transaction. Main Line almost never buys animals from puppy mills. But it will purchase a dog as part of a cruelty investigation. If these dogs show signs they have been mistreated, Main Line will take them to the PSPCA to determine whether charges can be filed.
A cruelty conviction could result in the loss of Daniel Esh’s federal dealer’s license and hasten the removal of his dogs, Smith says.
Esh’s business is already on the verge of collapse.
State inspectors combing through Esh’s kennel found dogs with lameness, lesions, dehydration and dental disease; puppies’ paws falling through wire flooring; excrement in food dishes. Esh pleaded guilty this month to three summary violations of the dog law and subsequently lost his state kennel license.
That means he can no longer breed dogs — though he can continue selling the ones in his kennel — and must reduce his kennel population to 25 dogs or less, down from more than 500 as recently as two years ago.
Inspectors planned to visit Esh to make sure he has complied.
‘It’s a beginning’
Anderson holds back tears as she plants a kiss on the head of a black-and-white, poodle-bichon mix. Both dogs she bought at Esh’s kennel are filthy and fetid.
Mission accomplished, it’s off to the next puppy mill, and the next, and the next. By nightfall, Main Line has visited five kennels and retrieved 12 dogs.
The poodles from a kennel near Georgetown, rescued the same day, will require a lot more work to prepare them for life outside the mill. Nearly two weeks after their rescue, the poodles — dubbed Mr. White and Mrs. White — are still very skinny, they haven’t been eating, and they’re terrified of humans.
None of this fazes Mary Remer, a renowned trainer and behaviorist who works with the dogs of Main Line Animal Rescue. She’s seen plenty of puppy mill dogs in far worse straits that have wound up as great family pets.
It just takes time and patience, she says. And plenty of love.
By the end of a 45-minute “shy dog” class, Mrs. White is walking, not hopping. Mr. White, an older dog, remains cradled in a volunteer’s arms, still too frightened to be put down. But he is blinking normally and taking stock of his surroundings; his nose twitches, a sign his olfactory senses are awakening.
It’s not a lot, but it’s something.
“It’s a beginning,” Remer says.
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