From A Depressingly Familiar Sight
Editor's note: Visit the Humane Society's website for the latest news
and information about dogfighting.
The call last January to the Newton, New Hampshire, police department sounded depressingly familiar. A local animal control officer reported that a man hired to clean dog pens at a home in a pricey development along Williamine Drive had discovered something that chilled him: dogs with deep scrapes and gashes.
Sgt. Richard Owens didn't want to take any chances. He arrived at the house with two dozen lawmen, most of them armed with semiautomatics. They split into two teams. One knocked at the front door, while Owens led the second group to a large Quonset hut in the woods behind the house. Tethered to poles outside the hut were six pit bull terriers, each wearing a thick lumber chain. Merely lifting their heads was a workout for the dogs' neck muscles -- which was the point. Inside the hut, the policemen saw rows of cages, each housing a single pit bull terrier. Many were badly scarred. One was missing part of its tongue; another wobbled on twisted front legs, apparently from broken bones that had been poorly set.
Next to the Quonset hut was a two-story garage. As Owens climbed the stairs, he noticed blood trails on the steps. He entered a large room with an arena, 14 feet square, that was rimmed by two-foot plywood walls -- and splattered with more blood. This was the gladiator pit, the place where dogs were turned loose to clash in gruesome fights.
"It was a stomach-churning sight," Owens remembers.
The dogs were rushed away to animal shelters, and their owner, Christopher DeVito, wound up sentenced to state prison for two to five years. That's the good news. More sobering is the fact that for every DeVito arrested, thousands of others take part in this savage blood sport with little risk from the law.
Eric Sakach, West Coast regional director for the Humane Society of the United States, says dogfighting is "exploding," and estimates there are some 40,000 "fanciers" or "doggers" as the players call themselves.
The Surge in Dogfighting
Why the surge in dogfighting? Think money and machismo. Gambling is a huge draw for what the Humane Society calls "serious players," "hobbyists" and "street players." There are also big bucks to be made in raising and selling pit bulls -- a breed that got its name from being trained to fight in pits against other canines. Pit bulls with impressive bloodlines can sell for up to $10,000. A clandestine match can lure several hundred spectators and rake in tens of thousands of dollars. Hobbyists, by contrast, buy dogs on the cheap and fight them locally, often in secluded wooded areas or in home basements. As much as the gambling pool, their reward is just the thrill of combat.Street gangs and inner-city teens have emerged as the newest players. From Cleveland to Detroit, from New York City to Los Angeles, from Boston to San Francisco, the pit bull terrier has replaced the 9 mm. as the badge of machismo for young gang members. Puppies can be bought on the street for $25, and most matches are impromptu. Their owners go to a park or playground, a crowd gathers, and bills are slapped down. If police approach, everyone scatters and the owners claim their dogs started the fight.
Police know that the street sport is pervasive, but they find making a case against dogfighters to be difficult. "Law enforcement guys will go into grade schools and ask who in the classroom has ever seen a dogfight," says Eric Sakach, "and every hand will be raised."
Occasionally, a teenage fancier is caught red-handed. Acting on a tip, Scott Giacoppo, an investigator for the Massachusetts SPCA, was met at the front door of a house by an exasperated father. "I'm sick of my son's dogs," he grumbled. "Get 'em out of here."
In a basement that reeked of feces, Giacoppo discovered a dozen penned dogs, and most were marked by infected wounds from past battles. Behind the house, the investigator found more dogs, chained to poles. Their owner, a 17-year-old, tried to convince a judge that he was merely a breeder. It didn't fly. He got a year in jail for animal cruelty.
There are no complete national statistics on the number of dogfights, but evidence gathered by the Humane Society from major newspapers indicates that at least 2500 dogs have been seized and about 250 people arrested over the past two years. The Humane Society also has identified more than 200 Internet sites related to pit bulls, many of which are believed to be operated by dogfighters.
A Mission of Mercy
Underground publications such as Sporting Dog Journal, The Scratch Line and Face Your Dogs have grown since the 1970s, when Sakach says there were three published regularly; the Humane Society now tracks ten. These periodicals routinely report on recent matches and advertise the sale of fighting dogs. As a hedge against snoopy cops, many publishers require new subscribers to have a sponsor.Another measure of the sport's popularity is the increasing number of mauled and mutilated dogs turning up at shelters. In 1998, for example, shelters in Philadelphia put down more than 3300 pit bull terriers and some 300 were found dead on the streets.
To police officers like Chris Sanford, it's a clear mission of mercy to halt dogfighting. As a narcotics officer in Galt, Calif., Sanford helped disrupt the network of 26-year-old Cesar Cerda and uncovered grisly evidence of how pit bulls are treated. A veterinary technician by day, Cerda's real profession was breeding, training and fighting pit bulls. He was known in the sport as a good "staple man," someone adept at surgically stapling a dog's wounds. Inside Cerda's house, police found videos of more than 50 dogfights.
In a nearby barn, officers also found treadmills and other exercise devices, including a curious thing that looked like a miniature horse walker. This was called a jenny, Sanford learned, or sometimes a cat mill. Dogs in training are harnessed to a spoke projecting from a central shaft and encouraged to chase similarly restrained cats or other bait animals. If the dog works hard, he may get the cat as a reward.
One gadget discovered on the property especially angered Sanford: On one end was a wire with a plug and, on the other, two alligator clips caked with blood and hair. The wire was used to execute dogs who were badly injured or had "curred out," meaning they'd quit during a match. One of the dog's feet is put in a bucket of water, while the alligator clips are attached to its tongue and rectum.
Cerda pleaded no-contest to 63 felony charges, including cruelty to animals and owning and training fighting dogs. He was sentenced to seven years in prison, which the Humane Society says is the toughest penalty ever in such a case. But Cerda's brutal methods are fairly typical among serious players. Aggressive puppies are singled out for training, which includes early sparring matches against weaker dogs. When they're ready to fight, the dogs go through four to six weeks of intense conditioning, known as "the keep." This entails special diets, running on treadmills or chasing bait animals, and clinging to suspended hides or inner tubes to strengthen jaw muscles. It's common for trainers to give dogs speed, steroids and codeine to boost performance. A few trainers withhold water on the theory that a dehydrated dog will bleed less.
Following a Ritual
The matches themselves normally follow a ritual called Cajun rules. One referee and two handlers are allowed in the ring. On the command "Face your dogs!" handlers turn the animals so their eyes meet, and then release them for combat. Matches go on until one dog dies or quits, usually within an hour. Concession stands sell barbecue, beer and sometimes hard liquor, and illegal drugs are ever present.Few investigators get to witness the fight scene firsthand -- players are too good at covering their tracks. But Eric Sakach got dangerously close to the action while undercover for the Humane Society some years ago.
After working for a while with an informant, Sakach was invited to a match in a remote spot in Arkansas called Marked Tree. As a security precaution, only the promoters knew the exact location until just before the first match. Sakach was told to check into a local motel and wait. Outside, he could see trainers and handlers milling about, exercising their dogs. The next afternoon a pickup truck appeared, circled the motel and then led Sakach and others caravan-style to a farmhouse where he observed owners going in, presumably to review contracts and count money. At dusk he watched as a seemingly endless string of car headlights wound their way up to the farmhouse. "It was like the final scene in Field of Dreams," he recalls.
After a short drive, the caravan arrived at a field with a large metal shed. Several hundred people had jammed the shed by the time the handlers weighed their dogs and washed them as a precaution against poison. Guards patrolled the perimeter. "If anyone sees anybody suspicious," the promoter announced from the ring, "just speak up and we'll take care of them."
Moments later a team of police officers stormed the shed -- uninvited guests of Eric Sakach. Ultimately 250 people were arrested and $500,000 in betting money was seized, along with 69 handguns and stashes of cocaine. At the time, dogfighting was a misdemeanor in Arkansas, and the promoter got off with a fine.
Until recently, dogfighting was a misdemeanor in nearly every state. But now the sport can be prosecuted as a felony in all but four, thanks to the efforts of the Humane Society and the SPCA. Sakach expects that the holdouts -- Idaho, Iowa, Wyoming, West Virginia, as well as the District of Columbia -- will join the cause within the next five years. The National Illegal Animal Fighting Task Force, which Sakach helped form, has members from more than 150 local, state and federal agencies.
Enforcing Change
A few states and cities have formed their own task forces. The one created by the Ohio Department of Agriculture helps enforce the legislation requiring owners of "vicious dogs" to keep their animals confined and to carry $100,000 in liability insurance. In Massachusetts it is now against the law to even own a fighting animal.The model of all task forces is Boston's Operation Dog Tag. Created in 1996, Dog Tag dispatches teams of city cops, animal control officers and armed special agents of the SPCA to neighborhoods where dogfighting is suspected. Scott Giacoppo, who served on the task force, says the success has surprised everyone. "Kids used to go to Ronan Park in Boston to fight dogs. Now it's cleaned up," he says. "Or take Geneva Avenue and Bowdoin Street in Dorchester. A few years ago fighting dogs were attacking people there all the time. Now families can walk by this intersection and feel safe." But no one, including Giacoppo, believes the larger war against dogfighting is close to being won. It's too easy for the players to operate underground, and their ranks are alarmingly widespread.
When deputies in Bastrop County, Texas, answered a trespassing complaint a few years ago, they stumbled across 50 or so fanciers drinking beer, eating barbecue and cheering on a fight. Though people ran for the woods, about 20 were arrested. Most paid a $500 fine -- standard punishment for spectators at the time -- but several refused. One of them, Norman Hooten, protested that he was only at the scene to eat barbecue. In a column published later in American Gamedog Times, Hooten railed that he would sooner let "Big Brother" stand him against a wall and shoot him than turn into "a whore, traitor or rat." His behavior led the U.S. Attorney to consider misdemeanor charges, but Hooten died before the case could be adjudicated.
A close examination of his affairs showed that Hooten was a major figure in the dogfighting industry, once even named its Man of the Year. Certificates discovered by investigators indicated that he had shipped dogs as far away as Korea. His business stationery advertised "Dogs of Quality and Character for 25 Years."
That stationery revealed one more interesting fact about Hooten. He was the sheriff of Kinney County, Texas.
If you see evidence of dogfighting, contact your local police or an animal control officer.