Puppy mills are essentially breeding facilities where dogs are kept in inhumane and often dangerous conditions. While some people are primarily concerned about the puppies who are born in these facilities, animal advocates understand that the more neglected victims of puppy mills are the adult dogs who are imprisoned and used as breeders.

Molly Stone, a Certified Dog Behavior Consultant and Certified Dog Trainer and the Animal Behavior Specialist at the SPCA of Wake County, has been participating in several puppy mill raids a year since 2012. The following is her harrowing first-person account of a puppy mill raid in Jones County, North Carolina in the spring of 2014.

Introduction

On Wednesday, March 14, 2014 I had the opportunity to be a part of the SPCA of Wake County’s emergency response team working with the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) and the Jones County Sheriff’s Department at a puppy mill bust in Trenton, NC.

 No Waterworks, Just Action

It was an experience I will never forget. We were told to expect between 30 and 60 dogs of various small breeds, but as is the case with every puppy mill raid, there was no way for us to be really certain about what we’d find there before we were there on the ground and finding it. When we arrived at the meeting point, our SPCA vans joined the raid caravan, led by police cruisers with the lights flashing. Our instructions were to park a few hundred feet from the property and wait for the police to give us the “go” signal. We arrived and rolled our windows down to see if we could hear what was happening. When we did, a stench we could not believe slapped us in the face. It was the smell of decay, and feces, and urine…and it was coming from several hundred feet away at the puppy mill.

The police gained entry as we pulled onto the property and parked our van amongst a stand of pine trees. The horrible smell that had assaulted us when we were out on the street was even heavier when we were closer to its source, and it enveloped everything. The Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) representatives went onto the property first, while our team awaited instructions. The heavy, putrid air made some of our eyes begin to water, and that was when I decided that we should all vow to avoid crying while we were there to do this job. No waterworks, just action. No matter what horrors awaited us behind these closed doors, I convinced myself that I’d make it through the day without bursting into tears.

A Waking Nightmare

Puppy mill dogs are frequently unfamiliar with people and their lack of experience combined with their harsh environments can cause them to be particularly defensive and understandably fearful. Most of the dogs we saw in the house were no exception to that rule. Although our goal was to obtain an official head count, we lost track almost immediately thanks to the chaos and the noise and the odor and the sheer number of tiny little terrified faces crammed into such small spaces. Among stacks of clothing, newspapers, and general debris, we saw a French Bulldog in a tiny crate with no water whose nails had grown back into his paw pads. He had a skin infection so invasive he was nearly hairless and had huge, thickened, red, bloody patches all over his body. He had bloody diarrhea and he could scarcely walk thanks to the condition of his feet and the amount of pain he must have been in. But when we reached down to scratch his itchy, angry skin he grunted with relief, leaned his weight into our hands and gazed up at us through his hazy, reddened eyes. He was suffering visibly and in spite of my scientific animal behavior background I could have sworn that gaze was one of “thank you.” As touched as I was, I remembered my vow and I didn’t cry. This was just the beginning of what was going to be a long and alarming day.

There was a timid black and white Pit Bull in a cramped crate that was too small for her, who, like many of the dogs was unable to make eye contact with any of us. She shyly stared at the floor of her small kennel and at the wall and she didn’t make a peep when we paraded through her home. There were several other small crates, also without water bowls, stuffed full of terrified Chihuahuas, some three or four each. There was also a nursing mother Pug with four, one-week-old puppies in a crate on top of several others with dirty water, no food, and no blanket. I didn’t see photos of the dogs with the family members on the wall (but I did see commemorative Elvis Presley plates). I didn’t see a single dog toy; I didn’t see a single leash. What I did see were dogs without the benefit of companionship living in inhumane conditions with urine burns on their skin, and hairless, bleeding backs where they’d chewed off their own fur in an effort to relieve the itching that fleas that covered their skin like creeping carpets caused. Sometimes animals with too little space to move and too few activities to keep them busy can develop odd habits, like constantly licking their feet or continuously pacing in circles. These repetitive behaviors are commonly seen in dogs who spend their lives in the environments seen at puppy mills. Many of the dogs in the house were exhibiting that type of disorder, while others looked at us with abject terror in their faces. I was filled with a sense of urgency that I cannot remember having experienced before. But I remembered my vow and I didn’t cry.

Outside the house and in the back yard there were several barn-like buildings, each filled with makeshift kennels with dirt floors, and each crowded with tiny, mistreated, malnourished and unsocialized and emotionally-injured little dogs. Some of these cruel pens housed as many as seven animals apiece, without fresh water and without food. I realized that the pre-raid estimation of 60 animals was low. Really low. I worried about how we’d handle such a large number of emotionally and physically abused animals. But I only worried for a minute because frankly, it didn’t matter. Absolutely anything would have been better for them than where they were and there was no doubt in my mind that we’d figure something out for them. After all, that’s what the SPCA of Wake County is here for. The challenge was overwhelming as was the odor rising from the nearby buckets of feces that were swarming with flies, and for a few seconds I thought I might vomit. But at least I remembered I wasn’t going to cry.

There were others that were frozen and hiding in the 50-gallon drums that they’d been provided for “shelter.” And then there were others who were so clearly starving for our attention and our affection that they were clambering all over each other to get closer to us as we passed. One particularly enthusiastic little Dachshund was actually climbing the fence at the front of his kennel whenever we walked by as if he were begging us to get to him faster, faster. His desperation was heart-wrenching. But I remembered my vow, and I didn’t cry.

There was also an outdoor kennel area where we saw much of the same. Waste-smeared flooring over muddy kennel floors and dogs in such deplorable conditions it surprised me that they were all alive. Some of their coats were so matted the dogs’ movement was restricted. Some of their teeth were so diseased they looked like they had mouths full of little baked beans. Some of their eye infections were so severe their eyes were caked shut with a greenish film. The stench was so oppressive it felt like a mask. The more I saw, the less I could believe. These animals were living in a nightmare.

There were short and long-haired Chihuahuas, short and long-haired Dachshunds, French Bulldogs, a few shaggy little Shih-tzu types, Pugs, Pomeranians, two Pit Bulls and one very pregnant Calico cat. We broke into two teams, divided the property in half, and we started the rescue sweep. Each dog was numbered, removed from its enclosure, photographed, and then taken to the medical table where a volunteer veterinarian was waiting to check them out. After their exams, the dogs were placed in carriers with their medical reports attached. We gave them water and let them rest in the shade while we went back to start the whole process again. There were so many it felt like we’d never be able to get to them all—as it turns out there were 88 in all, plus the cat. Almost all of them had terrible flea infestations and unhealthy skin, painfully long toenails and filthy, mite-infested ears. A few of the animals had such serious medical issues that they had to be separated from the others and rushed directly to CareFirst Animal Hospital at Grace Park for urgent care.

In some of the filthy kennels there were chunks of vinyl flooring smeared with feces and stained with urine covering the holes the dogs had dug, either in an attempt to have a cool place to rest or to entertain themselves since they had absolutely nothing else to do. There were spinning, barking and pacing dogs all suffering from captivity-related behavioral disorders. There were snarling, growling, defensive dogs all regarding us with the mistrust that comes from having had too few positive interactions with too few people.

Some clung to us and clawed the air when we lifted them while others shivered and trembled and urinated with fear. While others really seemed to enjoy the physical contact; probably the first kind human hands they’d had lain on them in their lives. I’ve never seen so many dogs in such desperate need in one place before, but I remembered my vow, and I didn’t cry.

And then there was a lovely, long-haired red Dachshund who behaved as though everyone in her cruel world was the best friend she’d ever had. Her coat was matted and smelly, but somehow she managed to have joy in her eyes and her tail—heavy with feces and matting—never stopped wagging. During her exam, the veterinarian found a chicken bone wedged into her gums above her teeth and poking into the roof of her mouth. It couldn’t be removed without sedation. All I could think of was how much it hurts when my toothbrush slips and I jab the roof of my mouth with it, and I realized how much constant pain that dog must have been in for heaven only knew how long. And still she was trusting and affectionate and clearly hungry for companionship and for the millionth time that day I couldn’t believe my eyes. And I cried.

The Aftermath

I brought the first load of dogs home around 5:00pm. We set them all up in clean kennels with clean water and clean blankets and toys and although they were very frightened and confused, within a half hour all of those brave little characters had fallen fast asleep. I wondered if any of them had ever had a clean blanket to sleep on before that moment, and yes, I cried again.

Puppy mills are rarely full of puppies. Puppies are the products that puppy mills distribute. The adult dogs who remain imprisoned there, where they are used and used again as breeding stock, are the ultimate victims. Not only is the puppy mill life difficult for them physically, it causes severe damage to them behaviorally, as well. Puppy mill dogs have never been housetrained; they’ve never learned basic obedience; they’ve never ridden in a car; they’ve never chased a Frisbee; they’ve never had a play date; they’ve never learned a trick or been encouraged by a treat. Puppy mill dogs never get the opportunity to do “Dog Things,” and their lack of opportunity can cause them to behave very differently than other dogs.

The one thing these brave little dogs have going for them is their instinct. The amazing and wonderful thing is that in most cases a dog’s desire to be a social animal and desire for human companionship is an instinct that can’t be starved or neglected or beaten out of them. The urge for human companionship is deeply ingrained and stretches back thousands of years to the beginning of wolves’ relationship to man. So I am betting that like other dogs we have rehabilitated, these damaged dogs (after their urgent medical needs are seen to) need time in a loving environment to learn to do the things they have never had the opportunity to do.

We didn’t know when these dogs would be available for adoption. The timing for each particular dog varied, but they all needed medical care, socialization, nutrition, and baths, for the love of all that is good and holy! But they were safe, and all the dogs had new homes within a few weeks.

My heart is still bursting with pride that I was able to be such a big part of the day their lives changed for the better. I will never, ever understand why the criminals that operate puppy mills do what they do, but after the raid in Jones County, I have a renewed understanding of why I do what I do.

Molly Stone

Association of Animal Behavior Professionals Certified Dog Behavior Consultant/Certified Dog Trainer (AABP-CDBC/CDT)
International Association of Animal Behavior Consultants-Certified Dog Behavior Consultant (IAABC-CDBC)
Animal Behavior Specialist, SPCA of Wake County
www.spcawake.org

Follow the SPCA of Wake County on Facebook, Twitter @spcawake and Instagram @spcaofwakecounty. Contact Molly at mstone@spcawake.org or 919-532-2096.