Going strictly by the rule book, Joanna had no excuse for taking the puppy. But Lucky was by no means part of the Carol Mossman homicide, and the animal was far too small to be shipped off to a pound. That opinion was underscored when, a few minutes later, she found herself wandering through a maze of dog runs searching for Jeannine Phillips.
Joanna’s passage set off a cacophony of barking. She found it difficult to look at the sad collection of animals, their muzzles pressed hopefully up against the chain-link gates, watching as Joanna walked by. One in particular caught her eye—a blue-eyed Australian shepherd bitch.
Joanna finally located Jeannine Phillips. Hose in hand, she 64
was cleaning out an empty run. Joanna didn’t want to consider what had happened to the previous occupant. The Animal Control officer nodded in greeting when Joanna walked up, but continued hosing down the concrete- floored run.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff Brady?” she asked finally after turning off the hose.
“I suppose you’re here to bitch me out for lodging the complaint?”
“Not exactly,” Joanna said. “Although I did come to talk to you about that.” She paused. “I guess it never occurred to me that saving one puppy’s life was a breach of procedure.”
“If it had been a child,” Jeannine said brusquely, “you would have turned it over to Child Protective Services.”
“But there were all those other dead dogs,” Joanna objected. “Seventeen dead dogs.”
“Right,” Jeannine agreed. “What’s the big deal about seventeen dead dogs? We put away that many every week. And by the time we get through with the Fourth of July weekend-with all the dogs that get scared and run away from home because of firecrackers and are never reclaimed-we’ll do double that next week.”
Joanna felt sickened. “That’s outrageous!” she exclaimed. “We euthanize that many?
I had no idea.”
“I didn’t think you did,” Jeannine Phillips said. “But don’t feel bad. Nobody else knows, either. Since puppies don’t eat much, we can keep them a little longer. And we could probably have placed your puppy. It’s a different story with older dogs.
For one thing, they aren’t that cute, and they eat too much. When the board of supervisors dished out the budget cuts, our unit took a ten percent hit right along with everyone else, Sheriff Brady. But so far I haven’t been able to convince any of the dogs that they should eat ten percent less.”
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As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, the temperatures in the unair-conditioned kennel area was heating up as well. Joanna followed Jeannine back through the kennel, the woman stopping here and there to turn on big industrial fans.
“They help some,” she said. “If nothing else, they keep the air circulating.”
Inside the building, Joanna and Jeannine walked through a hallway lined with cat cages. Most of those were full as well. Animal Control’s ramshackle office was furnished with discarded, mismatched furniture that had seen better days. Joanna soon realized the office wasn’t air-conditioned, either. An old swamp cooler halfheartedly blew tepid air and the odor of mildew into the room as Jeannine sat down behind a scarred wooden desk.
“We should have two full-time kennel attendants,” she told Joanna. “Since we only have one, Manny and I end up doing kennel duty when we should be out on patrol. If somebody actually wants to adopt a dog, we have to be paged so we can come back and handle the paperwork. It’s no surprise that so few dogs get adopted.
“Before she left, Donna Merrick had all kinds of bright ideas. She had met with several local veterinarians and was hoping to get the county to contract with them for low-cost spaying and neutering. Donna thought we’d have better luck finding homes for animals if we brought the animals to the people instead of waiting for people to come to us. She had even talked to some of the local store managers about having adoption clinics on Saturday mornings. Donna wanted to pay for a dog groomer so the animals would be cleaned up and looking good the mornings of the clinics.”
“Sounds good to me,” Joanna said. “What happened?”
“Donna talked the idea up and the Wal-Mart managers in 66
Douglas and Sierra Vista were all for it. So was the manager of the Safeway store here in town. But when the board of supervisors heard about it, they wouldn’t even consider it. Said that running adoption clinics went beyond our ‘legal mandate’ and that the taxpayers would think it a waste of money. And, once Donna went up against the board, the next thing we knew, she was gone. Now we’re part of the sheriff’s department, and we’re even more shorthanded than before.”
“So I guess we need to do something about this,” Joanna said when she finished.
Jeannine nodded. “Yes, we do,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced that anything would change.
“How long have you worked here?” Joanna asked. “Eight years.” “And Manny?” “Six.”
Joanna nodded. “So what do you want me to do about the puppy? Should I bring him back here? I offered him to Carol Mossman’s mother, but she didn’t want him. The place where she lives doesn’t allow pets.”
“Manny said you’d already named him,” Jeannine said. “I thought he was lucky, so that’s what I named him- Lucky.” “Go ahead and keep him,” Jeannine said in exasperation.
“Since he’s already got a home, there’s not much sense bringing him back here. You’re supposed to have him properly licensed, once he has his shots, and he’ll need to be neutered.” “Right,” Joanna said. “We’ll take care of it.” “Good enough,” Jeannine said.
Joanna stood and started toward the door. Then she stopped and turned back. “How long has that little Australian shepherd been here?” she asked. “The one in that last bunch of kennels.”
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“Oh,” Jeannine said. “You mean Little Blue Eyes?”
