His index finger hovered over the mouse, twitching. She was standing outside what must be the shelter where she worked, a nondescript redbrick building brightened by pots of colorful flowers and a bright-purple-and-green sign above a set of wide glass doors. Her delicate brows were drawn into a knot, and she was biting her lip. The caption next to the story image read Family-Centered Shelter Takes on Animals Trained to Kill.
The voice in his head—the one he credited with keeping him alive after more close calls than cats had lives—sternly announced he needed to get back to the job search.
His fingers didn’t listen. He clicked on the story, maximizing it to full screen. His heart sank as he realized it had run first as a live story. What was she thinking, agreeing to a live story? That was something Rob would only do with great caution, and only after confirming the questions before filming began.
The piece started with a perfectly composed reporter updating viewers on the horrific dogfighting rescue story while images of the confiscation flashed across the screen. Then the voice-over images ended and the reporter reappeared. She was speaking in a this-story-is-more-important-than-anything-you’ve-heard voice that grated on Kurt’s nerves. Kelsey stood beside her, looking fairly composed.
The first questions were benign, with the reporter asking how long the shelter had been in operation—eighteen years—and stating that it had long been a favorite organization in the Webster Groves community.
Then, after relaying that the shelter had made the controversial decision to take on a large number of the confiscated dogs, the reporter asked Kelsey point-blank her thoughts about embarking on what could be a life-threatening mission.
Kelsey seemed to freeze as the question sank in. The reporter had to nod her on. Finally, Kelsey gave a light shake of her head. “I don’t think anything about this rehab is life-threatening.”
That was it. She offered nothing else.
The reporter seemed to realize that she’d need to be the conversation starter. “But are you aware there are twenty to thirty deaths from dog attacks every year, most of which are committed by notorious fighting breeds like the ones you’re taking on?”
Kelsey pressed her lips together and looked at the camera before angling her body awkwardly toward the reporter. “I’m aware and it’s certainly tragic, but there are often extenuating circumstances the media doesn’t disclose.” She sucked in her cheek while shooting a glance at the camera. “And it’s important to state that the shelter is acting responsibly. The dogs we’re taking will be kept in a secluded location. Plus, their training is being overseen by a professional. He’s on his way from Kansas City.” She stopped and raked a hand through her hair.
So, they were bringing in Tommy Sintras after all. Kurt’s shoulders and neck tensed.
The reporter gave Kelsey a look of what seemed like mistrust. “Critics are calling for immediate humane euthanizing and are filing a lawsuit to that effect. Does your shelter have a formal response?”
“No, nothing formal.” Her internal reaction to the reporter’s question was obvious to Kurt. Her shoulders dropped, and she stepped half a foot closer. She no longer looked like she was trying to ignore the camera either. “But I’m happy to give you my opinion about that news. These dogs… In most ways they aren’t different from dogs we adopt out every day. We’re a shelter. Most of the dogs we take in have picked up undesirable behaviors. They swipe food off counters, tear up bedding and couches, eat shoes, you name it.
“Our goal is to redirect those behaviors and to help new owners do the same thing. And most of the time, it’s easier than you’d think. So that’s what we’re hoping to do now, just on a different scale. The dogs we’re bringing in have been trained to fight other dogs, but that’s a learned behavior. They may have a way to go, but in the end, it’s a matter of training and learning to trust.”
The reporter cocked her head as a half smile escaped. Kurt had the distinct feeling she was playing chess and calling check. “So the opinion of the High Grove Animal Shelter is that teaching one dog not to fight another dog to the death is no different from teaching another one to sit or stay? I can’t help but wonder how many viewers are shaking their heads at that.”
Even from the screen Kurt could see how Kelsey’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t mean to imply it was the same thing. It’s a slower, more complicated process. Dogs naturally trust humans, but these dogs have been abused. They’ve been placed in environments where they have to fight to survive. So that’s the first goal: rebuilding trust. Typically, those bonds can be rebuilt easier than you’d think, considering the lives these dogs have had.”
“Typically.” The way the reporter weighted the word, it sounded profoundly impossible. “What is your response to critics’ claim that if you’re wrong, the price could be very steep indeed?”
Kelsey fell silent a second or two as her forehead knotted together. Kurt was willing to bet she’d all but forgotten the story was airing live. “My response is that while I’m committed to complete caution, I’m also committed to second chances. Just last week, Channel 3 aired a story about a ten-year-old boy who’d been caught stealing, and it turned out he’d been taught it by his mom. He’d been stealing for her ever since he was in kindergarten. I don’t recall anyone wanting to prosecute him because of his mother’s poor judgment.
“These dogs…” Kelsey continued, closing her hands tightly at her sides. “They didn’t have any say in their lives either. They were bred or purchased or in some cases stolen off people’s property. Yesterday, I met a sweet Doberman whose microchip traced back to a caring home in Kansas. She was reported missing nearly a year ago, and her owners are overjoyed she’ll be coming home. They’re committed to helping recondition her. Fortunately,
