The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  Maybe Mamie’s problems had to do with insufficient donations to keep the place as nice as it once had been.

  I got out of my car, grabbed my ubiquitous shoulder bag, and walked toward the gate. The whole neighborhood appeared to have gone downhill. I saw no people around, but the area seemed largely residential. A couple of houses appeared to be abandoned, and another had a car in the driveway with two flat tires.

  From behind the fence, I heard a few barks. Some of the dogs in the shelter must have heard or scented this stranger’s arrival. I assumed Mamie allowed visitors and walkins interested in adopting pets, so I didn’t try to call from my BlackBerry or look for a bell to ring. I just opened the gate and entered.

  And stopped, horrified—not just because of the repulsive smell that assailed my nose.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  The person who’d first gotten me interested in pet rescues. Who’d taught me all I’d initially known about the process, how to find and nurture animals who required help and love and as much longevity as possible . . .

  Mamie Spelling had turned into a hoarder.

  Chapter 2

  There must be a place in hell for animal hoarders. Or at least in purgatory. Hoarders deserve some kind of punishment, even though most of them start out with their hearts in the right place—wanting to save the lives of as many animals as possible.

  I knew that was so with Mamie. But talk about hell . . . this had to be an alcove of it.

  Behind the chain-link fenced-in areas of wall-to-wall pups, I saw the house I remembered: a small, now-dingy yellow cottage with white trim around the windows. There was a short set of stairs that led to the porch.

  A woman had opened the front door as I walked in and the copious dogs raised even more of a bark-fest. “Lauren!” she shouted. Or at least I thought that’s what I heard over the din. She ran toward me.

  I’m not sure I’d have recognized Mamie if I hadn’t expected to see her here. The short lady who threw herself into my arms had bright, curly red hair; pale skin; and a myriad of wrinkles. My one-time mentor had been more or less the same height, but her hair had been straight and blond, and she’d looked young despite being twenty years or so older than me.

  I didn’t want to hug her. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Mamie at that moment. What I wanted to do was to run to the nearest group of cramped, barking dogs—mostly mixed-breed terriers but also pugs, Dobies, and more—set them free from their confines, and hug every one of them. Assure them that things would improve, now that I was here.

  Which, I hoped, was the truth. But embracing any of them right now wouldn’t fix anything.

  Embracing Mamie just might. No matter how much I wanted to shriek at her.

  “I didn’t really mean for you to come here, Lauren.” Mamie pulled back and tried to smile at me, but tears flowed from her eyes as her frail body shook. “I’m so glad you did, though. I’m so . . .” A sob outmaneuvered her words, and she looked down. We just stood there for a minute.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay calm. I needed to remain cool and unemotional to help these poor, tortured animals . . . and, yes, the tortured woman before me.

  The difference was that she had done it to herself, as well as to all the creatures around us.

  When Mamie calmed a little, I said, “Let’s go inside and talk, okay?” I was proud at how serene I sounded, as if I was soothing a child who’d been discovered committing some minor infraction and knew she’d be punished for it.

  But taking away TV for a week wouldn’t solve anything. After I’d done what I needed to, Mamie would, in fact, be punished.

  A short while later, we were in Mamie’s kitchen—probably the only room in the house not stuffed with filled crates. That was what I’d gathered as we entered via the living room and walked down a short hall toward the back of the place. Some loose dogs and cats accompanied us, but most of those indoors were confined.

  At least the home wasn’t also filled with papers and trash and human detritus, as I’d seen in hoarding situations depicted in some reality horror TV shows. But even with only a few animals in here, the stench was overwhelming. How could she stand it? I wanted to scream the question but forced myself to pretend I was someone else—a heartless person who was blasé about animal mistreatment.

  Fortunately, all the creatures I’d seen had appeared to be alive. Maybe I really could help them.

  “I’ll boil water for tea,” Mamie said brightly, as if I was truly there as a friend invited for an enjoyable get-together.

  “Fine.” I smiled through gritted teeth. I doubted I’d be able to sip even a little without gagging.

  Mamie fussed around for a little while, petted a couple of medium-sized dogs that jumped at her feet, then joined me at the gouged table in the middle of the room. Like everything else here, the kitchen needed an overhaul. “The water will be ready soon,” she said.

  “Fine,” I repeated. When we were both seated, I struggled for a way to broach the subject in a way that might get us somewhere, the thousand-pound gorilla that hovered above us roaring and pounding its chest over what this woman had done. I finally just jumped in. “Mamie, I’ll bet you can imagine what I’m thinking. What happened here?”

  Rather than answering, she jumped up and grabbed some tea bags, put them into the cups on the table, then poured water from the kettle over them. I shuddered and avoided looking at those cups. Who knew what they might have been in contact with since their last arguably sanitizing wash?

  “Please, sit down,” I told her.

  “Everything will be fine here.” She turned her back toward me, facing the stove.

  I rose. “You know better. You also know I can’t leave things the way they are. These animals are suffering, Mamie.” Even the ones now lying at our feet—a fuzzy tan-colored terrier mix and a black Lab—looked thin. “You can’t like that any more than I do.”

  She shook her head back and forth, again like a child under chastisement. “Everything will be fine here,” she repeated. “She can’t do that to me.”

  She? In her confusion, Mamie apparently referred to me in third person.

  “I need to do whatever I can to save the animals,” I said.

  “I know it, Lauren. But you won’t threaten me like she does.”

  So she was someone else—maybe the person Mamie had alluded to when we spoke earlier. “Who threatened you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just do it. Take care of the animals, Lauren. That’s really why I called you. I got scared and knew you’re the best person to help my babies.” She was facing me now, her jaw set belligerently despite the tears still flowing down her cheeks. “I only wanted to save them, you know? I kept finding more pets without homes, and I couldn’t find enough people to adopt them all. I didn’t want to take them to city shelters. Some would die there.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But, Mamie, in conditions like this . . .”

  “I know, I know. I wanted to prove I was the best pet rescuer ever and help all of them. But it got too big for me to handle.” She stepped toward me around the dogs and reached up, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes with her wet, pale brown ones. “You’ll save them all, won’t you?”

  I wanted to promise her I would. I wanted to promise myself. But all I could say was, “Why don’t you show me around, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  I’d been nearly correct. There were a few other rooms in the house not stacked with crates of cats and small dogs. Their inhabitants were larger dogs, roaming free in their own excrement. Uncaged cats occupied the two bathrooms.

  Even Mamie’s bedroom was overrun with animals.

  All—canine and feline—appeared emaciated. Pets of all sizes, from Chihuahuas, to moderate-sized terriers, to big dogs like a Great Dane mix or two. Black cats, calico, some with young kittens. Pitiful. Filthy. In need of attention as well as food.

  Fortunately, I still didn’t see any dead animals, nor did I see any cl
early suffering from anything but malnutrition—although a vet would need to make that call.

  We went back through the kitchen and exited into the yard, where I saw a lot more of what I’d first viewed as I came through the gate: animals of many sizes. Most with large, sad, pleading eyes, even as the dogs barked again.

  How many were there, total? I couldn’t even guess.

  When we returned to the kitchen, I said to Mamie, “You know what I have to do, don’t you? I need to get help for these animals. They’re suffering, Mamie.”

  “I want you to help them.”

  “That’s what I’ll be doing. But if you’re asking whether I can just pick them up and take them all to HotRescues, I’m sure you know the answer.”

  She hung her head and nodded. “I want them all cared for much better than I’ve been doing. And at least you’re not threatening me, Lauren. But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I still wondered who’d threatened her, and why. If it had to do with her hoarding, why hadn’t that person done something to help the animals?

  And what did she mean that it didn’t matter? I looked at her, trying to assess whether my initial fear when she’d called was true. Could she be suicidal?

  She seemed okay, but I’d keep an eye on her for now—and I still had to take care of the animals.

  I used my BlackBerry to call Captain Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services. I had first met Matt a few months ago when I’d shown up at a rescue of dogs from a puppy mill. One of those who’d been guilty of that animal abuse had later been murdered, and I’d been a suspect. So had Matt. But neither of us had been guilty, and I’d helped to discover who was.

  Since then, Matt and I had become good friends. Maybe more than good friends. For one thing, he’d brought my dear pup, Zoey, into my life. Plus, we’d begun seeing a lot of one another.

  “Even if I wanted to,” I murmured softly into the phone, not wanting Mamie to hear everything—and knowing she eavesdropped anyway—“I couldn’t possibly take them all back to HotRescues.”

  “From what you’re describing,” Matt said, “I think you know this has to be handled officially.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I do.”

  The HotRescues license to operate as a private animal rescue organization came with restrictions. Essentially, I was permitted to save healthy animals in danger of being euthanized because of overcrowding in public shelters, and I could accept owner relinquishments. But I doubted, even if Mamie agreed, whether I could genuinely call this a situation where the owner was surrendering her own pets into my hands.

  “It’s really awful, Matt. Please send help. Once all these poor creatures are out of here, I’ll count on you to help me make sure all the healthy ones are saved somehow.”

  “I’ll do all I can. You know that.”

  And I did.

  While we waited, I told Mamie whom I’d called, and why. “I’ve gotten to know Captain Kingston and how much he cares about animals,” I said. “Most people in Animal Services do, but they have their rules. By calling Matt I can be sure all these creatures will be handled as gently as possible within the system.”

  Mamie was crying again, and no wonder. But she sipped her tea and nodded. “I have to trust you, Lauren.”

  I hoped she hadn’t misplaced that trust.

  I wanted to visit all the pets who’d soon be rounded up and dealt with officially, give each one hugs and reassurances that might, in some cases, be empty. Instead, I made calls to a couple of other people I knew who ran private shelters that I found most acceptable: clean, caring, with staff eager to place animals into new forever homes. I gave them a heads-up that there would be a lot more dogs and cats who might soon need to be rescued from the already overflowing public system.

  I also called my good friend Dr. Carlie Stellan, a veterinarian who owned a clinic in Northridge, not far from HotRescues’ location in Granada Hills. She was the star of her own cable TV animal health show, too, on the Longevity Vision Channel called Pet Fitness. I told Carlie—fortunately in town despite traveling a lot for her show—“The official vets will look these guys over for now, but I’ll want to bring as many as I can to HotRescues once they’re made available. I’ll need you and your folks to check them out.”

  “Of course, Lauren. I just wish you’d told me you were going there. I might have been able to film it for a show.”

  “I only knew I was coming a little while before I got on my way,” I told her, “and I’d no idea then that Mamie had become a hoarder. Besides, I really wouldn’t want you to feature this on Pet Fitness. She was once a dear friend of mine, and now she seems so unstable . . .”

  The L.A. Animal Services vehicles and officers started arriving a short while later. So did members of the L.A. Animal Cruelty Task Force, mostly cops. Matt wasn’t with these officials, but he’d already warned he wouldn’t get there for a while, since I’d caught him in a meeting.

  The officer in charge introduced herself and told Mamie that the animals would be taken away for their health, safety, and welfare. Mamie was also informed that someone would speak with her later.

  When the officer went outside, Mamie and I followed. The front gate had been propped open. Mamie stood beside me, watching as the animals were gently packed up and placed into vans.

  “I can’t stand this,” she whispered hoarsely. “All my little ones . . .”

  I put an arm around her shoulder.

  The excitement attracted public attention. Though I’d seen few neighbors around before, people started to line the streets.

  A couple of media vans pulled up, too. I hated to see that, but I supposed the animals wouldn’t care if their plights were screamed in the news. That might even be good for them.

  Mamie cried out when one of the ACTF officers led a tan-colored terrier mix out the gate, possibly the one that had been in the kitchen with us. “That’s Herman. Does he have to leave, too? He’s my special baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the officer.

  “At least for now,” I told her. “We’ll see if we can do something to get him back for you later—no guarantees, of course.” I suspected it would be a lost cause, but I hated to give Mamie no hope at all.

  She knelt on the ground beside Herman and gave him a hug.

  “It’s about time!” said a voice from behind me. I turned to see a slender woman in a business-like suit, her hair a sleek, shoulder-length cap of gold, smiling down at Mamie.

  Mamie rose, her complexion even paler than before. Her eyes were huge and furious. “This is all your fault, you miserable excuse for a—”

  The woman laughed. “I’m a miserable excuse? What about you, and the way you treated those poor animals?” Her smile was vicious and looked out of place on a face that could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine—beautiful and perfectly made up, from eyes framed by long, dark lashes, to her becoming shade of lip gloss.

  “But if it hadn’t been for your threats,” Mamie cried, “I’d never have had to call for help. I would have fixed things myself.”

  So this was the person who’d been threatening Mamie. With what? Exposure?

  “All you had to do was listen to me.” Her tone was sweet despite the viciousness of her expression. “You know I run one of the most reputable shelters around. I’d have helped your animals if you’d linked your pathetic Beach Pet Rescue to my network of shelters. But, no, you had to be stubborn, and now it’ll cost you, big time.”

  She was involved with shelters, had known about this situation, and hadn’t dealt with it?

  Just threatening Mamie, no matter what she’d said, hadn’t helped the poor animals.

  I held my temper in check, just barely, as I approached her. “Hi, I’m Lauren Vancouver. I run HotRescues, and I can’t believe you—”

  The woman approached me with one perfectly manicured hand extended. I noticed the pin she wore on her lapel: a circle of paw prints around the words “Pet Shelters Together.” It was crusted with smal
l, gleaming stones that looked like real diamonds.

  “Of course I know who you are. Mamie has spoken highly of you. I’m Bethany Urber, and I save animals’ lives, too. Aren’t you glad I got Mamie to get in touch with you?”

  Chapter 3

  I had no answer to that. Not without yelling my own questions at her, like “Why didn’t you do something to fix this as soon as you knew about it?” As much as I hated to pretend to be cordial, I shook her hand so briefly that it might as well have been the swipe of an angry cat.

  “This way, Bethany,” I heard from behind us. Bethany grabbed my hand again as she turned and posed us—for a couple of the news photographers who’d invaded the yard.

  I yanked myself away and pretended that my attention had been grabbed by another wave of Animal Services folks exiting the house with filled crates—not much of a stretch. They, fortunately, also shooed the media vultures back outside.

  I had in fact heard of Bethany Urber and her Pet Shelters Together organization. I belong to a different, unofficial network, one where pet rescue administrators trade data informally, and I visit its Web site frequently. It’s called, not especially creatively, Southern California Rescuers. The shelter directors I’d already contacted also monitored the site.

  Bethany and PST had been mentioned and dissected in its discussion group recently. Apparently some fellow rescuers considered Bethany’s network a superb idea, where administrators shared not only ideas and information, but also banded together for fund-raisers and more.

  Others considered it intrusive, with its requirement of ceding control . . . and I gathered that the majority of this group had met Bethany. Even so, no one said anything especially terrible about it.

  Judging by this first experience with Bethany, though, I wondered if the organization was all about her, and not so much about saving animals. Otherwise, why would she have hesitated to call in official help right away? Had she been trying to create leverage to get Mamie to join? But why?