The Doggie in the Window

by Rory Kress

  “Each inspector does his own inspection report,” Gibbens replies.

  “So the USDA inspector wouldn’t say to the state inspector: ‘Oh, you’ve got this. I’m just going to leave it off here.’”

  “No,” Gibbens answers. “If it’s not on one inspector’s report, either the requirement was different, or they didn’t agree with each other.”

  I reiterate that the inspection reports sitting in front of him indicate that we are talking about violations to the Animal Welfare Act, things that the federal agents must document: sick and wounded dogs. I put the Ritters’ documents side by side in front of him, showing exactly how state inspectors meticulously documented violations on the same day that Gibbens’s agents failed to note anything. I also hand him his own response to Kristin’s complaint, bearing his signature, asserting that there were no noncompliant items found at the facility. He pauses for a long time, his eyes scanning the reports I’ve assembled in front of him.

  “I wasn’t there, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to comment on what our inspectors did or didn’t do or what the Missouri inspectors did or didn’t do. Because I don’t know. I know that I have full confidence in those inspectors to determine whether a facility is in compliance with our standards or not. And when they go, it’s a snapshot of what they see, while they’re there that day. If they were to go back a week later, a few days later, the snapshot’s going to be different,” says Gibbens.

  There’s another long pause.

  “And I don’t know what else to say, Rory,” he says with a sigh. “We can’t help [Kristin]. We can’t get her money back. We can’t get her a new puppy. Our laws aren’t written that way. Our law is written to see if the licensee is following the requirements of the Animal Welfare Act.”

  But if inspectors were able to give the Ritters a clean report on the same day that state inspectors found multiple violations to the Animal Welfare Act, it seems that they are not carrying out even the most basic part of the agency’s duty of enforcement.

  Once she had all the facts, Kristin called Debra Ritter directly.

  “She’s clearly defensive, right off the bat,” Kristin says, recalling that Ritter refused to trust the opinion of her vet that the dog was not, in fact, four months old. Then she pushed to take the dog back, although, to Kristin’s recollection, Ritter did not offer a refund or replacement. “She’s like, ‘Do you want to give the dog back? You want the dog?’”

  Either way, at this point, returning Lovey was an unthinkable proposition. Lovey was now an inextricable part of Kristin’s family.

  After the call ended in a contentious standoff, Ritter circled back with Kristin to admit that there had been an error in Lovey’s paperwork. Online, the dog had been listed as four months old. Now, Ritter was saying that Lovey’s actual date of birth was November 24, 2015, making Lovey seven months old at the time of purchase. Ritter pointed out that this error still did not back up the claims from Kristin’s vet that Lovey was likely more than a year old.

  Ritter sent the new paperwork to Kristin in the mail bearing the revised birth date but also listing a different dam, or mother dog, from what was originally detailed on Lovey’s forms. It should be noted that the state inspection reports also show that violations for missing paperwork and inadequate identification of dogs have been repeated problems for years at the Ritters’ operation. Significantly, when they visited the property in August 2016, state inspectors cited the Ritters for failing to list in their inventory a dog of unspecified breed born on November 24, 2015, and sold on June 4, 2016. Lovey’s revised paperwork notes her birth date as November 24, 2015. Kristin purchased her on June 4, 2016.

  These discrepancies on Lovey’s paperwork might have seemed minor compared to the more serious violations found at the Ritters’, but they were still chilling to Kristin. She tracked down the veterinarian in Curryville, Missouri, who had signed off on Lovey the day she was purchased, giving her a vaccination report and a clean bill of health.

  “I talked to the vet, and he said he only saw one dog that day from Cornerstone Farms. It was clearly a puppy, and it had no ear or skin issues. And this is the most important part: it was not tagged. It wasn’t [micro] chipped,” Kristin says. “I said ‘Oh, well, my dog’s chipped. And so you’re saying you only saw one dog from [Cornerstone Farms] that day? Then you obviously didn’t see my dog, because my dog is chipped, and we can debate all day about ears and skin and [whether she’s a] puppy, right? But let’s pretend that’s not even an issue. There’s nothing to debate about if the dog’s chipped.’”

  I reached out to the veterinarian who certified Lovey’s health and vaccinations that day and requested an interview. My request was never answered.

  While the veterinarian in Curryville never responded to my inquiry, the Humane Society notes that the relationships between commercial breeders and the often-rural veterinarians they work with can be problematic.

  “The vets are paid by the breeders, so they’re very unlikely to say anything that contradicts them, because that would affect their future ability to get business from these types of operations,” Kathleen Summers, the director of outreach and research for the Humane Society’s puppy mills campaign, tells me. She has been following the Ritters’ operation and others like it for years in compiling the organization’s annual Horrible Hundred list of the nation’s worst commercial dog-breeding operations. “We do find a lot of vets in Missouri who work with puppy mills and essentially rubber-stamp their paperwork… They often don’t see the dogs until they produce that one certificate of veterinary inspection that’s required for the dog to leave the state.”14

  After mounting frustration in trying to deal directly with Ritter and the Curryville veterinarian, Kristin allowed her anti-puppy-mill advocate friend to reach out to local news reporter Chris Hayes at the St. Louis Fox affiliate. Hayes had previously reported on puppy mills in the state, and as a result, he seemed to be a natural fit for the story. He took on Lovey’s case and began his reporting by driving out to Curryville to visit the Ritters in person, seeking comment. He never made it onto the property itself and was shooed away after a brief confrontation on the road with the Ritters that he later televised. Shortly after the reporter’s visit, Debra Ritter shot Kristin a fiery email saying that she couldn’t understand why she was siccing reporters on her after she offered to refund or replace the dog.

  “That was never said in my one and only phone call [with Debra Ritter],” Kristin insists. “It was never ‘Let me refund your money.’ It was always, ‘We’ll take the dog back.’ And I always was like ‘No, I’m not giving the dog back.’”

  I reached out to the Ritters to get their side of the story. Initially, they responded by email that they would be happy to discuss Lovey’s case but were wondering how I had obtained the dog’s information and microchip number, inquiring whether I had purchased her for myself. I reiterated that I was not in possession of the dog and that I was simply a journalist writing about the case. Over the course of several emails that followed, where I attempted to arrange an interview, the Ritters asked me repeatedly why I was interested in the story and who told me about it, urging me to be honest in exchange for their honesty. They did not respond to my specific questions about the sale of Lovey and remained admittedly wary in our brief, written interactions.

  Kristin, for her part, never responded to the Ritters’ last email, and the Fox reporter continued working the story, preparing to air it a few weeks later. But before the story could make it to the St. Louis airwaves, it took an unexpected turn.

  A HIGHER POWER INTERVENES

  In August 2016, Kristin began receiving calls on her cell phone from a local number in St. Louis. It wasn’t anyone she recognized from her contacts, so she let it go to voicemail the first few times. Initially, the caller left no messages. But then, after about a week of this, Kristin was surprised to find that her mystery caller had finally left a voicemail. When she opened the message, she was shocked to find that the
caller was none other than former Missouri congressman Todd Akin.

  A bit of background on Akin is necessary here. I should start by saying that Kristin is adamant that he is of no relation to her and her family despite the odd coincidence of their shared last names.

  Todd Akin was a six-term Republican congressman for the state of Missouri. His career came to a grinding halt in 2012 when he ran for Senate in a challenge to incumbent Democrat Claire McCaskill. Early on, everything was coming up Akin: he won a heated Republican primary and was leading McCaskill in the polls ahead of the election. But an interview with the very same St. Louis Fox affiliate now investigating the Ritters brought his political ambitions to a very visible end that culminated with his castigation from his own party in the national spotlight.

  On August 19, 2012, Akin, a longtime antiabortion advocate with a strong conservative track record, sat for a televised interview with local Fox reporter Charles Jaco to discuss his position on a number of topics relating to the Senate race. When Jaco asked Akin if he stood by his antiabortion stance even in the case of rape, the former congressman made the following—now-infamous—remarks:

  First of all, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down. But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something. I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be on the rapist and not attacking the child.15

  Akin’s interview immediately went viral.

  First, he was blasted by his opponent, McCaskill. But then, seeing as how 2012 was an election year, the presidential candidates chimed in as well. President Obama condemned the notorious “legitimate rape” comments.16 Even then-Republican nominee Mitt Romney called Akin’s words “inexcusable.”17 Other prominent Republican leaders and pundits pushed for Akin to step out of the Senate race. Akin initially apologized for his comments but stood by his antiabortion stance and refused to pull out of the race.18 A few months later, he lost to McCaskill. In 2014, he wrote a book accusing the Republican party of throwing him under the bus and letting McCaskill win. In his book, he also recanted his apology and doubled down on his original comments about “legitimate rape,” writing that he was referring to the negative impact of stress on a woman’s fertility.19

  Now, almost four years to the day after his very public downfall, here was the Todd Akin, calling St. Louis stay-at-home mom Kristin Akin. His voicemail was all folksy cheer and Missouri charm:

  Hello, Kristin! This is Todd Akin. Possibly a long-lost relation of Justin Akin—I assume your husband. And if you had a moment, I’d appreciate it if you could give me a call on my cell phone… Thanks so very much, and hope you have a nice day!

  Kristin was astonished to say the least.

  “I get this voicemail, and I’m like ‘Todd Akin, as in Todd Akin?’ What in the universe? The cat put himself out of the politics business when he made that horrible comment [about legitimate rape]. He’s not getting reelected, so why’s he calling me?”

  At this point, it didn’t even remotely cross Kristin’s mind that Akin might be calling about her dog Lovey. After all, why would he?

  So, curiosity adequately piqued, Kristin called him back. Akin began by, again, suggesting that perhaps he and Kristin shared a common relative, even getting into how unusual it was for them both to spell their last name the same way. Kristin, however, did not want to waste time with chitchat and genealogy. She asked him why he was calling her.

  “[He said] ‘Well, I was calling on behalf of my good friends Tom and Debra Ritter.’ In my head, I was like, are you kidding me right now? Is this for real?”

  Kristin then thought about it for a moment, realizing that the connection made some sense given that the Ritters hold themselves out to be very religious, Evangelical Christians both on their website and in their conversations with Kristin, a background that they share with the former congressman. The conversation continued.

  “[He said] ‘So my friend said that you bought a puppy from them recently and that, you know, there was a little mistake about the birth date but that they got you the new papers… I was just wondering what really happened. What’s your side of the story?’”

  Kristin told Akin that she did not want to discuss the matter with him.

  “[He said], ‘So are you saying that that didn’t happen?’”

  Again, Kristin refused to discuss Lovey’s case with Akin and attempted to beg off the call, citing the fact that her young son was home from school for summer break and needed her attention. Once again, Akin persisted.

  “He’s like, ‘So let me get this right. I mean, they said that you bought a puppy and that they made a mistake. But they sent you the revised papers, and yet you’re not letting this go, and they just can’t figure out why.’”

  One final time, Kristin refused to discuss the matter with Akin, and the call ended.

  About a week after Akin spoke with Kristin, I gave him a call. He answered his own phone warmly. I informed him that I was a journalist writing a book about commercial dog breeding. Before I could get any further, he interjected with surprise.20

  “Oh, I don’t know anything about dog breeding at all,” he said, seeming perplexed as to why I could possibly be reaching out on the topic.

  I clarified that I was looking for more information on his relationship with the Ritters. I reminded him of his call to Kristin on their behalf, saying he was a “good friend” of theirs, asking her about the issues with Lovey and why she would not drop it.

  “It was just a mere favor to somebody that I know of. It was because I used to be a congressman. People have asked me to do all kinds of different things. It’s just that I thought it’d be nice,” he said. “I don’t know any of them really, not that well.”

  “So you don’t know the Ritters personally? They’re not close friends of yours?” I asked.

  “No, not particularly,” he said again, still friendly but seeming to become ill at ease with my line of questioning. “You come in contact with a lot of people as a congressman. You don’t really get to know them very much.”

  I asked then how he heard about the Ritters’ situation with Kristin and how they’d gotten in touch with him. He said that was a private matter and he was not open to discussing it. I accepted that he wasn’t going to budge on this issue and returned to why he would want to get involved at all.

  “If I can help somebody, I usually try,” Akin told me affably. “I mean, I don’t even know you, but I’ll talk to you. I try to help people out. But I don’t know anything about the situation. Then it was made clear to me that [Kristin] didn’t want to talk about it, and that was just fine. I did what I said I’d do, I’d give [Kristin] a call, and that’s that.”

  I then began to list some of the Ritters’ violations at Cornerstone Farms: their repeated inclusion in the Humane Society’s Horrible Hundred, their warning letter from the USDA for selling dogs sight unseen without a federal license, their pages upon pages of Missouri State Department of Agriculture violations that are also on the official record. I asked him if he knew of these issues when he reached out on the Ritters’ behalf. The line cut out. Akin was gone.

  I was bewildered. A six-term congressman, even one with a very humiliating end to his career, had to be media savvy enough to not simply hang up on a journalist when the questions got tough. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I called back immediately. He answered and apologized for being in an area with poor reception, although our call thus far had seemed crystal clear on my end and continued to be without issue until we concluded. But mysteries of cell phone technology aside, I resumed where I left off and repeated my question, asking if he was aware of the Ritters’ track record, listing once again the documented violations at the state and national level.

  “If that were true—and I don’t know that it’s true—if that were true, I knew nothing about that,” he said.

  “So the violations weren’t somet
hing you’d ever heard of?” I pressed.

  “Well, I don’t know that it’s true,” he repeated, refusing to acknowledge the veracity of the inspections or even their existence, rather than just denying knowledge of them. “Maybe you’ve heard that it’s true, but I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t consider it my business. I’m not in law enforcement. I’m just a citizen.”

  I reminded him that these violations are well documented with the state of Missouri, that they are not rumors or allegations but rather the result of years of inspections filed on record with the very state he represented in our nation’s capital.

  “Well, let me stop you right there,” he said, clearly growing impatient. “I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t feel qualified to talk about it. So I think we should just drop it. No, I didn’t know anything about it—if that’s true. I don’t really particularly want to discuss it. I mean, I don’t mind talking about stuff I know something about.”

  He then asked me not to quote him on this topic. I reminded him that up until his saying as much, we were speaking on the record but that I was happy to respect his decision to not proceed if he so chose. He grumbled that as a reporter, I’d probably write whatever I wanted anyway. Then he wished me well, and we both hung up.

  When I asked the Ritters how they got the former congressman to call Kristin on their behalf, they wouldn’t give me a direct answer. “Our family is known in the Capital for our efforts with…agriculture. We are know [sic] for honesty, kindness, and our Christian stand on life,” they wrote.21

  Ultimately, I was unable to get them to agree to a full interview.

  But still, I remained as perplexed as Kristin to learn of the former congressman’s interest in her case. I returned to Bob Baker of the Missouri Alliance for Animal Legislation. I wanted to see if he could shed some light on how Todd Akin could possibly be tied to the Ritters. While Baker was dismayed to hear that the former congressman had attempted to involve himself directly in Kristin’s case, he was certainly not surprised.