- Read this letter from the puppy mill rescuer.
- Send these letters to everyone you know.
- Place ads in your local newspapers
Especially if there is a
questionable breeder/broker near you. Weekends are usually the best time
to place ads. It might read something like this:
[Breed], adorable, loving companions. Please call (Your Phone Number) or visit http://replace
with your page
Which will lead them to this page on your site.
Read, copy and forward this poignant letter by a puppy mill rescuer:
I do not believe I will ever look at the world in the same way again.
This weekend was worse than I had imagined, worse than I had even
been told to expect. I attended my first puppy mill auction in Missouri Sunday,
determined to bring home every last cavalier on the auction block. We got all six
cavaliers being sold. Hoorah!
But that was only 6 dogs out of 200+. I wanted them
all. I wanted to run, ranting like a mad woman through the dirt isles of
stacked cages, a screaming pied piper, opening and releasing
every last one of those imprisoned souls. What I saw behind those
latched doors broke my heart, and made it almost impossible to
maintain my equilibrium or my sanity, much less the undercover
role I was expected to play. Every 15-20 minutes my husband was
at my side, asking if I was okay, telling me I could do this, HAD
to do this, for the dogs. For the dogs....
Periodically, I had to escape the nasty atmosphere of
the barn for a gulp of the cold Missouri air, hoping the frigid gusts would
calm and fortify me.
Some cages held one-eyed dogs, others held dogs with
recent cuts, and old, ugly scars, dogs with toenails an inch long, dogs whose
hair was one large mat, pregnant bitches close to delivery, dogs
missing ears, legs, teeth.
There were no wagging tails, no yelps of delight; no
bright, trusting eyes or barks of playful banter. Most cowered in the
farthest corners of their cages, two or more huddled close
together, as if their closeness would bring them some measure of
comfort in dealing with their shared misery.
Dog after dog was auctioned to the highest bidder,
often with such sales pitches as: "Missing an eye, but sees well enough to
hit his mark": "This girl is only a year old, but she has
earned her keep by already producing one litter - now she's got another
on the way - a bonus for you"; "This bitch has had 19 pups
in a year and a half - just the kind you want"; "If you just sell
one of this pregnant one's puppies, you will make more than you've
paid for her"; "Bitch only has three legs - big deal, she
won't be passing that on." And on one male dog, who refused to stand on
the table because of an injured foot, the auctioneer remarked,
"Don't let that bother you, he can still get it on."
Dogs were often held high in the air for all to see,
tails lifted to gauge whether they were in heat, mouths probed roughly to
check their bites, and abdomens poked and prodded to check for
pregnancy because "this one's been running with Jax - could give
you a surprise."
The cavaliers were one of the last breed on the block.
My heart stopped, and my eyes welled when I saw the first, and only two
females brought to the table. Their eyes remained downcast,
their tails tucked, their bodies postured with fear. "Look at the
coats on these beauties," the creepy auctioneer said. "These
ladies have produced some gorgeous pups. " That sealed it -- I
wasn't leaving that place until I had every single cavalier in my
possession.
Our babies brought the highest and liveliest bidding,
with bidding often reaching feverish levels, the bids coming so fast and
furious, I was afraid I could not keep up. I hated bidding; I
hated NOT bidding.
When I got the highest bid, the auctioneer said,
"Which one do you want?" "I want them both," I replied.
"Great," he said, "you're saving me time, little lady."
When we got the final bid on the puppies, the last to be auctioned, I
breathed a sigh of relief, and said a quiet thank- you to the man upstairs.
While waiting in line to get the dogs, one man
approached us, and asked how many of "those Charlies" we had.
I said I only had three. "Well," was his response, "you
are certainly in business now." Yes, I told him, you better believe it.
Rescuing just a few is worth the effort, worth the
heartache, and worth the dirt, stench and barren, desolate miles my husband and
I endured. Six are safe, but so many more are not. Rescuing from
these sleezy breeders is a necessary evil. It is only a drop in
the bucket, I know, but it is SOMETHING. It certainly is not
enough, and we must work diligently to try and save them all.
A number of people I talked to before leaving on this
trip knew nothing about puppy mills. They know about them NOW. Educate.
Please educate. Tell everyone you know, and people you don't
know, what puppy mills are all about. Relate my horror story, and
the stories of other rescuers. We CANNOT shut down the puppy
millers without the education of the public.
Before I sign off, let me tell you about MY bonus. I
came home with seven puppy mill dogs, my seventh being a male, 2 year old
Lhaso Apso. He was placed on the table and the auctioneer opened
the bids at $150. No bids came. Down to $50, still no bids. At
$25, the auctioneer said, "Come on, folks, he's worked his tail
off in his short life - been one busy little guy. Worth a heck
of a lot more than $25. If you don't want him, I'll put him back
to work for me." At $15, my husband saw the sadness in my eyes.
The auctioneer said, "Well, do I hear $10?" My hand shot up
before I could stop it. "Sold, to the little lady for $10."
"Got yourself quite a bargain," was the auctioneer's parting shot.
The cavs hadn't even come up yet, and I knew we had a
long way to go. "Sorry," I told my husband "I couldn't help
it." "It's okay," he said. "By my calculations, using
the luggage rack on top, we could probably haul back another 20 or so." He
was joking, of course, he simply understood that this business was deplorable,
and resigning these dogs to a pitiful existence was heart
wrenching.
Tenman or RinTinTen, as we affectionately call him, is
at the vet's with the six cavaliers. I will be looking for a loving
home for him, too. I can't keep him, and he is a very frightened
little fellow, but he will make someone a loving pet. He, too, deserves the
best.
Find it in your heart to get involved with rescue, in
whatever way you can. Attend an auction, donate your money, foster a
rescue, or just encourage and advise those of us who are just
getting our feet wet. You won't be sorry. Your heart may break,
your eyes may be red-rimmed for days, but I promise you, you will
be forever changed.
