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ANIMAL HOUSE: Dog case gets folks fighting mad
July 30, 2007
Never have so many animal groups, from purebred advocates like the American Kennel Club to domestication opponents such as People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, agreed so unanimously on one single point: Michael Vick sounds like one sick puppy.
Last Thursday, the Atlanta Falcons' star quarterback pleaded not guilty to federal charges that he is involved in an interstate dogfighting venture called Bad Newz Kennels. "I take these charges seriously and look forward to clearing my name," said Vick, who faces up to 6 years in prison, if convicted.
In April, authorities raided a 15-acre estate Vick owns in rural Surry County, Va., and seized 66 dogs, most of them pit bulls. They noted items that, when considered in toto, signaled dogfighting, such as pry bars (used to break a dog's hold during a fight), electronic treadmills (for conditioning), rape stands (a necessity when you breed dogs whose overriding impulse is to eviscerate their own kind, regardless of what their hormones say) and bloodstained carpeting, which needs no explanation.
A week ago, National Football League Commissioner Roger Goodell suspended Vick with pay and barred him from training camp. If convicted, Vick faces up to six years in prison and fines of $350,000.
Vick is hardly the first athlete to tangle with dogfighting, which is illegal in every state and a felony in all but two. In 2005, former NFL running back LeShon Johnson pleaded guilty to possessing fighting dogs and got a five-year deferred sentence. That same year, basketball pro Qyntel Woods copped to animal-abuse charges after abandoning a pit bull with wounds more serious than your average dog-park scuffle. Former Dallas Cowboys lineman Nate Newton was arrested at a Texas dogfight, though charges were dropped, and ex-Oakland Raider Tyrone Wheatley, formerly a pit breeder, told Sports Illustrated that dogfighting was "instinctive" and "motivational."
Rappers such as Jay-Z and DMX get blamed for glorifying dogfighting breeds like the pit bull, but they are only sampling a tradition that stretches back to bull-baiting in medieval Britain (which gave us today's comical, smushed-faced bulldog) and the gladiator dogs of ancient Rome. Among the most graphic photographs coming out of post-Taliban Afghanistan are those of organized dogfights, where groups of robed men crowd around, laughing or staring, mesmerized.
The quasi-erotic qualities of those photos underscore the real truth about dogfighting: It is a communal activity and a perceived form of entertainment that imparts a twisted sense of machismo to its participants.
Vick allegedly was involved in the deaths of dogs at the kennel, some of which were drowned, hanged or electrocuted. Sheer cruelty aside, these deaths likely were not capricious, but rather speak to the seriousness of the fighting operation on his property.
Dogfighting is sort of like cooking - there are varying levels of expertise. The impromptu throw-down in a city alley is at one end of the spectrum; the meticulously organized, high-roller contests, anchored by deliberate breeding programs, are at the other.
Breeders breed to perpetuate inherited qualities - the texture of coat on a poodle, the hippopotamus head of a sharpei - and dogfighters are no different. They are breeding for "gameness": More than just tenacity, it is the refusal of a dog to stop, even as its body drains of life.
Gameness is hard to get in a line of dogs, and easy to lose, because nature finds it counterintuitive: It is those dogs that assess the odds and decide to retreat that live to see another day. The only way to find out if a dog is game is practical application: the pit.
Knowing this, then, the slaughter at 1915 Moonlight Dr. was culling at its cruelest. To a dogfighter, a dog that is not game is useless, either in the pit or at stud. Rehoming him is too much trouble and too risky - the scars from his failed testing reveal his resume. The dead dogs at Vick's estate point to an operation that is schooled in breeding these kinds of dogs, a tradition in the rural South as ubiquitous as mint juleps.
The accounts of how fights were staged at Bad Newz - the street name for Vick's hometown, Newport News, Va. - also points to the work of professionals. Before a fight, the dogs were bathed - presumably by their opponent's owner - to ensure their coats were not doused with substances, such as kerosene or narcotics, that would affect the other dog.
This illuminates another required quality of even the most hard-bitten fighting dog - a willingness, even an eagerness, to be handled by total strangers. For all the terrible things said about the "true nature" of pit bulls, if only this inherent appreciation for human contact - without which a fighting dog cannot be fought - would get some traction. I wouldn't be surprised to find that agents who raided Vick's place this spring were greeted with wagging tails. That, too, is the calling card of the pit bull, game bred or otherwise.
As for Vick himself, the backlash is building, with sites such as NeuterSickVick.com. While the anger is understandable, it also should be channeled into efforts to ensure that dogfighting by anyone - not just a sports celebrity - receives the kind of public outcry and demands for justice that Vick has unleashed.
Last Thursday, the Atlanta Falcons' star quarterback pleaded not guilty to federal charges that he is involved in an interstate dogfighting venture called Bad Newz Kennels. "I take these charges seriously and look forward to clearing my name," said Vick, who faces up to 6 years in prison, if convicted.
In April, authorities raided a 15-acre estate Vick owns in rural Surry County, Va., and seized 66 dogs, most of them pit bulls. They noted items that, when considered in toto, signaled dogfighting, such as pry bars (used to break a dog's hold during a fight), electronic treadmills (for conditioning), rape stands (a necessity when you breed dogs whose overriding impulse is to eviscerate their own kind, regardless of what their hormones say) and bloodstained carpeting, which needs no explanation.
A week ago, National Football League Commissioner Roger Goodell suspended Vick with pay and barred him from training camp. If convicted, Vick faces up to six years in prison and fines of $350,000.
Vick is hardly the first athlete to tangle with dogfighting, which is illegal in every state and a felony in all but two. In 2005, former NFL running back LeShon Johnson pleaded guilty to possessing fighting dogs and got a five-year deferred sentence. That same year, basketball pro Qyntel Woods copped to animal-abuse charges after abandoning a pit bull with wounds more serious than your average dog-park scuffle. Former Dallas Cowboys lineman Nate Newton was arrested at a Texas dogfight, though charges were dropped, and ex-Oakland Raider Tyrone Wheatley, formerly a pit breeder, told Sports Illustrated that dogfighting was "instinctive" and "motivational."
Rappers such as Jay-Z and DMX get blamed for glorifying dogfighting breeds like the pit bull, but they are only sampling a tradition that stretches back to bull-baiting in medieval Britain (which gave us today's comical, smushed-faced bulldog) and the gladiator dogs of ancient Rome. Among the most graphic photographs coming out of post-Taliban Afghanistan are those of organized dogfights, where groups of robed men crowd around, laughing or staring, mesmerized.
The quasi-erotic qualities of those photos underscore the real truth about dogfighting: It is a communal activity and a perceived form of entertainment that imparts a twisted sense of machismo to its participants.
Vick allegedly was involved in the deaths of dogs at the kennel, some of which were drowned, hanged or electrocuted. Sheer cruelty aside, these deaths likely were not capricious, but rather speak to the seriousness of the fighting operation on his property.
Dogfighting is sort of like cooking - there are varying levels of expertise. The impromptu throw-down in a city alley is at one end of the spectrum; the meticulously organized, high-roller contests, anchored by deliberate breeding programs, are at the other.
Breeders breed to perpetuate inherited qualities - the texture of coat on a poodle, the hippopotamus head of a sharpei - and dogfighters are no different. They are breeding for "gameness": More than just tenacity, it is the refusal of a dog to stop, even as its body drains of life.
Gameness is hard to get in a line of dogs, and easy to lose, because nature finds it counterintuitive: It is those dogs that assess the odds and decide to retreat that live to see another day. The only way to find out if a dog is game is practical application: the pit.
Knowing this, then, the slaughter at 1915 Moonlight Dr. was culling at its cruelest. To a dogfighter, a dog that is not game is useless, either in the pit or at stud. Rehoming him is too much trouble and too risky - the scars from his failed testing reveal his resume. The dead dogs at Vick's estate point to an operation that is schooled in breeding these kinds of dogs, a tradition in the rural South as ubiquitous as mint juleps.
The accounts of how fights were staged at Bad Newz - the street name for Vick's hometown, Newport News, Va. - also points to the work of professionals. Before a fight, the dogs were bathed - presumably by their opponent's owner - to ensure their coats were not doused with substances, such as kerosene or narcotics, that would affect the other dog.
This illuminates another required quality of even the most hard-bitten fighting dog - a willingness, even an eagerness, to be handled by total strangers. For all the terrible things said about the "true nature" of pit bulls, if only this inherent appreciation for human contact - without which a fighting dog cannot be fought - would get some traction. I wouldn't be surprised to find that agents who raided Vick's place this spring were greeted with wagging tails. That, too, is the calling card of the pit bull, game bred or otherwise.
As for Vick himself, the backlash is building, with sites such as NeuterSickVick.com. While the anger is understandable, it also should be channeled into efforts to ensure that dogfighting by anyone - not just a sports celebrity - receives the kind of public outcry and demands for justice that Vick has unleashed.
Email: denise.flaim@newsday.com
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