Dogfighting sees a cultural shift
By BILL BURKE
The Virginian-Pilot (Norfolk, Va.)
Hardly a day goes by without John Goodwin receiving a phone call or e-
mail about his most popular subject: Atlanta Falcons quarterback
Michael Vick.
Some, like the man who called June 1, are confidential informants
passing along tidbits about Vick to Goodwin, the top dog in the
Humane Society's campaign to wipe out animal fighting in the United
States.
Shortly after Vick's house was raided and evidence of a suspected
dogfighting operation was found there in April, Goodwin added the NFL
star to a massive database he oversees.
The 20,000 names it contains include a rogue's gallery of the
nation's most notorious known and suspected dogfighters:
David Tant, a 300-pound bear of a man and one of the world's most
prolific breeders of fighting dogs, serving a 30-year sentence in
South Carolina, among the stiffest ever imposed for the crime. One of
the "directional mines" he planted to keep people away from his dogs
injured a land surveyor.
"Fat Bill" Reynolds of Virginia, convicted in 2001 of transmitting
images of fighting dogs across state lines and sentenced to 30 months
after Tant testified against him before a federal grand jury. He has
served his time and is now back on Goodwin's radar.
Louisiana's Floyd Boudreaux, one of the patriarchs of the blood
sport, who has played cat-and-mouse with investigators for decades
and is reported to have once traded his grand champion dog, Blind
Billy, for a house.
The cast of suspects is a mongrel mix that includes legendary dogmen
such as Mountain Man and the Gambler, professional athletes, rap
music performers and Alane Koki, a patent-holding cancer researcher
in North Carolina.
Those familiar with dogfighting say it has undergone a cultural shift
in recent years. A pursuit once practiced chiefly in the rural South
has moved to the mean streets of the city.
Enforcers like Goodwin -- the Humane Society's deputy manager of
animal fighting -- describe a brutal business in which dogs that lack
the killer instinct are often shot or electrocuted, then tossed in a
trash bin or buried in a bone yard.
"We don't want that type of barbaric activity going on in South
Carolina," said Mark Plowden, a spokesman for the state's Attorney
General's Office, which in 2004, created a dogfighting task force
that has snared Tant and others.
"It's clear that when you have dogfighting, drugs and gambling and
other criminal subcultures follow," Plowden said. "We want to drive
it out of South Carolina. If it shows up in other states, that's
their problem, not ours anymore."
When agents raided Reynolds' property in September 2000, among the
evidence they seized was a treadmill with the inscription: "Custom
Made for Fat Bill by the Gambler, 8-24-00. Happy Birthday."
"Fat Bill" and the Gambler, legendary figures in the shadowy realm of
dogfighting, have earned the distinction of "dogmen" -- professionals
in the blood spectacle.
The term is part of a clandestine covenant many use to avoid
prosecution for an activity that was once a misdemeanor in all
states, but is now a felony everywhere but Wyoming and Idaho. The
fight itself is called a "show," and dogs with superior fighting
traits are said to have "gameness."
Along with the treadmill, authorities seized from Reynolds' trailer
syringes, steroids -- which are often used to pump up fighting dogs
-- and copies of underground dogfighting magazines, one of which, the
"American Gamedog Times," Reynolds was said to have published.
Treadmills are often used to train fighting dogs. "Bait animals" such
as cats are sometimes placed in cages just out of range of the
charging dog, which is rewarded by getting to feast on the cat after
the training session.
Tant was among those who testified before the federal grand jury that
indicted Reynolds. His attorney, Michael Bosnak, said Tant was
granted immunity from prosecution for his cooperation in the Reynolds
case.
But that did not stop members of a new South Carolina state animal-
fighting task force from bringing charges after a raid on Tant's
property in 2004.
That April, a land surveyor was injured by birdshot fired by a booby
trap Tant had planted on his property to keep intruders away.
Investigators confiscated from Tant's property 47 dogs, cattle prods,
treadmills, five more armed booby traps and a framed photo of Tant's
grand champion Yellow, whose pedigree is one of the most revered --
and expensive -- in the world of dogmen. Offspring of Yellow, who
died in 1994, can fetch several thousand dollars each.
The Internet has revolutionized the way dogmen do business, making it
easier for members of the secret society to find and learn from one
another.
Mark Kumpf, the director of the Montgomery County, Ohio, Animal
Resource Center, noted a parallel with another class of social pariahs.
"The Internet has brought two groups to prominence, and that's the
pedophiles and the dogfighters," he said.
Through the Internet, dogfighters research how to treat injuries,
pick up training techniques and discuss tactics, Kumpf said. The
newest craze, he said, is to broadcast fights on the Web so people
can bet on them offshore.
The stakes are rising in what is now a half-billion-dollar industry
as animal-rights groups turn up the heat on prosecutors and the
number of task forces increases.
In August, a suspected dogfighter in Texas was killed by intruders
who apparently intended to torture him into revealing where he had
hidden $100,000 wagered in a high-stakes dog match.
In Ohio earlier this year, 28 people were indicted in state and
federal court after an inquiry by state investigators and a federal
task force.
And earlier this month, the feds, apparently concerned that Virginia
investigators were dragging their feet, intervened in the
investigation into the suspected operation at Vick's house. No
charges have been filed.
Those who post on Web sites in the United States, where enforcement
is growing, often include disclaimers noting that the sponsors do not
encourage or condone dogfighting. They also state that any accounts
of fights are fictional.
But those who maintain Web sites in countries where dogfighting is
not criminalized often make no effort to conceal their purpose.
"Hallo and Welcome to all lovers of fighting dogs!" exclaims the site
for Serbia-based Balkan Boys Kennel. The site posts the "Cajun rules"
for dogfighting, which are the pre-eminent set of regulations among
today's dogmen.
The rules were promulgated in the 1950s by Lafayette, La., Police
Chief G.A. "Gaboon" Trahan, who hosted dogfights that drew attendees
from all over the South long before animal activists demonized the
activity and legislatures criminalized it.
To hear "Chopper Dan" Brouseaux, another Lafayette native son, tell
it, dogfighting is as ingrained in the Southern culture as NASCAR,
and has been around much longer.
"Cajuns and black people have been fighting dogs for 200 years," said
Brouseaux, a dog breeder and former merchant seaman who said he has
never been involved in the activity.
Still, Brouseaux, 60, remembers the day that the events were a
Saturday ritual "that would draw 50 to 100 people, and there would be
guys selling popcorn and chewing gum."
The Humane Society's Goodwin bristles at those who romanticize
dogfighting. He said that "Law enforcement is realizing it's a real
community problem, intertwined with other crimes" such as drugs and
gambling.
He cited one raid that turned up an electrocution device that had
been used to kill dogs.
Another law effort in Massachusetts turned up dogs with broken legs
and one whose tongue had been ripped out.
Pit bulls have become iconic in the rap and hip-hop music culture.
Missy Elliott and rapper DMX feature the animals on album covers, and
an unedited version of rapper Jay-Z's video "99 Problems" features
footage of dogs preparing to fight in a pit as spectators watch.
Dogfighting has also caught on within some gang cultures, where
"there is less revulsion to violence," Goodwin said.
Though dogfighting remains primarily a Southern phenomenon, the
center of gravity in recent years apparently has shifted eastward.
Today, if there's a dogfighting capital in the United States, it may
be North Carolina.
One of several magazines that provide services for pit-bull fanciers,
the "Pit Bull Advertiser," is published in Gastonia. It features ads
for more than 20 North Carolina-based kennels, offering dogs for
sale, stud services and a variety of products, including canine
treadmills.
The magazine features kennels with names such as Outlaw, Rampage and
Lockjaw, and characteristics of some of the featured dogs like
Blondie, with "ability, style and one of those mouths that would
break you into pieces."
Another advertiser is Tom Garner of Hillsborough, N.C., who Goodwin
insists is a patriarch of dogfighting in America. His name is
contained in Goodwin's database.
Garner, convicted of dogfighting in the mid-1980s, insists he breeds
dogs and sells only puppies these days -- none for fighting. If
buyers use them for illegal purposes, Garner says, there's nothing he
can do to stop them.
His prize dogs included legendary grand champions Chinaman and Spike.
"I still have frozen semen off of Spike and have made some breedings
that have produced some excellent offspring," Garner notes on his
kennel Web site.
Garner's name came up earlier this year when Orange County, N.C.,
officials created a task force to study the legality of tethering
dogs. Garner failed in his effort to be named to the committee, but
one of its members was Alane Koki, who purportedly has ties to
Garner's dog-breeding operation.
Koki, a published scientist and cancer researcher, is perhaps one of
the most unusual alleged dogfighters on Goodwin's list. After an
independent weekly newspaper in the Raleigh area published stories
about her links to Garner -- she reportedly operated a kennel called
Thundermaker Bulldogs -- she resigned from the committee while
denying any wrongdoing.
Dogfighting in North Carolina can now be found from the coastal
flatlands to the mountainous west, say Goodwin and others who monitor
the activity. The state's vast expanses of piney wilderness are a
lure for dogmen, some of them forced out of South Carolina in recent
years.
Others have traveled to the Tar Heel State, where until a few years
ago dogfighting was a misdemeanor, from Virginia, where it has long
been a felony.
One of them is the local breeder who knows what it's like to gather
with other men late at night on a moonlit landing strip, in a wooded
clearing or in an abandoned warehouse, with thousands of dollars
riding on thick-chested beasts named Lil Hitler, Crunch and So Evil.
Potential champion dogs are the product of cross-breeding between
animals that often have champion pedigrees. Aggressive dogs are
identified early on as "prospects" and receive special treatment. At
8 or 9 months, a less-aggressive littermate is placed in front of the
chained prospect "to see how aggressive he is."
The first competition, called a "roll," usually takes place at about
15 months when two prospects are allowed to "have at it" for about 10
minutes, the breeder said.
"You want to see how your dog -- I'll call him Joe -- takes the
pressure," he said. "Certain dogs go for certain areas. Yellow, he
went for the head and chest. You like to see that."
The prospect is put "back on chain" until it is about 19 months old,
when a second practice session is held, lasting up to an hour.
If Joe looks good, he's ready for "the show."
Four or five backers ante up a few hundred dollars apiece for a
"first time out" dog, the breeder said. The prospect is now "open to
the world." A pot of about $3,500 is typical. A "show" is scheduled,
and a judge chooses the location.
An intensive six-week training routine follows, and the dog is said
to be in "the keep." He is fed a lean, nutritional diet -- some
trainers have secret diets -- and works out on a treadmill every day.
Many dogs in training often swim in a pool. The circular above-ground
pool discovered at the house owned by Vick was typical of those used
for getting fighting dogs into shape, the breeder said. One hour on
the treadmill and two in the pool is a common regimen.
Trainers often try to gain advantages by injecting dogs with steroids
or sharpening the animals' teeth. Some even shave the dog's fur and
mix roach killer with its food, hoping the bitter taste of the new
fur will repel a foe.
"The show" takes place at a secluded location in a makeshift wooden
pit about 2 1/2 to 3 feet high and 8 feet square, often with a dirt
or carpeted floor for traction. A dog that fails to make weight may
forfeit, forcing its owner to surrender an amount equal to half the
purse.
Before the match, the dogs are washed, each by his foe's owner, to
ensure that the animal's fur has not been coated with poison. The
handlers sometimes use Everclear, a brand of grain alcohol, to wash,
and milk to rinse.
The dogs are taken to their respective corners and released after the
command of "face your dogs" by the judge. The competition continues
until one animal retreats or is injured so severely it is unable to
continue.
The first victory for a fighting dog is the beginning of his
"campaign," which can result in a champion (three victories) or a
grand champion (five victories with no losses).
After his campaign, a champion dog can command sizable stud fees.
Mayday earned $100,000 a year for his services, the breeder said.
"I look at it a lot like boxing," said the local breeder. "You've got
your power fighters and your finesse fighters, your power dogs and
your finesse dogs. And they can make their owners a whole lot of money."
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