Few things in life drag out as long and laboriously for a teenager as can a day in school.  Gazing out the window as a teacher droned on about an irrelevant subject, I would watch the birds and dream about being at home with my animals.  And the instant the bell rang, heralding the fact that I was no longer obligated to remain in that seat, I literally flew out the door.

My dogs were never a disappointment, and always met me with wagging tails, and smiles lighting their faces.  Out came the leashes, and before I could even grab a snack, we were off for a walk.

During one such outing, we passed a neighbor who, lead in hand, was happily being pulled along the sidewalk. 

“Hi,” I called.  “When did you get the dog?”  I kneeled to greet the little black creature, and realized immediately that she would whelp soon.

“We got her today.  Her name is Fiona.  Isn’t she cute?” my young friend, Pete, answered.

I bit my lip and smiled, nodding, “Hmmm...”  Trying to remain honest while sizing up this, well, not the prettiest of dogs, I offered,  “She’s awfully sweet, but it looks like she is going to have pups really soon.” 

Pete was excited, “Yeah! That’s what is so great about it!  We paid $35.00, and get to keep her while she has her pups.  Then when they are 4 weeks old, we take them all back.  They return our money, and we get to choose one of the puppies; free!”

“Wait a minute,” I was incredulous.  “You have to take care of Fiona while she whelps and raises her pups, and for all that work, you get a free, mongrel puppy?”

Pete was undaunted.  “Yeah!”  He smiled, “Super deal, eh?”

“Where did you get her?

“There is this guy under the Patullo Bridge.  He has lots of dogs.  All kinds!  Well, I have to get her home for dinner!”  The wide little terrier-cross, and her newly found friend, scurried off. 

I shook my head.  “I wonder what this is all about...”

Once home I immediately phoned two of my friends.  Vicki, Janine and I revolved our social life around dogs.  We were members of the Junior Kennel Club, and often used our canine partners to give demonstrations of tricks and obedience.  We were also junior handlers, and showed our animals.  Vicki worked for a veterinarian,  Janine had many years of breeding and working with dogs, and I worked at a children’s zoo.  Between us, the knowledge base was significant.  The decision came quickly to pay this guy a visit.

During the drive we figured out our game plan.  We would pretend to be normal 17-year-old girls who loved dogs, but knew little about them.  Our mission was to look for a nice little puppy.  We grinned at each other.  We could do this!

The first gate we went through onto the property brought us straight into the world of puppy mills.  Thirty years ago, the factories were not well known; Dateline and most other investigative TV magazines did not exist.  The pickings were easy, the market wide open.  And for three teenaged dog lovers, the horrors were all too evident.  Each of us swallowed hard, and carried on.

A middle-aged man met us.  “Hi.  What can I do for you?”

“A friend of ours said that you might have some puppies for sale, and I am looking for one,” I answered.

 “Sure I do.  Lots of dogs for sale.  Come on in and I’ll show you some.”  The owner was amiable, and quite charming.

 He led us into a dark shed and it took a few moments to adjust to the lack of light.  Finally our eyes focused and scanned the room, which was filled with cages and chains.  The cages were attached to the wall, and each was occupied by two female small dogs and their litters.  The main breed seemed to be Dachshund, but there were Chihuahuas, Miniature Pinchers, and some cross-breeds.  Underneath the cages were larger dogs, chained to small areas on the concrete floor.  Labradors, Samoyeds, and Shelties were among them, but again, so were mongrels.

 Janine walked over to one, very gray, Lab-cross.  She was pacing, lying down, and straining, trying to deliver her latest brood.   “Oh, is this dog having puppies?” Janine innocently asked. 

The owner was there in a flash.  “Nah... she’s fine,” he insisted as he kicked the dog, presumably to try and stop her whelping while we were there.  It was clear that she was having a good deal of trouble.

 “Come on out here,” the owner invited.  “There are lots more.”

The man ushered us into a compound of cages and doghouses.  One dog, living on a very short chain, showed obvious signs of hip dysplasia.  Others had running noses, skin rashes, and thickly matted, dull eyes.  Although there were many different breeds, they had one thing in common, and that they made evident to us; each hoped desperately that we were there to take them away.

“You know,” the owner turned to me, “If you’d like to have a puppy right from the start, I can arrange that.”  He walked over to a Sheltie, “This is Phoebe, and she is going to have her puppies next week.  You could take her home until the pups are 4 weeks old, then bring her and the litter back to me, and I’ll let you have one of them for real cheap.  She’s a purebred, you know.  And the pups are purebred, so they are worth a lot.  But that way, you can get a pup for, oh say, 50 bucks!”  He grinned, showing very few teeth.  “How’s that?  Plus, I’ll throw in the papers for you even though that usually costs extra.”

 “I’ll have to ask my parents...” I stammered.  “I don’t know...”

 “Sure.  Sure thing, you do that.  I’ll be here.”  The man returned to his chores.  And each dog stared at us, hoping beyond hope...

 We looked at each other, our stomachs nauseated, our hearts breaking.  After seeing every animal that we were allowed to, we asked if they had all been vaccinated.  “Well, if you buy one, I’ll give it the shots before it goes,” the owner answered as he showed us a cupboard full of syringes and vaccines, with no refrigeration in sight.   “I take care of my customers,  You won’t find a better deal anywhere.”  He addressed me with a grin, “You make sure you tell that to your folks!”

 The drive home alternated between absolute silence, and absolute ranting.  We couldn’t believe that a civilized society such as Canada, could harbor such evil in the guise of ignorance.  The owner of the dog factory was not a bad man.  He simply could not empathize with the living beings that he felt were his commodities.  He looked at the dogs as a way to make a living, and he certainly wasn’t getting rich from it.  Nevertheless, whether it was or was not his intent, he was doling out immense cruelty to these animals, and in the process, teaching others that it was okay to also do so.

 Our path led us straight to the SPCA.  We were going to put this right.  We would tell the powers-that-be about this man and his operation, and get it shut down.

 Begrudgingly, the secretary told the management that we wished to speak with them.  As we sat down at the desk, ready to make our case, we all had the distinct impression that the men on the other side had no intention of actually listening to us, but rather smiled at us patronizingly, glancing at their watches.

Vicki, Janine and I carefully left out no details.  When we were finished, one of the men said, “We know all about him.  He isn’t breaking any laws so there is nothing we can do.  But thanks for coming.”  They stood up and ushered us out.

“But, but...” we could not believe this turn of events.  As we tried to become more insistent, the door behind us closed.  Stunned, we shuffled past the suddenly busy secretary, and out of the building.

Because we were young, and just beginning to live the lives of activists, we didn’t take the matter further.  But it was the first of many reality checks that I received.  The experience taught me that our society looks upon living creatures as possessions, there for the owner’s convenience.  Beyond that, it was an eye-opener to the fact that many times, the bodies that we believe are there to guard against such atrocities, are often fraught with political agendas of their own, and are even more often, sprinkled liberally with apathy.

As long as there are human behavioral anomalies, we will have the sad need for the many organizations that rescue, rehabilitate, and offer the adoption of abused animals.  Society now knows about atrocities such as puppy mills, and is starting to insist that we no longer accept the status quo, but instead must change, along with a metamorphosing world.  However, most still simply trust the animal welfare organizations to keep animal keepers honest and humane.  But it is not just up to them.  All of us must accept our share of the responsibility, and do our part to educate consumers about the conditions that the puppy in the pet store window came from, and that its mother still lives in. 

We need to be cognizant of the fact that ethical breeders will not sell pups to just anyone who has the money.  They carefully screen those who will take these puppies away, to make certain that each will be a forever, loving home.  In that capacity, they cannot sell third hand, including to stores.

Some breeders will even take the litters to friends' homes so that the adopting family will not see the conditions that the pups came from.  Buyer beware, in the case of buying puppies or kittens, is not only important, but is indeed an obligation.  Take the time to research.  Do not try to justify buying a pup to save him; remember that by doing so you are setting the motion in place to produce more like him.

Consider rescue; there is nothing like the love of a rescued animal.  Think also about a larger dog as the shelters are full of them.

I returned home that day, to my two dogs, thrilled as always to see me but subdued as they realized my mood.  I was glad for the continuity of their adoration, as my worldview had been severely compromised.  The three of us retired to my bedroom for the night, where I crawled wearily into bed...