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Bringing in puppies should never mean neglecting adult animals
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| © Stuart Armstrong |
As much as shelters would like to persuade every adopter to take home an adult pet, friendly persuasion is not always possible. Bob Rohde and his colleagues at the Dumb Friends League in Denver, Colorado, have often had to accept the public’s longing for the small and wiggly.
Now the president of the organization, Rohde has been with the League since 1973, a time when half the dogs taken in were puppies. “We were talking maybe 15,000 puppies a year,” he says. “Now there are days when we have maybe two to three puppies in our puppy area, period. And right down the street from us is Pet City.”
Pet City, a retailer that still sells cats and dogs, opened its first store near the League’s shelter 15 years ago. “And they did that on purpose,” says Rohde, “because they knew that either people weren’t going to find the puppy they wanted, or we were going to refuse people. We were like the anchor store for them.”
The presence of the retailer has put the League in the position of trying to find ways to promote its older dogs while also providing assistance to those who insist on getting a puppy. Even though Rohde’s counselors encourage potential adopters who can’t find what they’re looking for to contact other shelters, placement groups, or responsible breeders, Pet City is always there for those who want what they want when they want it.
“We work so hard to make the older dogs adoptable,” says Rohde. “But there are still some people that just want a puppy—and if we don’t have one, they’re going to go over to Pet City.”
As long as pet stores continue to sell puppies and kittens, and as long as people continue to want them, the debate will continue, too: Is it worth fighting human nature? If someone has decided she wants a puppy, can she be talked out of it—or will she simply head to a place where puppies are as easy to purchase as Cheetos?
In the internal tug-of-war between sticking resolutely to policies that fit into the larger philosophy of the humane movement and taking actions that recognize the need for flexibility, puppies are often the rope pulled in two directions. On the one hand, shelters don’t want to become substitute pet stores; on the other, real pet stores still exist and stand ready to fulfill any desire for baby animals.
But the Dumb Friends League seems to have found the middle ground. Recognizing that frustrated puppy-seekers can turn to pet stores, backyard breeders, and other sources that probably aren’t going to provide as much information on proper care, Rohde and his staff offer a better alternative—by bringing in young animals from other areas and putting them up for adoption. Even if juvenile animal homelessness is no longer the problem it once was in Denver, they reason, Denver residents still want young dogs. Acting as a source for those dogs allows League staff to provide more puppy enthusiasts with excellent behavior training advice and already sterilized animals who will not perpetuate the overpopulation cycle.
That philosophy has taken the League in a direction Rohde could not have anticipated back in the days when baby dogs in Denver were as plentiful as snow; the shelter now brings in puppies not just from around Colorado but even from neighboring states. It’s a symbiotic relationship that helps level the disparities in regional supply and demand: the League meets the demands of its own adopters while at the same time relieving other communities’ burdens.
The arrangement involves more than just a shuffling of animals; the Dumb Friends League is investing in surrounding communities for the long term—in the form of assistance that will help negate the need for transfer programs in the first place. The organization helped get a request for donations incorporated into Colorado’s tax regulations; taxpayers can check off a box on their forms to give money to a statewide spay/neuter fund. In 2002, the fund brought in about $250,000, all of which went to shelters in smaller communities that are still experiencing the kind of animal homelessness Denver hasn’t seen for years.
But helping to prevent the birth of the small and wiggly—and devoting resources to importing them once they’re already of this world—doesn’t preclude devotion to the big and cuddly. Rohde and his staff have continued expanding and promoting the exemplary behavior and enrichment programs that have made their shelter a haven for adult dogs—including pet parenting classes for new adopters, “head start” training programs for adolescent dogs, and stress-reduction initiatives for temporary canine and feline residents.
The emphasis on pets who have reached the “teenage” stage (and beyond) has even found its way into adoption interview sessions. When potential adopters appear convinced they must go home with a puppy, counselors use subtle and compassionate negotiation skills to introduce some wiggle room that might eventually lead to an adult dog instead.
Often it is the puppy himself who manages to talk interested adopters out of their fixation on baby animals, says Tara Hall, associate director of operations. “You get a puppy in the room with the adopting family, and they really get an opportunity to see just a glimpse of the energy levels, that the puppies are interested in exploring everything with their teeth, and the children feed off the puppy’s energy and vice versa,” says Hall, “and you are able to offer them a picture of what could happen in their home.”
That’s the point where Hall often brings in a more sedate adult dog for the potential adopters to meet, allowing the family to come to its own conclusions. “If an owner has an unrealistic expectation and we provide an opportunity to talk about bringing that back into a realistic [realm]—rather than just saying, ‘No, that’s ridiculous’—that ... has a far greater impact,” she says.
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