New proposals for pit bulls in San Francisco expected to their cut numbers by 50%

A Pit Bull Primer
There are two sides to the pit-bull banning debate, how do we decide which makes sense for San Francisco?

Janet Wells
Sunday, October 30, 2005

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On a beautiful fall evening last year, Josh Armijo and his 2-year-old Tibetan Terrier, Blue, went out for their usual walk in downtown Denver. Armijo, a 46-year-old hairdresser and artist, strolled by the century-old houses in City Park South with Blue trotting at his heels, the dog's long curly fur bouncing in front of his brown eyes and slim black nose. Armijo turned the corner, into a part of the neighborhood that's lively and sliding toward seedy. People were out enjoying the October sunset, sitting on stoops, leaning against walls. Suddenly the low hum of traffic and chatter was pierced by a woman's scream: "Grab your dog! Grab your dog!"

Armijo thought she must be yelling at someone back down the street, and turned in time to see a rust-and-white pit bull coming in low and fast. He reacted instantly, yanking Blue up by his leash, the 19-pound dog dangling in mid-air by its neck. But Armijo couldn't hoist his dog high enough to escape. The pit bull jumped, its teeth snapping, as Armijo kicked at the dog's flanks. Just as Armijo pulled Blue through the pit bull's teeth, a man came up from behind and punched Armijo, knocking him to the ground. Dazed, curled on the pavement, pushed up against a wall, Armijo held Blue against his chest as his assailant kicked him, the pit bull circling. In a flash, the attacker pulled a knife with one hand, and used the other to pull the agitated dog into the fray.

Armijo shielded his face with his right arm, and the pit bull lunged, its teeth piercing his fingers, then his elbow, nicking the ulnar nerve and artery.

Somehow, Armijo managed to tear free, surge to his feet and start running, Blue still cradled in his left arm. He bolted into a liquor store, blood spurting from his arm, and called the police.

He was taken to Rose Medical Center emergency room, and treated for multiple puncture wounds to both his hands. His elbow needed surgery; the next day, doctors pulled bits of masticated dog food from deep inside the wound and stitched the skin back together. There was nothing they could do for the nerve damage. The bill for treatment and a four-day hospital stay was $16,400. Uninsured, Armijo makes monthly payments. It has been nearly a year, and while the 3-inch gash on his elbow has knitted back together, the finger and palm of his right hand are still numb.

Armijo knows he was lucky. He escaped major injury and saved his dog. But it's not easy, he said, to get on with his life. "My goal and dream my whole life has been to be a painter. I became a hairdresser to support that habit," he said. "The pain, I feel it in my hand and arm. The stress keeps coming. Will it deteriorate, will it get better? Will I be able to paint?"

The emotional scars of the attack are taking even longer to heal. The other day, a co-worker of Armijo's brought two puppy pit bulls to the salon. "I tried to be civil and get over it and pet the dogs. But once you've felt that fur," he said, pausing. "When it yawns you can see how its jaws are wired like a shark's jaws."

Armijo still walks Blue every day, though never at night, never in his own neighborhood. Just after the attack, Armijo felt so vulnerable, he decided to buy a gun. The salesman talked him into mace instead, which he carries everywhere. Blue's puncture wounds have healed, but he hasn't been the same since the attack. He's nervous and afraid of other dogs.

In June, when the fatal mauling of San Francisco 12-year-old Nicholas Faibish made national headlines, Armijo's anxiety bubbled back to the surface.

"It made me really angry, really confused," he said. "Who takes responsibility? Where were the parents?"

In 1989, in response to two gruesome pit bull attacks -- one resulting in the death of a 3-year-old boy -- the Denver City Council enacted one of the nation's toughest breed-specific bans against the American Staffordshire Terrier, Staffordshire Bull Terrier and American Pit Bull Terrier -- breeds commonly known as pit bulls. The law targeted not just purebreds, but any dog displaying the major characteristics of the breeds, and it didn't offer pit bulls or their owners much wiggle room: Any pit bull involved in an attack, or picked up by Denver Animal Control more than once, was killed.

Denver's ban had vocal critics, and in April 2004, after Colorado Gov. Bill Owens signed a bill prohibiting breed-specific legislation, the city agreed to temporarily suspend enforcement of its ban, pending court review.

Because Armijo was attacked during that time, the dog -- a 1-year-old, 45-pound pit mix named "Scooby" -- was quickly released to its owner, even though Scooby had injured another dog several months before. (Armijo's human assailant, apparently an acquaintance of Scooby's owner, spent a day in jail in Denver, and is currently in jail in California for unrelated charges, according to Armijo's attorney, John Posthumus.)

In April, when Denver District Court Judge Martin Egelhoff upheld Denver's ban, Armijo gave a sigh of relief.

"Once you go through the trauma of being beaten and mauled, you'll never get a sense of peace," he said. "But it won't happen to someone else, someone else's dog or child."

Most animal experts -- like San Francisco Department of Animal Care & Control Director Carl Friedman -- believe there's no proof that pit bulls are more inherently aggressive than other breeds. However, when they do attack, they are capable of doing tremendous damage. Bred to take down bulls 10 times their size, their strength and tenacity honed as illegal sport-fighting animals, pit bulls are the cheap protection of choice for drug dealers, criminals, pimps and those simply wanting a macho status symbol. To add to the misery, pit bulls, according to those working in animal rescue, are the most overbred and abused dog on the planet -- beaten, burned, starved, chained, forced to fight.

While many pit bulls are well-loved pets, it's hard to know which version is coming down the street. To many people, pit bulls are scary: "Frankenstein canines," as one legislator called them, with bulging chest and shoulder muscles, a brick-like snout and looming square head. With an estimated 1,200 pounds of force per square inch (according to the Journal of Trauma in 1989), a pit bull's jaw has 10 times the crushing power of those of other large dogs, including German Shepherds, Rottweilers and Dobermans. Pit bulls don't just bite, they clamp. In a few terrifying, frenzied moments, they can "de-glove" the flesh from a human arm, pull limbs off, penetrate clear through the abdomen, snap the body's largest bones.

Consider the physiology of pit bulls, coupled with the breed's allure for irresponsible and abusive owners. Add in the brutish trauma experienced by people like Josh Armijo and Nicholas Faibish -- and banning pit bulls doesn't just begin to seem reasonable. It seems like the right thing to do.

Until someone like Gina Strain tells her story.

On June 25, Gina Strain rushed to St. Anthony's Central hospital, where her 19-year-old stepdaughter had been taken after a car accident. It was Saturday evening, and Strain, a 37-year-old property manager, didn't think twice about leaving her pit bulls at home. She and her husband, Phil, had rented a house with a large fenced yard near the University of Denver so the dogs would have a place to play. Strain returned home early Sunday morning, after her stepdaughter was released, to find the dogs gone, impounded by Denver Animal Control.

On Monday -- the shelter was closed Sunday -- Strain took the day off work to get her dogs back. That meant having someone who lives outside Denver -- in this case, her injured stepdaughter -- accompany her and vouch in a notarized letter that the dogs would immediately and permanently leave the city limits. In addition, Strain paid $95 for muzzles, kennel fees and mandatory microchip-identification insertion.

When the dogs came out from the kennel area, Strain was horrified to see that her 18-month-old brindle pit's eyes were bloodshot and bulging. Shelter personnel, she said, apologized, telling her that the 65-pound dog had needed to be subdued -- by cinching a nylon rope around his neck -- while he was microchipped. Strain signed the forms, paid the money and took Tiger straight to the vet, paying an additional $263 for treatment, antibiotics and eye ointment.

Strain knew Denver didn't like pit bulls, but admits that she didn't pay close attention to the city's on-again, off-again ordinance. She had always been a cat person. But in 2004 -- during the time enforcement of the ban had been lifted -- Strain and her husband decided to get a dog. At the city shelter Strain fell for a 3-year-old, chocolate brown, 45-pound pit bull mix she named Tomassa/Hershey. Several months later, Strain got 6-month-old Tiger as a gift from a friend. Strain was soon referring to the dogs as "my babies" -- the "son and daughter" she couldn't have herself. She never imagined that Denver Animal Control could -- and eventually would -- be the agents of her pets' deaths.

Denver's ban is one strike. After the first offense, owners have seven days to pick up their dogs, pay the fees, and get them out of town. Tomassa/Hershey and Tiger had their one chance in June.

So on July 26, it didn't matter that the dogs had been living outside Denver. It didn't matter that they were in Denver only to see the veterinarian -- a follow-up visit for Tiger's eye injury -- or that Strain's husband put the dogs in the house just long enough to pick up some cash and gas the car. A neighbor saw the dogs, and alerted animal control -- the same neighbor who had called animal control in June.

Denver Animal Control relies heavily on the public in enforcing its ban, finding a majority of the pit bulls through neighbors who complain. Strain admitted she and her neighbor have long had a contentious relationship, but blamed it on a personality clash, not the dogs. The neighbor used the pit bull ban to get back at her, Strain said, adding that the dogs had never been aggressive or busted loose from the yard.

By the time animal control arrived, Strain's husband had put the dogs back in the car, a '68 Chevy Bel Air, the windows cracked against the summer heat, and was ready to leave. The animal control officer was sympathetic, but adamant. " 'Sir,' " Strain said he told her husband, " 'I don't have a choice. They're in Denver.' "

Strain was anxious, but had no idea what kind of trouble her dogs were in. The animal control officer had told her husband the dogs would have to be "processed." She figured she would have to pay a hefty fine, or go to court to get them back.

She called animal control early the next morning. "The receptionist said, 'Ma'am, your dogs are going to be destroyed. You will not be getting them back. This is a second offense.' I could feel the color flush from my face," Strain recalled. "It broke my heart."

Tomassa/Hershey and Tiger were two of the 462 pit bulls and pit-bull mixes Denver Animal Control killed between May 9, when the ban went back into effect, and Sept. 16. Owners of condemned pit bulls are allowed to see their dogs one last time, and are offered their pets' remains if they don't want them buried in the city's landfill, said Doug Kelley, director of Denver Animal Control and Shelter. Strain, however, said she wasn't given those opportunities, nor would anyone at animal control tell her the date her dogs had been killed.

"I wanted their collars, that stuff back. I was ready to get urns for my babies' ashes, because they're mine. For them to snuff them out...." Strain's voice broke, and trailed off.

The punishment for Strain's family didn't end there. Strain's stepdaughter and husband received citations for allowing the dogs back into Denver. The case against her daughter was dismissed. Phil Strain paid a $241 fine in September.

Strain clearly isn't ready to let go, at times referring to her pets in the present tense. "Right before, I went and bought them two cases of pet food, the canned food mixed with meat, beets, rice, lamb. I have their dishes, toys, pillows, beds. I can't part with any of it."

Strain is now a member of the increasingly vocal pro-pit bull lobby. Groups have formed locally and nationally to help shuttle dogs out of Denver, provide housing outside city limits, and wage legal and political battle against existing and proposed bans.

"I'm ready to become a vigilante for these pets," she said. "They had no voice. They just found one."

Strain has been taking personal steps, as well. She is looking to move out of the city, even if it means breaking her lease and paying several months' rent. And she hasn't shopped in Denver for months, she said, driving to Inglewood or Westminster for groceries and gas. "I will not spend money there," she said. "Denver's the holocaust of pit bulls."

By all accounts, 12-year-old Nicholas Scott Faibish adored his family's 80-pound pit bulls, sharing his bed with them and etching one of their names in wet cement on the sidewalk outside his house near Golden Gate Park. The day he was killed, his father was out of town and his mother had left him home alone, instructing him to stay away from the dogs. The female, Ella, apparently was in heat, making Rex, the unneutered male, jumpy and possessive. Nicholas' mother, Maureen, put her son in a basement playroom, gave him snacks and videos to watch while she ran a few errands, and wedged the door closed with a shovel. It didn't hold. Animal control and police officers responded to a neighbor's 911 call and shot Ella, who barred them from entering the house. Rex was found hiding in the back yard, his white and brown fur smeared with blood.

Eight days later, in an interview with The Chronicle, Maureen Faibish defended pit bulls, and said her son's death was a "freak accident." She was jailed briefly on a felony child endangerment charge in connection with the attack, pleaded not guilty on June 24, and was released on her own recognizance.

Each year 4.7 million Americans are bitten by dogs. While the number of fatal maulings is relatively low -- about 20 per year -- an estimated 800,000 victims require medical care, and injury rates are highest among children.

"It's a significant health care crisis," said Dr. James Betts, surgeon-in-chief and director of trauma service at Children's Hospital, Oakland. Betts, who sees more than 100 dog-bite victims a year and lectures on canine injuries, rattled off the statistics: One to 1.5 percent of pediatric visits to the emergency room are due to dog bites. Five percent of children 5 to 9 years old are bitten annually. Fifty percent of them will have a permanent scar; one third of those will have some sort of disability.

"These are all preventable injuries," Betts said. "The deaths, if you look at them and all the facts; I'm sure those are preventable."

Betts was cautious about singling out pit bulls, since he treats patients who have been bitten by all kinds of dogs. But, he noted, more than 90 percent of the pit-bull attacks are unprovoked -- far higher than in other breeds. In addition, because the bite pressure is so much higher, pit bulls have "tremendous capacity for wounding," he said. He has seen the evidence. A child with the jaw and facial bones gone; children missing limbs, fingers, ears.

Dog maulings tap into a deep, prehistoric terror, of being prey, of being torn apart limb from limb. Recent pit-bull attacks -- in California, in Colorado, in Oklahoma, Rhode Island -- have made grisly headlines, spurring sensationalist and fear-mongering rhetoric from both sides.

In response, legislative bodies are forced to negotiate a legal and ethical quagmire. A dozen states -- including California -- do not allow breed-specific legislation. But several hundred U.S. cities restrict certain breeds of dogs. Boston, for example, in June 2004, adopted its Responsible Pit Bull Ownership ordinance, limiting the number of pit bulls per household to two, and requiring owners to pay higher licensing fees, secure written landlord approval and submit proof of spay or neuter. Owners must also muzzle their pit bulls in public, and post "pit bull dog" or "dangerous dog" signs at home. Denver, Miami, Cincinnati -- and recently, the province of Ontario, Canada -- felt that restrictions didn't go far enough, and banned the breed. Aurora, Colo., among other cities, is considering a ban.

After Faibish's death, Denver assistant city attorney Kory Nelson contacted San Francisco officials, offering to help draft a pit bull ban. He had a compelling fact at his disposal: Denver has not had any fatal pit bull attacks since its ban was enacted in 1989. The only serious mauling -- Josh Armijo's -- came during the time the city suspended enforcement.

Denver hasn't rid itself of all pit bulls -- 675 had been impounded between May 9 and Sept. 16 this year; 674 in 2003; 612 in 2002 -- and it's "impossible to say" how many are still illegally in the city, said animal control director Kelley: "We'd really prefer there was none. We'd prefer people were in compliance. It would make our jobs more pleasant, and be better for the dogs."

The current city council stands firmly behind the ban, said City Councilman Charlie Brown, reflecting the majority of Denver residents who support the law.

Nelson agreed. "I've got e-mails from people thanking me for protecting their children," he said. "I've got people wanting to move to Denver because it's a safer place."

Denver's also got dog lovers fleeing the city, charging that the ban is ineffective, a waste of sorely needed city resources and a chill on civil rights -- both human and canine.

In May, just after Denver's ban went back into effect, paramedic Hilary Engel took her 7-year-old dog Cysco to the city shelter for an evaluation. After 30 minutes, two animal control officers and a veterinarian determined that Cysco - although registered as an American Bulldog -- had enough pit bull characteristics to fall under the law.

"They told me I had 72 hours before they were going to come looking for her," she said.

Engel drove her dog to Mariah's Promise, an animal sanctuary 60 miles from Denver that has taken in hundreds of the city's pit bulls since May, and started packing. She dumped her downtown apartment and moved west to rural Lakewood. The move could cost her as much as $10,000, because her Denver landlord won't let her out of her lease, which runs through March, 2006.

Engel compared Denver to Nazi Germany: "They're going door to door looking for dogs by breed and taking them and killing them."

In addition to being cruel and discriminatory, the ban has failed to address the real problem -- irresponsible dog owners, said Sonya Dias, a mortgage banker and co-founder of Denver's Pit Bull BAND (Breed Awareness Not Discrimination). Instead, the ban has targeted people like her.

The dogs picked up by animal control don't belong to "gang bangers and drug dealers," said Dias, who is trying to sell her Denver house and move, so she can reclaim her 2-year-old Staffordshire Terrier, Gryffindor, from Mariah's Promise. "Those people already operate outside the law. What do they care about a pit bull ban?"

Rather than get rid of her dog or move from the house she purchased five years ago, one 29-year-old University of Colorado graduate student has resorted to a life of crime. To take her 2-year-old pit bull mix, Jack, for a walk, Kelly -- who asked that her last name not be used because she is afraid animal control will track her down -- drives her car up to the back door, smuggles the 75-pound brindle coated dog out under a blanket, rolls the windows up and drives outside the city limits. "I live in constant fear every time I leave the house that animal control will come by," she said.

In San Francisco, pit bulls make up 65-70 percent of the dogs coming into the city's 15th Street animal control shelter; 55-60 percent of the dangerous dog hearings; and more than 50 percent of the dogs available for adoption. Pit bulls are the only dogs that pass medical and behavior evaluation that the city's shelter continues to euthanize -- because no one wants them.

Even if pit bulls are a crisis, a ban here simply is unpalatable, said Friedman, director of the San Francisco Department of Animal Care & Control. Tales of Denver authorities going into people's homes and taking family pets holds more weight in San Francisco than hard-line boosterism from city officials.

"Wouldn't it be safer to get rid of all the cars, then nobody would get run over? The bottom line is that there are some wonderful pit bulls that make companion animals," Friedman said. "You ban a particular breed, then there's going to be another [problem] breed that pops up. Then what? Ban that?"

In the wake of Nicholas Faibish's death, San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom asked state senator Jackie Speier (D-San Francisco/San Mateo) to draft legislation overturning California's prohibition against breed-specific laws.

Speier's first draft offered broad possibilities -- cities could have instituted mandatory insurance and microchipping for breeds considered dangerous, for example. Speier was surprised that her normally tough-skinned legislative colleagues wouldn't touch such a bill. She would soon learn why. The anti-breed specific legislation lobby inundated her office with more opposition letters and phone calls than on any other issue in her 17 years of public service. Most were from outside her district. Many were nasty, more than a few threatening. She had to have a police sergeant -- not at her request -- escort her to a hearing on the bill.

Speier responded to criticism that the bill would lead to a de facto ban by narrowing its focus to spaying, neutering and backyard breeding. The bill, SB 861, was approved by the legislature on Aug. 31 and was signed into law by Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger Oct. 7. By mid-September, however, San Francisco had the state's first breed-specific legislation waiting in the wings. Proposed by Supervisor Bevan Dufty, the ordinance -- which was referred to the city's Animal Control and Welfare Commission -- would require every pit bull in the city to be spayed or neutered, as well as a permit for the breeding and transfer of pit bull puppies. The ordinance establishes fines of up to $1,000 for failure to comply with either requirement.

San Francisco shelter director Friedman praised Speier's revamped bill as offering effective control mechanisms without going too far. "Give us the ability to make sure all animals are spayed and neutered. Give us breeding requirements, he said. "We're looking for legislation that's sane and reasonable."

And there's the rub. If San Francisco had had such legislation in place on June 3, would Nicholas Faibish be alive?

However distasteful a ban or harsh restrictions may be, in accepting a watered-down option, it's hard not to wonder whether Californians will be haunted in the future by the words of Denver assistant city attorney Nelson: "For all the good-meaning pit bull owners, that doesn't always work to help a victim. I'd much rather be in a position to help before an attack," he said.

"We may never be able to remove every pit bull from our jurisdiction, but if we know about them, they're not here to do damage."

Janet Wells is a Berkeley writer who last wrote about MFA programs.

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Sunday, November 6, 2005

(11-06) 18:22 PST Cary, Ill. (AP) --

A 10-year-old boy was in critical condition Sunday after three pit bulls escaped from a home and went on a rampage, attacking six people before police shot and killed the dogs, authorities said.

No charges had been filed Sunday, but McHenry County Sheriff Keith Nygren said it was being investigated as a crime scene.

Neighbors said the attacks started late Saturday afternoon when children going door-to-door for a fundraiser arrived at the home of Scott Sword, 41, who owned the dogs.

"We had music playing, and I heard this bizarre sound," said Debby Rivera, who lives three houses away. "I looked out the window, and I saw a young boy. The dogs were just jumping on him."

"The screams were horrible," she said. The dogs were "relentless, like they were possessed."

The pit bulls attacked the two children, and when the dogs' owner tried to stop them, the dogs turned on him and bit off his thumb, Nygren said. The boy's father also tried to protect his son and was attacked. The dogs went after another neighbor as well.

"The scene sprawled over a couple blocks, it was a very chaotic scene," said Lt. Michael Douglas of the Cary Fire Protection District.

Residents threw rocks at the dogs and honked car horns to try to distract them from attacking before police arrived and shot the animals.

Jim Malone said he and a neighbor tried to beat the dogs back with baseball bats. "He'd hit them, they'd run, and they'd come back," Malone said. "This went on for 15 minutes."

The boy who was attacked, Nick Foley, was hospitalized in critical condition Sunday. His friend Jordan Lamarre, also 10, was in serious condition. Nick's father was listed in good condition. Sword and two others were treated for injuries and released.

Last week, another 10-year-old boy in Colorado was mauled by a pack of pit bulls that attacked him in his own back yard. The boy was in critical condition after the attack, and the hospital said Sunday his family had requested no further information about his condition be released.

The attack in the Denver suburb of Aurora came two days after the City Council banned pit bulls and other "fighting dogs." Owners who already had the dogs could keep them if they paid a $200 annual license fee.

Thursday, November 3, 2005

(11-03) 16:30 PST Aurora, Colo. (AP) --

Three pit bulls mauled a 10-year-old boy in his back yard two days after the city banned new fighting dogs and added limits on those already owned.

The boy was in "very critical" condition Thursday, police said. His name was not released.

It was not immediately clear who owned the dogs.

The boy was attacked Wednesday after he returned home from school, found the front door locked and then went into the back yard in this east Denver suburb, police spokesman Anthony Guzman said in a statement.

Neighbors heard the boy scream and ran to the yard, where they found him motionless with one of the dogs biting him. They used a bat to drive the dogs away, Guzman said. The boy had bites on his head, face, throat and legs, he said.

"It was horrific. I've never seen anything like that in my life," neighbor Mike Brushell told KMGH-TV in Denver.

A police officer shot and wounded one of the dogs, and it was later euthanized. The other dogs were impounded at an animal shelter.

The City Council on Monday banned new pit bulls and other fighting dogs. It also required the owners of such dogs already living in the city to buy an annual $200 license, show the dogs are spayed or neutered, post warning signs and keep the dogs muzzled in public.

CALIFORNIA
Foes of new dog law start signature drive

Lynda Gledhill, Chronicle Sacramento Bureau
Thursday, November 3, 2005

Sacramento -- Opponents of a new law that allows cities and counties to impose restrictions on certain breeds of dogs are trying to have it overturned.

Opponents must collect 373,816 signatures from registered voters by Jan. 5, 2006, to have enactment of the law put on hold until voters have their say on the issue.

The new law allows local governments to create spaying and neutering requirements for specific breeds. Rules pertaining to specific breeds were prohibited previously. The new law was sought by San Francisco officials, including Mayor Gavin Newsom, after a 12-year-old boy was killed by his family's pit bulls earlier this year.

Breed-specific legislation is unfair and might backfire, said Dawn Capp, a Sacramento attorney who is leading the referendum drive.

"Right now it just mandates spay and neutering, but the whole purpose is to control vicious dogs," said Capp, who is also author of "American Pit Bull Terriers: The Truth Behind One of America's Most Popular Breeds."

Signature collection to overturn the law is strictly a volunteer effort, she said.

Capp said people might decide not to get their dogs licensed for fear of further crackdowns on specific breeds in the future.

"Then you've just made the problem phenomenally worse," she said.

The bill was introduced by Sen. Jackie Speier, D-Hillsborough, who said citizens have a right to try a referendum effort, but she believes there is overwhelming public support for the law.

"The people who supported SB861 were many of the animal rights movement leaders," she said. "Their goal is my goal. We don't want unwanted animals to be put down, and the vast majority of dogs in animal shelters are given up because of concern about aggressive behavior."

But Capp said the issue is bad owners, not bad dogs.

"Bad owners have German shepherds, they have pit bulls, and they have cocker spaniels," she said. "The dogs are dogs."


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