by Rory Kress
*Although I was working at the Today Show when this story aired, I was not involved in its reporting.
CHAPTER TWELVE
On the Auction Block
I’m bidder number 51 at the Just Pups Kennel Dispersal dog auction in Milan, Missouri. I take my badge and my catalog and try to blend in under the wood rafters of the livestock pavilion. It’s uncommonly hot and humid, so I slip off my cardigan—after all, there’s no hiding my growing baby bump anymore. There are more than 450 dogs here from LoSacco’s facility, and they will cycle through the auction block over the next eight hours. Maybe my pregnancy has heightened my senses, but I swear that over the pungent scent of wet hay lining the floors, I can smell the anxiety of the dogs. It’s a scent I know well from Izzie, like something slightly burned and bitter.
The smaller breeds yap in their crates, elevated from the ground to be nearly at eye level for inspection before they go up for bidding. Each cage bears a number corresponding to an entry in the thick catalog. Here’s Just Pups Yosha, lot number 128, female. Born September 17, 2010. She’s got to be the tiniest Yorkshire terrier of the bunch. Her teeth interlace with each other horizontally like a Venus flytrap. She growls at me when I approach even as I coo gently it’s okay, it’s okay at the front of her cage. The other Yorkie in her cage, M’s Ann, lot 127, also a six-year-old female but at least three times her size, stands on top of Yosha, protecting her from me. I back away to avoid adding to their distress. I’ve never had a dog perceive me as a threat before, and it’s a very strange and uncomfortable feeling.
About a dozen teens and preteens are hustling around the event, wearing shirts bearing the logo of Just Pups, Vincent LoSacco’s pet store chain in New Jersey. I ask a boy who looks to be about fifteen why he’s wearing the shirt, asking if he and his cohort flew in all the way from New Jersey to work the auction today. He shrugs and says no, it was just what he was given to wear to work the auction. But there, in the background, behind the auctioneers, I spot LoSacco himself, all the way out here in rural, northeast Missouri, his cell phone earpiece glowing neon blue next to his salt-and-pepper widow’s peak.
At the time of this auction, Just Pups owner LoSacco is facing hundreds of animal cruelty charges on the other side of the country. Over the past eight months, he’s been forced to shut four of his five stores, and the state of New Jersey is trying to stop him from ever selling or even advertising another animal there again, armed with consumer fraud charges. And yet today, with a green light from the USDA, he’s about to be rewarded by making tens of thousands of dollars selling off dogs from his breeding facilities. And yes, folks, it’s all perfectly legal.
From May 16, 2015, to July 28, 2016, LoSacco ran his Missouri-based breeding facility housing upward of seven hundred dogs without a USDA license—a move that was also entirely legal. His vertically integrated operation was a brilliant play, if using the USDA’s own loophole to avoid inspection is your game. Because he was breeding the dogs to be sold at his own stores, he qualified for the retail pet store exemption and was perfectly within his rights to breed his own dogs for sale without federal oversight, even with his breeding operation halfway across the country from his stores.
But because in Missouri LoSacco still needed a state license to breed even if he was USDA exempt, I was able to obtain the records showing what the LoSacco operation looked like over the course of that year, legally out of the reach of the USDA.
In March 2015, LoSacco’s company, Just Pups, officially took possession of all dogs previously belonging to the breeders Randy and Kandy Hale. While LoSacco could have gotten away with escaping any state or federal oversight outside of Missouri, the Show-Me State was where he had already set up his puppy pipeline through the Hales. They had been LoSacco’s main supplier but were buckling under pressure from the USDA after years of serious violations documenting problems like frozen dog cages and untreated open wounds. Within several weeks, the Hales would see their USDA license lapse. Still, Missouri records show that in April 2015, Randy Hale became the local agent for LoSacco’s Just Pups.
On April 15, 2015, a Missouri Department of Agriculture inspector completed LoSacco’s first state report on the property and found no noncompliant items. With the stroke of a pen, 463 adult dogs and 249 puppies went from being the property of the Hales to being that of LoSacco. Suddenly, the slate was wiped clean: LoSacco was able to start fresh, the business now under a new name. Now, a buyer searching LoSacco’s new reports would never know the truth of the past years—there is no mention of the Hales in any of his state inspection reports. As far as a person searching LoSacco’s records would know, he started a brand-new breeding facility on that day. Of course, the 712 dogs on the premises had no idea that they were now in a new facility. Same cages, same treatment, same story, same people running the show as the day before—changing owners changing nothing.
But just a year after the Hales turned their dogs over to LoSacco on paper, the situation was starting to deteriorate for the dogs, now 744 in number, at the facility within its rights to be unlicensed by the USDA. And keep in mind, with lapsed USDA-licensee Randy Hale running the show, it’s unlikely the operation ran much differently from before LoSacco signed his name to it.
For example, on May 4, 2016, a state inspector slapped LoSacco with a direct violation—the highest level of noncompliance available to assign. On this visit, the state inspector brought along a veterinarian who found a female Rottweiler to be suffering from “hair loss, scaly dermatitis, and excoriations of the neck and back.” A follow-up visit on May 31, 2016, found that the dog had been treated, and the item was corrected.
This violation, among dozens only state inspectors documented, demonstrates exactly why USDA licensure and inspections—while imperfect—are necessary for large-scale breeders. If LoSacco were licensed by the USDA, this violation of the Animal Welfare Act would be marked as a direct noncompliance on his records and would have barred him from selling to pet shops in any of the seven states that regulate breeders based on their USDA inspection reports. Significantly, the majority of LoSacco’s stores were in New Jersey, which is one of those seven states. New Jersey’s Pet Purchase Protection Act bans breeders with one direct violation on the past two years of records from selling to pet shops. But that legislation—and similar laws in other states and municipalities—only applies to federal inspection reports. So even though the breeding facility had Animal Welfare Act violations on its state inspection report, LoSacco was allowed to keep on churning out puppies for sale unabated. Of course, for the dog that was unquestionably harmed by this violation, it didn’t matter which agency documented it. The damage was done.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, what was becoming of these dogs that LoSacco was allowed to breed and transport without any federal oversight from the USDA?
VALHALLA, NEW YORK
On January 19, 2016, the New York Department of Agriculture and Markets denied LoSacco’s application to renew his business license. Between October and December of 2015, the department said that his store failed four inspections due to “critical deficiencies.”1
The Just Pups location in Valhalla, New York, was forced to close in February 2016.
EAST BRUNSWICK, NEW JERSEY
In February 2016, New Jersey SPCA inspectors announced that they have found the bodies of three dead dogs in the freezer of LoSacco’s East Brunswick Just Pups store. LoSacco admitted to the finding and says he had no idea how long they had been in there—maybe eight months, maybe a year, maybe more. In an interview with local news site Patch.com, LoSacco said that his staff was just following protocol: when a dog in the pet shop dies, it goes into the freezer before being taken to the vet for cremation.
“There are one hundred dogs in the store at any time,” LoSacco told Patch.com. “Dogs in pet stores die. That’s a fact. If people don’t want to admit it, they’re lying. Puppies, when they are born—30 percent don’t make it to twelve weeks old.”2
On March
28, 2016, LoSacco’s business license in East Brunswick, New Jersey, was officially revoked. He was charged with 267 counts of animal cruelty by the New Jersey SPCA, and the Just Pups location in East Brunswick closed its doors for good.3
PARAMUS, NEW JERSEY
On April 4, 2016, sixty-seven dogs were found in a freezing van outside LoSacco’s Paramus shop where they have been left unattended overnight. Police said they were stuffed in cages too small for them to stand and not given adequate food or water.4 This charge violates the Animal Welfare Act’s transportation regulations and would have to be documented by USDA inspectors if LoSacco had a valid Class B license to operate as a dealer and broker—the exact type of license he was granted by the USDA just three months later. LoSacco’s brother admitted the dogs were left in the van unattended after being transported in from out of state—more than likely from his Missouri facility. The store was forced to close until further notice.
The county prosecutor’s office charged LoSacco with 134 counts of animal cruelty.5 Additionally, the Paramus Board of Health issued 403 summonses to LoSacco for other violations associated with this store.6 LoSacco was vocal, denying any wrongdoing in these cases and fighting the charges in court.
On May 2, 2016, LoSacco relinquished his business license to operate the Paramus location of Just Pups, and it closed permanently.
EMERSON, NEW JERSEY
On July 13, 2016, LoSacco agreed to shut down his Emerson, New Jersey, store after the borough council denied his license renewal application. He said he would transfer all unsold dogs to shelters or the last store standing in East Hanover, New Jersey.
Amid all these charges calling for the humane treatment of his dogs, pressure was simultaneously mounting for the protection of LoSacco’s human customers. On July 5, 2016, the New Jersey State attorney general teamed up with the state division of Consumer Affairs to charge LoSacco with deceiving customers into purchasing sick puppies and dogs at all four of his stores in the state. They issued a press release detailing the charges, stating that they were now trying to keep him from ever advertising or selling animals in New Jersey again. They were also seeking civil penalties of up to $10,000 for each of the dozens of violations in the complaint.7
Meanwhile, back in Missouri, after all these instances of animal cruelty had been blasted in the press…
On July 25, 2016, the USDA stopped by LoSacco’s facility to conduct a prelicense inspection for him obtain a Class B USDA license allowing him both to breed and transport dogs. If no violations were found, he would be able to sell his animals online or to other retailers. Sure enough, two USDA Animal Care inspectors wrote in their report that they had found no noncompliant items at the facility. For what it’s worth, prelicense inspections are announced—meaning that LoSacco was able to prepare the facility before federal agents poked around that day.
Just two days later, on July 27, 2016, a Missouri state inspector’s unannounced inspection found a very different scene than the USDA did. He slapped LoSacco with yet another direct violation. The state veterinarian found a long-haired dachshund to be lethargic, with lacerations on her front limb. He also noted that she appeared to be in heat. The vet ordered the dog to be taken immediately to a veterinarian for treatment.8
The very next day, July 28, 2016, the USDA inexplicably gave LoSacco the golden ticket: a Class B license enabling him to act as a breeder, dealer, or broker of dogs. The dead dogs in the freezer, the van left packed with puppies overnight in the cold, the consumer fraud charges: these all came down on LoSacco before July 28, 2016—the date he was awarded that USDA license. Thanks to our federal government, from that day forward, he would be licensed to breed, sell, and transport dogs anywhere in the country or on the internet. And unless you’re buying in one of the states or municipalities with additional restrictions on pet shop sales, you would never even know that you’re buying a dog from LoSacco.
Right or wrong, LoSacco passed the test. Now, with his pet store business in New Jersey tanking amid consumer and animal advocate outrage, LoSacco is apparently changing tack on his vertically integrated operation. With his USDA license in hand, he does not need to sell his dogs in his own stores—he can now sell them to anyone. But first, he needs to cash in. Legal fees aren’t cheap, you know.
I walk toward the auction block to get a better view. It’s been just ten days since a scheduled USDA inspection unsurprisingly failed to turn up any violations at LoSacco’s kennel and effectively green-lit this entire event. A crowd of about 150 breeders sits in risers and foldout chairs around two separate podiums as simultaneous auctions are called in two rings. There are clear factions here: half of those gathered here are the usual, rural breeder crowd, and the other half are Amish, the men in their straw hats and brightly colored shirts under suspenders, the women in their thin, papery bonnets and long, dark dresses. The Amish men gather around in small hubs on the side of the auction ring, discussing the dogs on the block in their hushed German dialect. After all, agriculture and livestock are the foundation of what the Amish do, and dogs are just one more animal they can farm.
A handful of Shiba Inus are put on the block. The biggest of the bunch has her head cocked back in terror, and her lips are curled in a snarl.
“She’s real nervous but she’s bred,” the auctioneer says, meaning that the crowd should not worry about her temperament, because she has successfully born litters in the past. Of course, temperament can matter an awful lot when determining the quality of care she’s received in her life and the temperament she will likely pass on to her future litters. She eventually sells for $1,775.
Next up are the toy poodles. The auctioneer lists their lot numbers and starts calling them. He’s assisted by two men in front of the podium pointing to bidders—many of whom the auctioneers know by name. They edge the bidding higher and higher. For an apricot-colored poodle, bidding notches above $1,200 and slows. The auctioneer pauses his rapid-fire calling to do a little salesmanship.
“Those are real reds,” he says. “I haven’t seen anything like them in three, four years. Come on!”
The bidding resumes. She sells for $2,050.
A crowd of Amish men is gathering over in the large-breed section of the cages. I stroll over to see what they’re staring at. I should have guessed: it’s the stars of the show, a large cage with about a dozen fluffy golden retriever puppies dozing and playing on sawdust. They look to be in good health, and their coats are all puffed out and bright.
“How much you think they’re worth?” a kind-faced, elderly breeder asks me.
“No idea. But they’re clearly interested,” I say, nodding toward the Amish men on the other side of the cage.
The breeder makes a face.
“They’re terrible,” he says. “Treat their dogs like crap and have tons of money to spend at these things.”
I shrug.
“You breed goldens?” I ask.
“Trying to get into it a little,” he says. “Just looking for a male for my female.”
He crouches down to get a better look.
“That little guy looks damn near dead,” he says of one lying facedown in the sawdust, motionless as its littermates scuffle and play. Later, I’ll circle back and find that the pup is very much alive, but in that moment, the thought chills me.
I ask a worker feeding a crate full of German shepherd puppies if he knows where the wheaten terriers are.
“They’re over there with the rest of the big dogs,” he says.
“The big dogs?” I’m stunned. Only in this context would a wheaten be considered one of the big ones. In the commercial breeding operations, smaller dogs like Yorkies and teacup breeds are generally the most common and most profitable. They’re more cost efficient as they take up less space to house and feed.
The wheatens are in the very back of the pavilion, the last row of crates facing out toward the parking lot. To my untrained eye, they appear to range in health and disposition more than any other breed present toda
y.
On the corner is lot number 443, Just Pups Winnie. Female, born July 21, 2007. She’s alone in her crate bearing a sign alerting prospective buyers that she’s in heat. Nine years old and still breeding. That seems like an awfully long life in a cage to me. Her protracted fertility has clearly extended her sentence.
Winnie is small, maybe half the size of Izzie—and Izzie is generally seen as a runt for the breed. Two metal paint cans are zip-tied to the wire enclosing her cage: one is filled with kibble, the other is presumably filled with water, but the liquid inside is so deeply rust-colored that it looks like it could be wine. She cowers in the back of her cage when I approach, revealing one eye that is oozing brown down the side of her face to her jaw, staining her hair. Her nipples are heavy and black in crooked rows down her belly. I try cooing to her, to convey that I’m not a threat. She presses her tiny body even harder against the back wall of the cage and never takes her eyes off me.
The next cage holds lot number 446, Top-of-the-Line Bob. Male, born May 16, 2013. The sign on the cage says that lot number 442 should be in this cage too, but she’s pregnant and due any time. Her puppies will be sold off with her later this morning. Top-of-the-Line Bob is shaved and distressed, cowering away from me as well.
I move to the next cage and am shocked by what I see in lot number 444, Just Pups Dozer. Male, born April 15, 2014. He is thrilled to see me, attempting to prance around his cage, wagging his tiny nub of a tail. His cinnamon coat is in excellent shape, and when he tries to get as close to me as possible through the cage, I can see that his teeth look perfect as well. He bows into a playful puppy pose that I know well from Izzie when she’s looking to wrestle. Then he attempts to jump up in a wheaten greetin’ onto the front of his cage. I can see some redness and a few sores between the pads of his paws. But otherwise, this would appear to be a happy, healthy dog that could easily make himself at home in any person’s living room today. And yet, the contrast between his health and demeanor and his neighbors is striking and ominous—they all come from the same facility.