Saving Gracie

by Bradley, Carol

  Once his partnership with Jeffords ended, Wolf moved slightly closer to Philadelphia. He purchased three acres a few miles northeast of nearby Lower Oxford, a community on the fringes of the Brandywine Valley, where he continued to breed dogs. Wolf couldn’t have picked a more bucolic spot to establish Mike-Mar Kennel. Chester County was centrally located—forty-five miles southwest of Philadelphia—and drenched in history. Just over the border in Delaware was the site where the paper used to print the Declaration of Independence and the country’s first dollar bills was milled. A short drive away was the legendary Longwood Gardens, the landscaping extravaganza that attracted more than a million visitors a year.

  Not only was the area historically prominent, it was prosperous—Chester County has the highest median income level in Pennsylvania—and influential. Less than a mile from Wolf’s property was Lincoln University, the nation’s first college for African Americans. Among its graduates were Thurgood Marshall, the first black justice to sit on the U.S. Supreme Court, poet Langston Hughes, and acclaimed actor Roscoe Lee Browne.

  Yet in the picturesque hills that stretched for miles, agriculture still ruled. It wasn’t unusual—in fact, it was quite common—to see black-clothed Amish farmers clop-clopping down the two-lane roads in their horse-drawn buggies on their way to and from their immaculate farms.

  Along with its other amenities, southeastern Pennsylvania offered Wolf a less tangible but equally important amenity: privacy. In the 1700s, the gently sloping landscape had attracted Quakers, German peasants, Welsh farmers, and the Pennsylvania Dutch—people who prided themselves on their ability to tolerate diversity. Likewise, the biggest ethnic group to settle around Lower Oxford, the Scotch-Irish, had come to America to escape religious persecution. Their descendants had no interest in delving into the business of others.

  In dog show circles, though, stories began to circulate about the questionable conditions at Mike-Mar Kennel. Wolf himself acknowledged he had a problem. In a 1983 interview published in Kennel Review magazine, he said he was reluctant to let his dogs go. “My kennel is past 100 dogs now, because I’m not very sensible,” he told the magazine (which has since folded). “I have a lot of old friends in the kennel. They’ve given me a lot of joy as show dogs and breeding, so I keep them.”

  He went on to say, “A lot of people discipline themselves and place their bitches at five years old, and I think that’s a great idea, but it’s very hard for me to do.”

  By the late 1980s, Wolf’s dogs were still winning trophies but Wolf himself had lost his own personal panache. One breeder who got to know him around that time said that, unlike other handlers who donned tailor-made suits for their moment in the spotlight, Wolf “always looked like he just got out of bed. His big belly was hanging over his pants.” Not that it mattered. “At that time,” the breeder said, “given his reputation . . . he could have taken in a hamster and he’d win.”

  Wolf entertained dog show judges with elaborate dinners at his home, but he began to step back from the rigors of the show circuit. By the 1990s, he was spending more time breeding dogs than showing them. He took on a new partner, Gordon Trottier, a reclusive man whose mother, Wendy, raised Papillons—small, graceful little spaniels best known for having enormous ears shaped like butterflies. Wendy Trottier had encountered problems of her own with the Pennsylvania Bureau of Dog Law Enforcement. Inspectors noted problems with ventilation, unclean bedding, and excrement in the Donwen Kennel she operated in Christiana. Also working with Wolf—the “Mar” in Mike-Mar Kennel—was Margaret Hills, a woman who was believed to have a master’s degree in education but about whom little else was known.

  In the early 1990s, Wolf adopted two young boys, Chad and Michael Jr. The boys reportedly were home schooled by Hills and were seldom seen publicly in town. The five of them—Wolf, Trottier, Hills, and the two boys—all lived at Wolf’s compound.

  As the years passed, the once-dapper Wolf became overweight, reclusive, and depressed. He developed asthma and diabetes and wrestled with high blood pressure. As his health spiraled downward, his dog-breeding standards plummeted, too. By the mid-2000s, a breeder interested in working with Wolf spent the night at Mike-Mar Kennel, and in a phone call to her husband she described seeing huge numbers of dogs. “The man’s living in his kennel with his dogs because he can’t stand to be 200 feet away from them,” she reported in disbelief.

  For most of this time, Mike-Mar Kennel managed to operate under the radar. Wolf wasn’t raising any official red flags. But by 2000, conditions had deteriorated so badly that people began to take notice. The Chester County SPCA received its first anonymous call about Wolf that year from a concerned party who reported seeing dogs suffering from mangy skin conditions milling about his property. Humane society police officer Cheryl Shaw drove to Oxford to investigate, but found no violations. She noticed several large breeds in the yard, but the dogs appeared to be in good shape. They had shelter, which was important, especially given Pennsylvania’s damp and freezing winters.

  Many more dogs appeared to be housed inside, but Wolf refused to let Shaw in to see them. He was polite about it; he stood on the porch of his house and chatted at length with her. Even when Hills stepped outside and declared, in a loud voice, that Shaw didn’t need to see anything, Wolf waved his partner away and kept talking. He acted as though he had nothing to hide. Before Shaw left, he showed her some of his birds—large, colorfully feathered macaws.

  Two years later, during a routine inspection, a warden for the state Dog Law Bureau cited Wolf with two counts of failure to maintain his kennel in a sanitary and humane manner. Wolf pleaded guilty and paid an $87.50 fine. The state revoked his kennel license.

  Two more years passed. Then, in 2004, the American Kennel Club (AKC) stepped in.

  Puppy mill dogs are able to fetch high prices, in part, because they are registered as purebreds with the AKC, the country’s preeminent dog registry. A certificate of registration looks impressive. It suggests that a puppy has achieved certain standards of the breed and is known to have come from good stock. The AKC itself, though, acknowledges that registration papers guarantee only a dog’s parentage and purebred status. The AKC website states that the registry “cannot guarantee the quality or health of dogs in its registry.”

  When it comes to parentage, the AKC has long relied on an honor system. It takes breeders’ word for it that the puppies they’ve produced came from the parents listed on the registration certificate. In 2004, the year the Mike-Mar Kennel was inspected, the AKC registered 958,272 dogs born into 437,437 litters. Many of the registrations were done online. With that volume of registrations, critics say, the registry can’t begin to verify the genealogy of every litter. As a result, critics claim, AKC papers don’t really guarantee anything.

  The organization currently charges breeders $25 to register each litter, plus an additional $2 for each puppy. The puppy’s eventual owner must then pay an additional $20 to register the individual dog. Registration fees keep the AKC afloat.

  The AKC also operates an inspection program aimed at high-volume breeders who sell AKC-registered puppies. But in 2004—the same year Wolf lost his kennel license with the state—an AKC inspector reported finding no problems with conditions at his kennel. Wolf claimed to have just forty-five dogs and eight puppies on his property, and the inspector, apparently unaware that the state had revoked Wolf’s license, determined that living conditions were acceptable.

  Five months later, the AKC did sanction Wolf on another count. The organization said he knew, or should have known, that registration applications he’d submitted contained false information about the puppies’ pedigrees—their family tree. After simple DNA tests turned up incorrect or faulty record-keeping, the organization suspended Wolf for six months and fined him $500.

  A suspension by the AKC means a person cannot compete in AKC sports or register any dogs. But it doesn’t prevent a b
reeder from producing dogs. What happens inside a breeder’s dark barn or basement is anybody’s guess. Moreover, Wolf’s suspension made no mention of his partner, Trottier. In reality, Wolf could continue to breed dogs in Trottier’s name and face no repercussions whatsoever.

  After serving his suspension, Wolf registered only a few litters with the AKC. From 2002 to 2004, he’d registered ninety-four litters with the organization. After 2004, he registered just three. Since he didn’t appear to be breeding much anymore, the AKC removed Wolf from its list of high-volume breeders. He was no longer being watched. The state of Pennsylvania had stopped tracking him as well. Without a state license, Wolf technically was forbidden to have more than twenty-six dogs on his property over a year’s time. But the absence of a license really meant that he could now go about his business without the aggravation of an unannounced inspection. If a dog warden did come knocking, Wolf had the legal right to turn him or her away.

  In truth, he was conducting more business than ever—and conditions at Mike-Mar Kennel were worsening to the point that his neighbors were starting to object. In 2003, a year after the state revoked Wolf’s kennel license, Crystal Messaros complained about the smell to Lower Oxford Township officials. Messaros’s house sat on a hill directly behind Wolf’s property. The township secretary told a newspaper she’d approached Wolf about the matter and assumed the problem was resolved. It wasn’t. Messaros later said that her family was unable to sit out by their pool for three years because of the stench.

  She knew Wolf had dogs, but she had no clue how many. There were so many dogs that Wolf and Trottier sold them via several websites. Not just puppies, either, but adult dogs, too.

  One of the sites was called “Lightnings’s Papillons.” “Puppies available now!” the site announced. “Healthy and well socialized. Teens and adults occasionally. All colors available. Shots and worming up to date.”

  The site featured several photos of dogs for sale. In one, three Papillon puppies lay together, so young that their eyes were barely open. In another, a dog with humongous ears stared solemnly at the camera. A third photo depicted a lighter-colored Papillon posing out of doors, his front legs perched on a log, surrounded by grass. Two more shots showed dogs lounging in fluffy beds.

  The Cavalier King Charles Spaniels were featured on another website, pets4you.com. Accompanying the text were two pictures of Blenheim (chestnut and white) and tricolor (black, white, and tan) puppies with chin-length ears adorned with wavy hair. Other photos showed a puppy posed inside a mailbox covered with flowers, a handful of pups sitting amid plush toys on a plaid bed, and a Cavalier dressed in a frilly outfit. The site touted Mike-Mar Kennel as “home of many A.K.C. champions,” where the goal was to raise “top quality dogs.”

  “My puppies are home raised,” the site said. “All hearts, eyes and hips are checked yearly. I can offer a very healthy, well bred cheerful puppy. To excellent pet homes only.”

  Wolf and Trottier also sold Papillons and Cavaliers on anypet.com, abcpets.com, and on breeders.net. Their ads were full of half-sentences and grammatical errors. On breeders.net they wrote that “our Havanese are wonderful they are extremely smart with a cheerful disposition. It’s great they are non-shedding. All my dogs eyes Cerf’d there Patella’s are checked yearly.”

  The site included a link to more information and photos. “I have been involved with Havanese for several years,” the breeders.net site went on to say. “My first one became a champion from the puppy classes. It was so exciting because Trina was a very special pet. I sell my puppies to pet homes only the dogs are really the happiest being a loved family pet. My puppies are raised in my home. I have all my dogs eyes Cert’d yearly also there Patella’s.”

  The “I” in the description apparently referred to Wolf, but it wasn’t clear.

  The page advertising his English Bulldogs stated that “Health is a very important factor they must breath easy is a number 1 concern. They need good hips and knees to carry the weight of a Bulldog. If they are constructed right you will have a happy wonderful friend.” The site offered some advice for prospective customers. “Remember that Bulldog is called a ‘head breed’ because 39 points is a head and face,” it said. “A compact package is what you are wanting. As far as color is concerned no good dog is a bad color. I can offer puppies that are healthy and close to the breed standard.”

  The accompanying photos showed one Bulldog wearing a straw hat and a pair of Bulldogs staring pugnaciously from their seat on a low-slung chair. To a would-be customer, the dogs looked precisely the way Wolf wanted them to look—like much-loved pets.

  Chapter 4: Orchestrating the Raid

  As soon as shaw got off the phone with her supervisor, she and Siddons sped back to Chester County SPCA headquarters. An hour later, they gathered in the office of executive director Susie Spackman. Joining them were Becky Turnbull, coordinator of animal protective services; operations manager Dennis McMichael; office coordinator Jill Green; and spokesman Chuck McDevitt. Shaw described in detail the conditions at Mike-Mar Kennel: the crates full of dogs, the reeking ammonia smell, the overall filth. Filing a report wasn’t going to fix the problem, she told her bosses. The dogs needed to be removed, and the sooner the better.

  Shaw was known for bringing passion to her work. Of all the officers employed by the SPCA, Spackman knew, Shaw was most apt to have a gung-ho, leap-into-action attitude. She was no less enthusiastic in this case, but Spackman could tell Shaw was also a little overwhelmed at the prospect of raiding a kennel. The SPCA would be committing itself to caring for 136 animals for who knew how long—the case could drag on for years. The financial implications could be crippling.

  Staffers ran through the obstacles they might encounter trying to remove the dogs. For starters, it was impossible to guess how Wolf and his partners would react to a raid. The breeder had permitted Shaw onto his property this time; he might not do so again. The ramifications of bringing this many dogs into the shelter would be huge. The SPCA handled nearly 400 animals a year, but never anything of this magnitude all at once.

  The final decision to go forward with the raid rested with Spackman, and once she heard the details, she was convinced that Shaw was right. The dogs had to be rescued. They were vulnerable and in a desperate situation. Morally, it was the right thing to do. Knowing what they knew, how could the SPCA even think of turning its back on these animals?

  The group agreed to meet again the next morning to hash out the logistics.

  Shaw’s nerves were ready to explode. She wanted nothing more than to race back down to Lower Oxford, load up Wolf’s dogs, and take them away for good. Instead, she drove home, an hour-long commute. Over dinner she filled her husband, Bobby, and their children, 15-year-old Chauna and Kevin, 10, in on the day’s events. The fact that their mother spent her days trying to save animals struck both kids as exceptionally cool.

  Later, Shaw cuddled with the family’s German Shepherd, three Pugs, and four cats. Before turning in, she curled up on one end of the couch and watched a rerun of her favorite sitcom, Reba. But all night long she fought to fall asleep, struggling to rid her mind of the frightened brown eyes that had stared out at her from inside the wire crates. The thought of all those dogs enduring another day in such squalor gnawed at her.

  She was back at work early Thursday, and by midmorning the SPCA brass had worked up a to-do list in anticipation of the raid. The shelter could accommodate Wolf’s dogs, but it would require considerable effort. Staffers needed to line up transportation for the dogs, round up crates to carry them in, and arrange space to house them once they arrived. It was a good thing Wolf’s dogs were small breeds, McDevitt pointed out. Half a dozen Cavaliers would fit inside a single cinderblock run.

  On a typical day, the SPCA housed 100 or so dogs and cats who were available for adoption. Another 100 or so animals were kept in isolation—dogs and cats who w
ere ill or injured or considered too aggressive to house in the main wing. The inn was nearly always full.

  Chester County SPCA humane society police officer Cheryl Shaw. It was her job to orchestrate the raid on Michael Wolf’s puppy mill. (Kathryn Sippel)

  To clear out space, the office staff went to work phoning breed rescue groups—organizations that take in and seek new homes for dogs of a specific breed—to see if they could handle some of the dogs currently housed at the shelter. Workers unearthed extra cages and carriers; they found a couple dozen in a barn adjacent to the main shelter. Humane officers cleaned the crates and got them ready for use. To augment the SPCA’s own two vans, McMichael rented two more.

  More important than the physical logistics was the search warrant Shaw needed to have in hand before she could legally cart off Wolf’s dogs. The warrant needed to detail the conditions she and Siddons had uncovered the day before and outline the reasons they believed the dogs should be removed. Two signatures were required: one from the Chester County district attorney’s office and one from a local district judge. Shaw worked into the evening Thursday to draft the warrant. On her way home, she stopped at the animal shelter in neighboring Montgomery County to borrow still more crates.

  In addition to their normal caseload, assistant district attorneys took turns being on call twenty-four hours a day for a week at a time. The assistant D.A. on call that week happened to be Lori Finnegan, a ten-year veteran regarded as thorough and tenacious. Shaw phoned Finnegan first thing Friday morning to let her know the SPCA was planning to raid a large-volume dog breeder in Lower Oxford the next day. Finnegan told her to fax over the search warrant.

  Shaw sent off what she had. In stilted legalese, she’d written, “Your affiant’s visual observations of the animals lead your affiant to conclude that the strong ammonia type smell and the unsanitary conditions would be detrimental to the well-being of the animals if the situation is not rectified, for being kept in this situation could be a threat to the health and safety of the animals.”