"No, I guess most people wouldn't want to live next to the sanctuary. In truth my opinion was never asked. In the beginning it was a little unnerving. However as time passed it became obvious that there was a need for this sanctuary. My issue with the sanctuary is definitely and primarily its location, and that's all. I don't feel comfortable reading your personal attack on Steve's character. His mission is honorable. I am not by any stretch of the imagination an expert in these matters, but I would not oppose finding a more secluded area for the sanctuary. Until then as [the Sanctuary's] neighbor I will try to express any concerns in a civil way."

So there you have it. That'ss how a rational, sane, intelligent person makes a criticism, and here's how a rational, sane, intelligent person responds:

I've already emailed Ted back, but I would like to address his concerns here, because I think they're valid. My preference would have been to create Olympic Animal Sanctuary on a larger property in a more remote location, but it wasn't possible at the time. Our current property had some things that other properties in the same price range didn't, namely a building with water, a septic tank, and electricity. This provided me with a place to live and the dogs with a roof over their heads while we made improvements and changes to enable us to save more animals. We simply couldn't have gotten the foothold we needed otherwise.

I didn't talk to the neighbors before I got started because this is a commercial property and what we're doing here is completely legal, and in fact doesn't even require any permits under our local ordinances. I don't believe any other business owner would have asked the neighbors how they felt before getting up and running, so we didn't either. That said, I've been keenly aware that our property borders a residential area, so we've taken extra safety precautions and continued to make the property more secure. Our other concern is noise; most of the time it is remarkably quiet here, but when it's feeding time, when one group of dogs is coming inside and another is going out, and when there are visitors, this place can be quite loud. For this and other reasons, we limit our visitors to two individuals or groups per month, and we don't feed the dogs between the hours of 5 PM and 8 AM. I do believe, however, that a number of commercial activities that could feasibly take place on this property are considerably louder and more dangerous, particularly those associated with the timber industry, which is the industry for which all of the other commercial properties on our street are used. (I think everyone's probably glad this isn't a working cedar mill.)

None of that changes the fact that Ted is right, however -- we'd be better off in a more remote location, and now that we're internationally known and respected and attracting an ever growing support base, we're working hard to make a new facility a reality. While I can't project a date that we might relocate, I'd like to make it happen as soon as possible, and I'm taking a number of steps to get there, including the development of new fundraisers and a capital campaign. It's my hope that before long we'll be on a larger property more suited to our needs, and perhaps, with some significant improvements (including the addition of sound-dampening insulation), our current facility can become a traditional animal shelter, which is something this community badly needs.

Ted, thank you, and thanks to your family for putting up with us -- it means a lot more than you might realize. And thanks to all of our other neighbors for their support, as well. Without it, I don't see how we could have experienced such rapid growth in such a short time. And to that one neighbor down the street who still things this is a dog fighting ring, you're still crazy, and the whole town knows it.

Whether we're lavishing them with affection, maligning them for their violent behavior, parading them around as fashion accessories, or utilizing them as tools to aid us in our work or recreation, dogs are a pretty big deal. They mean different things to different people, but they mean something to just about everyone on the planet, and that's significant - you can't say that about cell phones, Volkswagens, hedgehogs, ball bearings, or lemon trees. You can't say that about most things in the world.

Like it or not, dogs are among us, almost everywhere on Earth where we, human beings, live. There are a very few exceptions: the occasional, tiny island, and perhaps a handful of remote and inhospitable locations where only the most intrepid researchers and explorers dare to tread. But assuming you don't live in one of those places, and that you don't spend your days confined indoors with the curtains drawn, when was the last time you went an entire day without seeing a dog? Even prison inmates, isolated from the rest of the world, are likely to see dogs on a fairly regular basis.

Anthropologists, historians, and biologists don't all agree about when the first domestic dogs emerged, but it was likely around 100,000 years ago, DNA and anatomical studies suggesting that the animals were Tibetan wolves that came in from the cold. This was probably not a single, isolated incident, but rather, a tendency of certain wolves, and a scenario that repeated itself any number of times and is still repeating itself to this day in different locales. It was also likely a slow transition as opposed to a single, definitive gesture on the part of any one wolf or group of wolves. Wolves living on the fringes of human settlements reaped the benefit of being able to pick through our leftovers; rodents abound in human communities as well, providing a steady food supply, even when leftovers aren't available, and those first dogs certainly enjoyed the added security that comes with having a neighbor who is especially proactive about protecting himself from larger predators, like leopards and bears.

For the human beings, these small wolves posed a minimal threat while providing the valuable service of eliminating disease-carrying vermin, and they, too, would have done their part to keep larger predators at a distance. As the relationship between wolf and human being developed, the two species became hunting partners. They protected each other with ever growing intention. They came to depend upon each other. A symbiotic relationship came into being, in which primitive dog and primitive man became interdependent in order to survive.

The process of domestication can be observed today in various stages in different parts of the world; 'pariah dogs' are those same wolves that have not fully committed to a partnership with humankind, but yet could not survive without us. They may interbreed with our domestic dogs and mix with feral animals, escaped pets that have reverted to a wild state and formed stable populations, but they are not domestic animals, they are wildlife in transition. Bring one home, as I have done more than once, and you'll see what I mean.

The process was further convoluted and the line between dog and wolf further blurred in areas where domestic dogs and wolves lived side by side, and by the efforts of various peoples to breed their dogs to wild or wild-caught wolves, as happened routinely in North America and continues to take place in northern areas today. In much of the United States and northern Mexico, dogs interbreed regularly with coyotes, and it's likely that this is also nothing new. In ancient Egypt domestic dogs may have been intentionally bred to jackals as well. This broadens the definition of what a 'dog' truly is, while geneticists continue to point out that in spite of all of its hybridizing over thousands of years, the domestic dog is genetically a wolf, not differing enough even to constitute a separate subspecies, regardless of the fact that taxonomists have chosen to name it as such, Canis lupus familiaris.

For those wolves who did commit to our arrangement, whether willingly or by force, coming in from the cold was only the first of many transitions. As it was discovered just how many different things dogs could do for us, a process of 'forced specialization' began to take place. We took greater control over our canine companions' lives, the most significant manifestation of which was to control their breeding for the perpetuation of various traits that we valued in them. Some dogs were bred to hunt by sight, some by smell, some to go underground in search of prey; some dogs were bred to herd livestock, others to protect livestock, and others to protect us and our homes; some were bred to fight with bears, with bulls, and with each other for our sadistic amusement; some were bred simply to be our friends. What they all have in common, though, is that they were bred for purposes of human design, in a process that continues to this day.

The significance of our shared history with dogs is fairly simple - for as long as there have been human beings as we know them, they have lived with dogs. Not every person has had a dog, and different cultures have treated dogs differently around the world and over the millenia, but by and large, where there have been human beings, there have been dogs living in a symbiotic relationship with them, and that constitutes more than a mere tendency of our species or the willingness of the other species to be controlled by us. From an anthropological, ecological, and behavioral standpoint, the relationship between human being and dog is something both species need, and it's likely we need it on some levels more than any of us realizes.

Do a little research and you'll find studies demonstrating that people with dogs (and cats) have a longer life expectancy, how spending time with companion animals reduces stress, lowers blood pressure, even gives people a reason to live. The findings of various researchers are so convincing that some doctors even prescribe adopting a dog or cat to their patients, and pet therapy programs are becoming an increasingly common phenomenon in retirement homes, children's hospitals, and group homes. Perhaps more remarkable than our apparent psychological and physiological need for companion animals in our lives, however, is the instinctive drive that causes domestic dogs, Canis lupus familiaris, to crave interaction with us. As one of the few people in the nation who works with the wildest feral dogs and the least socialized puppy mill and animal hoarding survivors, I've seen firsthand how even the most terrified dogs find themselves overcome by an urge to be in the presence of a human being. I may not be able to lay a hand on a dog for months, even years, but the animal willingly follows me around the property, sleeps in the same room as I do, sniffs my hand or my foot when he or she thinks I'm not paying attention. There's a desire for connection I've seen in many mammal species, including wild cats, bears, and numerous smaller carnivores, but in no species is the desire so strong as it is in domestic dogs and their hybrids. It seems there's 'something' about human beings that draws animals to us and us to them, but the relationship between human and dog represents a degree of connectedness unmatched by our relationships with other species, even domestic cats.

Humans have, of course, as we are prone to do, exploited our connection to dogs to the utmost degree, often minimizing our own responsibility in our symbiotic relationship and putting the bulk of the weight of maintaining it squarely on the dogs' shoulders. They became our property, to do with as we pleased and to dispose of at any time, for any reason, by any method.

Most dogs in the world, if they 'belong' to someone, have jobs to do, and for most of them, that job is security. A dog's job is to protect people and their property, to frighten would-be intruders and to attack those who don't heed their warning. They are to give their lives for our safety, or in order that we might keep our 'stuff', and they are to kill for us should we desire it. It's hard to say how a dog biting the wrong person has been dealt with historically speaking; it's likely that the offending dog was often killed, and it's equally likely that the occasional bite was expected to occur, given the animal's wildness, as well that of our own, in those early years of its domestication. But a dog who killed livestock was almost certainly never tolerated, nor is it likely that a dog who injured a child ever had much of a future.

But things change, don't they?

In the western world, western Europe, the United States, and Canada in particular, there has been somewhat of a paradigm shift, and in a relatively short amount of time the tasks for which we bred and trained dogs and the behaviors we demanded of them have fallen out of favor. We human beings have adopted a more 'enlightened', 'civilized' lifestyle, and we now expect our dogs to do the same, 100,000 years of evolution be damned. Dogs were rarely held in as high a regard as they are today by we westerners, possible exceptions being certain Native American tribes and ancient Egyptians, but while we call them our friends, companions, even members of our families, we also hold them to a higher standard by which violence against us, regardless of its severity, is not allowed. That same standard of behavior doesn't extend to us, however.

We kill dogs by the millions, and breed millions more. Most are killed because they are surplus property; we don't know what else to do with them - these animals that lengthen our lives and add to life's quality. But others are killed because they have had the audacity to refuse to evolve into the docile, abiding, obedient possessions we desire them to be. Some have succumbed to their instinct to hunt and kill; some have failed to control the urge to fight in defense or for the acquisition of territory; others, in sheer defiance of our wishes, have dared to injure us, their almighty and all-important human superiors, in response to our threats against them, whether those threats were real or perceived. Even in those frequent instances when their undesirable behaviors were acted out at the behest of their human caregivers, we have always been ready to dispatch the animals without a second thought, whether with a needle in some quiet, back room, or with a bullet in the plain sight of anyone caring to watch or unfortunate enough to be accidentally present at the scene.

Some recent emails from a rather unworthy opponent of my life's work summed up our species' attitude quite well: "DEATH to dogs like this!!!!! Good riddance," and, "What's the big deal with killing it? It's a liability." That she didn't even know the gender of the animal in question belies her utter lack of concern for anything but herself and that which is outwardly similar to herself, but she has forgotten, or perhaps never knew, that for 100,000 years, we humans and dogs have been part of the same society, and in a society, the more intelligent, more sophisticated, more capable members are expected to care for and defend those not competent to do for themselves, as well as to indemnify them and assume accountability for their actions. That my detractor appealed to the liability associated with allowing the dog to live simply revealed her hypocrisy, because when it comes to liabilities, no species presents so many of them as does our own. In my short response to her last message, I explored the issue of liability a bit farther: "Ever drive a car? How many people are killed in auto accidents every year? That's a huge liability. We should ban cars and kill anyone who drives one. Ever go to the hospital? Doctor error kills over 200,000 Americans a year - serious liability there. Let's kill doctors. Dogs kill 15-30 people a year, while bees kill around 100 - have you ever sent one of your abusive emails to a beekeeper? 'DEATH to all bees'?"

It's a quite fair comparison: cars improve the quality of our lives, and so do dogs; doctors help us live longer and make us healthier, and so do dogs; bees provide us with a commodity that no other animal can, and arguably, so do dogs. But while all of them kill and injure us far more often than dogs do, only dogs have spawned a litany of legislation with the same bottom line - death to the dog. It defies logic and any sense of fairness, unless of course we are to believe that some laws are enacted as a result of our powerful, emotional responses to certain phenomena, as opposed to any real necessity stemming from some kind of widespread social ill. And few phenomena invoke a more primal, more powerful emotional response than that which a human being, a primate, a prey species, experiences when he or she is bitten or attacked by a dog, a predator, one of nature's many killing machines. In short, the realization that we are vulnerable awakens in us an innate sense of which our primitive ancestors were keenly aware, along with most of the planet's animal species, that the world is full of things that would like not only to hurt us or kill us, but to eat us. It sucks to be on the menu.

It sucks so much, in fact, that many scientists credit the predator-prey relationship with being the major force that spurred our evolution, causing us to walk upright that we might have a better view of our surroundings, and to develop the large, unwieldy brains and unrivaled intelligence that allowed us to outwit, overpower, and even replace our would-be predators. But still, there are times when one of us is caught at a disadvantage to one of them, and that makes us feel like some lesser form of ourselves; relative powerlessness is one thing for which we as a species have definitely evolved a strong disliking. And it would also be irresponsible of me to ignore the degree to which we love and care for our fellow human beings, but that, too, may be dependent upon our intellect and our social behavior that derives from an instinctive knowledge that there is safety in numbers, therefore making it a result of the fear of being eaten that motivated our development as a species.

When tragic, terrifying, life-altering events take place, "when the dog bites, when the bee stings," the desire for revenge is understandable, but at some point we need to be rational, compassionate, and forgiving, otherwise we're no better than our warped perception of the very animals we want so badly to see destroyed. Beyond that, to take revenge on an animal is, for lack of a better word, silly; it demonstrates a lack of self control and an inability to view a situation with even the smallest amount of objectivity, the capacity for each being traits that supposedly set us apart as a species. It's an animal! To seek vengeance against an animal is akin to seeking vengeance against a toddler, the primary distinction being that in most cases a two-year-old is more intelligent and has a greater sense of right and wrong, and is thereby, according to our actual values, as they are betrayed by our practices, more deserving of our wrath. I'll be the first to point out that a child is deserving of nothing but our love and understanding, but if that is indeed the case, is not a creature of lower intelligence, with less comprehension of the consequences or significance of its actions, and a minimal ability, if any, to internalize the complexity that is human ethics and morality, worthy of at least as much compassion and forgiveness as a child? Or shall we continue to answer death with death, neither making the world safer for us nor easing the pain that comes from our loss?

And the truth is that we're not even answering death with death; we're answering a bite with death, a growl with death, a lunge with death, leaving very little doubt as to the existence of monsters in the world.

In response to an article about Olympic Animal Sanctuary in the Los Angeles Times, one reader wrote about her son, who, upon having his dog confiscated and killed after the animal had bitten someone, took his own life. Each time I think about it, I get that sinking feeling most of us have had at one time or another, and having never had or lost a child, I can't begin to imagine what the man's mother must feel every day of her life. But suicide over the loss of a pet is not an unfamiliar story. We became involved in a case in which after a Siberian husky killed a small dog, he was seized and ordered to be destroyed, and his companion, a boy with Asperger Syndrome, attempted suicide; we fought with the county for weeks to gain custody of the dog, in large part to save the animal, but much more in a desperate attempt to save the boy. We won that fight, but we've lost a few as well, and there have been countless others in which we were never involved.

Some will be quick to point out that the people who have lost children to dogs, or lost their pets to them feel the same loss as the people I've just mentioned, and they're right. Perhaps they're the only ones who truly understand that kind of loss, and you might be surprised to know how often we receive requests from the victims, their families, and those who have lost beloved pets to dog attacks to rescue the animals that committed them. They comprise at least half of the requests we receive, in fact. It can be attributed to one, simple and important certainty: Dogs matter. They all matter - not just the 'nice' ones, not just the easy ones, or the cute ones, or the expensive ones. Too often we fail to see just how much they matter, or to whom, and that failure is to the detriment of all of us.

All the preceding aside, dogs matter because life matters. Life is worth something, and a death that does not in turn create and enrich life is one without purpose. The waste of a life is a detestable offense, and I must ask, if a dangerous animal can be prevented from harming the innocent and at the same time be allowed to live a life of quality and meaning, is that not vastly preferable to killing that animal, whether for revenge or in a preventive act? How I feel is no mystery to anyone, but I've always tended to adhere to my own, 'rogue philosophies', developed independently of any public consensus or conventional thinking. What frankly surprises the hell out of me is how many people have happily shown their support for my philosophy and for my work - they've stepped forward by the thousands. As humbling and affirming as that may be, it speaks to a greater truth that is at the root of what I do, the reason my organization was founded, and the impetus of every form of support lavished upon us: Dogs matter.

1. The message must contain some semblance of proper grammar and spelling; if we feel that English might not be your first language, that you are mentally incompetent, or that you were under the influence of a controlled substance when the message was written, we will not respond, in fairness to you, wishing not to have an overwhelming advantage in an exchange that is already going to make you look like an idiot.
2. The message must contain some form of original thought on your part; if we've seen it before, there's not much reason to publish it again. We'd prefer you read through our other submissions to discover the error of your thinking, rather than wasting your time and ours, which is more valuable than yours.
3. The message must contain assertions that seem to make logical sense; note that these assertions do not need to actually make sense, they just need to appear to. We'll take care of debunking them and explaining the flaws in your point of view.
4. If you wish to make threats against our animals, we request that you issue them directly to the Forks Police Department, thereby saving us the trouble of forwarding your information to them.
5. Any personal attacks or name-calling should be well formulated and amusing, and should be relevant to the person to whom they are directed, as opposed to revealing your own obsessions, fetishes, and perversions.

We also ask that before you send your message, you pause and ask yourself what doing so will accomplish. You will not change our minds about what we do, and hearing from you will only make us more committed to the animals we rescue and the people we make safer as a result. You will not sway our supporters; when we publish hate mail, it typically results in a surge of support and increased donations, which we hesitate to tell you because we're happy to have the money. Consider that if you truly understood what we do, you wouldn't have such a problem with it, and ask yourself if there is not something more valuable you could do with your time, because seriously, no one here cares what you think, and if we didn't get a good laugh at your expense and weren't able to use your message in the furtherance of our own, we'd never give you a second thought.

Boy, I'd hate to live next door to THAT place. Talk about bringing down the neighborhood. A bunch of dangerous ugly dogs on a one acre lot? I bet this guy doesn't have many friends. He can't possibly have a girlfriend, unless she's a dog kook like he is. Freaks.

BTW, those dogs should all be killed. Especially the dogs that have bitten people.

Paul

Tacoma WA
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Paul -- would you like to talk to my neighbors? I couldn't do what I do without the support of my community.

My dogs are not ugly; I suppose beauty's in the eye of the beholder, but unless you think dogs are ugly in general, you can hardly say that mine are uglier than average. Most people are surprised at how good they look. But you are right about a few things: while I have a lot of acquaintances and casual friendships, I only have a small handful of close friends. I'm more interested in quality than quantity, so I'm pretty happy with the friends I have. I'm also single, for a lot of reasons, the main one being a lack of time for or interest in a relationship at the moment, but your theorizing about that says a lot more about you than it does me -- why so concerned with my personal life? Voyeurism much? Were you hoping for another article about a celebrity sex scandal? Sorry to disappoint; this must be very frustrating for you.

As far as the dogs being killed, the law says they don't have to be. In most cases the person who was bitten by the dog is the one who places the animal here, and the law allows for it. If you have a problem with that, contact your state representative. And rest assured, we'll hold onto your information in the unlikely event that something was to happen to any of the dogs here.

Steve

Dear People Magazine,

I'm outraged over the man who prevents dangerous dogs from being destroyed. Does he get some kind of an ego-trip from this? Does it make him feel like God to spare the life of these dogs? How else to explain such irrational behavior? I'm infuriated that these horrible dogs are allowed to live. It's like pardoning murderers.

Cathy B----
OKC Oklahoma
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Cathy -- my dogs haven't killed anyone, and they're dogs, not people. That means they don't know right from wrong. They act on instinct. Usually they get into trouble because they've been abused or grossly mishandled. Sometimes dogs also misunderstand a particular situation and react inappropriately, and since they have few tools apart from their teeth, it often means a bite; if they were people, they might do something less destructive, like sending an abusive email to a complete stranger who doesn't care what they think of him because he recognizes their intellectual limitations.

Steve

Several years ago, two dogs mauled a San Francisco woman to death. They tore out her windpipe. You love dogs like this, don't you. You want to rescue them. Well tough, because those dangerous s----y dogs were destroyed. HA HA. But their owners wanted to save them. They wanted theses beasts to live. The community despised these owners. Why? Because they showed NO remorse over what their vicious dogs had done. They blamed the victim for her own death! You must not give a rat's --s about the victims of dog attacks either, otherwise you'd want such dogs put down, out of respect for the victims. So you're just as f----d up as the owners of those killer dogs, since you want such beasts to remain alive.

You are a loser.

Toby
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Toby;

No one cares what you think. Enjoy being ignorant and angry for the rest of your life, and I'll take a little extra pride in knowing how much what I do bothers you.

Steve
_______________________________________

Now, for anyone who might think Toby has a point, I'll reiterate some of the things I've said before. Number one: animals aren't morally culpable for their actions and cannot be held responsible or be justly punished for what they do, and number two, animals aren't property to be disposed of when they become inconvenient, expensive, or even dangerous. I believe people have a responsibility to provide for companion animals. I'm against the killing of animals for reasons pertaining to their behavior or incident histories. I've never taken in a dog that's killed a person, because such dogs are almost always killed, the only exceptions being rare cases where the person was a criminal intruder. That said, if I was asked to take in a dog that had killed a person and I had the space, I would. That probably bothers some of you. But if I believe the statements I made above, I have to be willing to do that, not that it's likely to ever come up.

Yes, I rescue dogs that bite children. Most recently I took in Jack, a dog who mauled a boy in Port Angeles. I think it's awful that the boy was hurt, and often I take dogs specifically so that children will be safer. Often people with dangerous dogs continue to put their children at risk day after day, and they are unwilling to do what Toby thinks is the right thing to do. I provide them with another option, and hopefully my organization has saved a lot of children from being badly injured or even killed.

I had nothing to do with the woman's death in San Francisco, the people whose dogs killed her, or the dogs themselves. I'm not sure why that case is being brought up -- around fifteen to thirty people are killed by dogs in the US every year. That's really not very many in the big scheme of things, which I realize isn't much consolation to those people's families, but more people are killed by bees than dogs. I wonder if Toby has ever sent an email like this to a beekeeper.

Believe it or not, I care about the victims, I just don't think it's appropriate to kill a dog "out of respect" for someone. I don't know how killing something is ever a sign of respect, at least not in my culture. I do think it's appropriate to hold the dog's negligent caregiver responsible, even if that means that person goes to prison for manslaughter. I'm for higher accountability when it comes to the people who keep dogs as pets, and there's no excuse for allowing a dog to injure someone when you know your animal is likely to do so. But killing the dog doesn't bring victims back to life, or make wounds heal. It doesn't decrease the number of bite incidents or deaths from dog bites. It might make a few people feel better -- the kind of people that would take revenge on an animal, I suppose.

Now, I know Toby's probably been drinking, and I think if he were honest he'd admit that he loathes himself, and who would blame him? I'm not the first animal rescuer he's feebly attacked; he's left comments on websites and I'm sure he's sent emails to other people who understand that animal rescuers, social workers, relief workers, human rights activists, and others are all attempting to address the same, broad, problem -- a lack of compassion and responsibility in the world. I do my part, the piece that I do best, and others do their parts. Some give their money, some give their time. Others do neither, and complain a lot and point fingers. Maybe I have Toby all wrong; maybe he's a great humanitarian. Or maybe he just spends a lot of time online talking about it.

Thank the Lord for a place like yours to help, save these "throw away animals".