Shelters make big bucks on canine deaths

Renowned actress Bridgette Bardo once criticized Moscow’s inhumane policies to get rid of dog packs roaming the capital. But local authorities have since changed their hard-line strategy. Now they’re pushing a more compassionate initiative to sterilize homeless dogs and send them to state-subsidized shelters. However, an undercover KP journalist has learned that greedy shelters looking to cash-in on the state programs will do anything for money. Even kill.

Dog kennel

I just got off the phone with the director of a local Moscow animal shelter. I said that I was interested in offering my help. He happily agreed. In less than an hour I was already standing at the rusty gates of the desolate concrete building.

“First thing’s first. You should know you’re not going to get paid right away. We use a trial-period system here,” shelter director Rustam Navetovich screamed by the threshold. Dogs wailed loudly. “You’ll start off as a cleaner and we’ll see what happens.”

“Maria Semenova!” he yelled over the phone. “Get ready for another one!” Maria Semenova turned out to be a thick-set, 50-year-old woman with an imperturbable face.

“Well, let’s go look at the cattle, shall we!” she said.

The territory looked like a deserted construction site. Rusty iron sheets lay here and there. There were many concrete sections that hadn’t been finished. When we got a bit closer, I saw that these outdoor rooms were what the shelter had referred to as well-renovated animal apartments on its Web site. The cold enclosure was divided by partitions with a net pulled tightly over the front. Around 15-20 dogs were crammed in the 3×4 meter compartments. As soon as the dogs saw Semenova, they quieted down and huddled in the corners.

“Alright, you need to clean everything you see here. As well as the luxury cages over there,” she said.

“How often?” I asked.

“The concrete housings once per week,” she said. “But the warm cages over there you’ll need to do everyday. Those dogs pay rent. And don’t be late. Now go and meet Duney. She’s our little activist.”

The dogs stared sadly at me. At first glance they looked like the average mutts with ragged fur, torn ears and crippled paws. But then I saw a Chow-Chow shaking in the corner and a sheep dog licking its wounds. I reached out to pet the poor things, but I heard someone scream out of nowhere.

“Are you mad?! What are you doing?! They’ll eat you alive!” said a thin girl behind me. She looked about 20 years old. “Hi! My name’s Duney. Have you come to help, too?”

“My name’s Dasha,” I said. “The dogs aren’t really that aggressive, are they?” I asked.

“With the life they lead?” Duney said forlornly.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” she said. “Let’s go. We need to tidy up.”

We walked over to the luxury cages. They were warm, comfortable and roomy. One or two dogs were in each compartment. Decorative dog dishes were chained to the net. There were bedding were in the corner. There weren’t any mutts, only well-fed, clean and combed pedigrees like Rottweilers, French Bulldogs and Labradors.

“Hey. Why are the cages so different?” I asked. “The other dogs don’t even have any bedding.”

“The dogs in the lux cages have homes,” she said. “The shelter gets state subsidies to use the nice cages for homeless dogs — something like 130 rubles per day. But pet owners pay the shelter at least 500 rubles per day when they leave town. Count the profit yourself!”

“But what do they do with the mutts?” I asked.

“Don’t you see? Okay, forget it, Semenova is coming. Let’s go feed the dogs before we get in trouble,” she said. “And don’t mention this to anyone.”

I noticed that both the shelter’s animals and staff feared the management. But that aside Semenova seemed to be an okay deputy head.

As we headed to the minuscule kitchen I thought about what I had heard. It was something like an outhouse with a tony gas stove. There were huge aluminum pots on the floor labeled “Trash” and “Food” in bright red letters.

We struggled to pick up the heavy pot marked “Food” and dragged it over to the paying animals. The porridge was steaming with chunks of meat and cartilage. Some special dogs were only give the best dry food.

“I’ll finish up here,” Duney said. “You go and feed the mutts.”

“But I won’t be able to carry that pot myself,” I said.

“Ehh, you’ll do just fine. Don’t worry. It’s real light,” she said.

The “Trash” pot turned out to be about four times lighter than the previous load even though there were more mutts than pets. I lifted the lid off slightly and quickly set it down again. It was full of greasy, rotten macaroni and soured milk. I couldn’t believe I had to feed this to the dogs. I rushed to the kitchen to take another look around, thinking I might be missing something. But there wasn’t any other food.

I went back to ask Duney. “Listen, that pot was just a bunch of rot,” I said.

“That’s what they eat. Go and feed them,” she said.

I was shocked. “Feed them that?!” I said.

“Well, go on!” Duney said.

The mutts had no bowls. I dished the food onto the concrete floor. I got nauseous halfway through, but the dogs ate the spoiled heaps like fresh beef. Since I was a small girl I’ve always carried dog treats in my pocket. I pulled one out and threw it to the dogs. There was a clacking of teeth and a horrid roar. Five dogs dove at the prize and then at each other, biting, twisting and howling on the ground. READ MORE