Going to Good Homes : Adoption Agencies Devise Intricate Networks to Place Stray Pets

WESTSIDE —  The caller oozed sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear about Scoop’s death,” the woman began. “But he had a wonderful, long life with you.”

She quickly segued into the purpose of her call: “I’m Stella Moore with the Lange Foundation, which rescues animals. . .” The message was, in essence: “Have I got a dog for you!” A spaniel who was plucked from the pound only hours before lethal injection needed a home, and a sympathetic veterinarian had given Moore the name and number of a bereaved pet owner who had recently lost a similar English cocker.

Scoop’s owner, uninterested and somewhat offended by the solicitation, declined.

Fast-forward a month: a home has been found for the spaniel, the irritated recipient of Moore’s phone call has adopted a different puppy, and the tireless Lange volunteers have gone on to place nearly 50 other dogs and cats.

Variations on that theme are acted out daily across the Westside, where at least three nonprofit pet adoption agencies match stray or abandoned dogs and cats with new families--through a formal adoption process that includes home checks, interviews and a signed agreement.

An increasing number of people reluctant to take home a sorry-looking animal of unknown temperament from a shelter are turning to these matchmakers, who guarantee a fit or they’ll take the animal back. It’s not only cheaper than buying from a breeder, it’s politically correct.

The usual avenue to adoption is enthusiastic newspaper ads placed by the agencies that personalize the pets: “BELLE--4-year gentle Briard who looks like an enormous Yorkshire terrier”; “DUDLEY--Lovable black & tan spaniel w/uncropped tail”; “MR. BOJANGLE’s on 3rd! & waiting 2 be brought home! This boy in a Benji-type dog suit will steal your heart! Luvs kids, dogs & everyone!!”

But the agencies also use flyers, vet referrals and word-of-mouth through an extensive network of volunteers committed to four-legged matchmaking.

The Lange Foundation, for example, carefully chooses the animals it will save--sometimes passing by those in such cuddly good shape they are sure to be adopted directly from one of the area’s 28 animal shelters, as well as purebreds who will be snapped up by rescue groups that specialize in particular breeds.

On one recent gut-wrenching visit to an inner-city shelter, for example, three volunteers paced up and down the rows of cages where hundreds of animals barked, meowed, jumped, cowered or poked wet noses through the bars. Dogs turned in by their owners can be put to sleep immediately in the shelters; strays are held for several days in hopes their owners will show up to claim them. The volunteers make notes of the last date each can be sprung.

Dixie, a white wire-haired terrier, gets an immediate nod, as do a couple of kittens and Bridget, a poodle-terrier mix with five very different pups--one resembling a St. Bernard, another a Lab. But Buddy, a huge black retriever with a plea attached to his cage, almost misses the cut. “Big dogs are difficult to place,” says one volunteer, shaking her head no--until Buddy shows off how well-trained he is.

All but one--a Chihuahua dubbed King Tut--will find new homes within weeks. (Not to worry: Lange dogs are never euthanized; Tut will be cared for until a home is found, no matter how long that takes).

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The lucky survivors are examined and treated by a vet, bathed and groomed, given their shots, spayed or neutered (pups and kittens come with vouchers for later surgery), fed and walked regularly, and lavished with attention before being shown to prospective owners, who pay a donation of $75 for dogs and $50 for cats, if a match is made.

Would-be owners are screened by telephone. Gillian Lange, the grande dame of pet adoptions, says that after 20 years in the business she can tell by the voice whether a caller might make an appropriate owner. The animals are shown by appointment to those who pass muster.

Meanwhile, they are boarded at vet kennels scattered across the Westside. Volunteers also visit prospective homes to check fencing and living conditions--to make sure, for example, that an Australian shepherd doesn’t end up confined all day in a cramped apartment.

The oldest and best-known of the Westside pet adoption groups, the Amanda Foundation, was founded in 1975 by Lange, and now places about 750 animals a year. Her new Lange Foundation, formed last year, finds homes for about 500, as does the Friends of Animals foundation established a decade ago by Martha Wyss.

More animal-than-people-oriented, the various groups have failed in merger efforts. Still, they share kennel space and don’t hesitate to refer pet-seekers to “rival” agencies--”you might want to check the Amanda aisle”--if it means a new home for Spot or Puff.

Lange, who figures she has placed about 7,000 animals by phone, got hooked on pet adoption in 1974 when she rescued a “skin and bones” St. Bernard from a shelter in memory of a beloved pet she had lost. In no time she found herself with a dozen dogs and cats and soon started running newspaper ads to find them homes.

Amanda’s adoption coordinator, Sue Weingarten, says her group focuses on small to medium dogs rescued from the shelters. They are “often matted to the bone and just out of the hospital room where they’ve been patched up,” she said. She charges $100 for dog adoptions, $60 for cats.

Like Lange, Weingarten is a veteran in the field who says she has developed “a sixth sense” about potential pet parents. “We listen to the sound of the voice, whether they have a safe yard with a secured gate, whether they’ve had dogs that died of old age--not stolen or hit by cars, which shows neglect. . . . We try not to interrogate, but we are suspicious when someone doesn’t volunteer information.”

Wyss, whose group even delivers, says her animals don’t come from the shelters but from people forced to give up pets because they’ve lost their job or house, are moving into an apartment that doesn’t allow them, or are leaving Los Angeles. Friends of Animals specializes in bigger dogs and handicapped animals. The adoption fee is $65 for a dog, $55 for a cat, and slightly less for kittens and puppies.

“We’ve had a lot of calls related to the fire,” Wyss said last week. “Some (people) want to bring in their animals. Others are calling to say they will foster the newly homeless.”

She added that the recession has been hard on pets: “People leaving town just leave their animals behind . . . and one young homeless man who’d been sleeping in the park with his dog--a Great Pyrenees-collie mix--said he had no food for himself or his dog and begged me to take it in. I did.”

As hard as the volunteers work to place about 1,800 animals a year, the three agencies make only a slight dent in the problem. An estimated 400,000 dogs, cats and other animals are destroyed annually at shelters in Los Angeles County.

Nonetheless, the groups keep plugging away, always in debt, relying on donations, grants, bequests, solicitation letters and fund-raisers to stay alive. Much of the day-to-day supplies come from the pockets of volunteers. The groups also look for foster homes to temporarily care for animals who need special care--after surgery, for example.

The result is that many of the animals go to new homes already housebroken and somewhat trained, more friendly than fearful.

“Me and my sister picked her out,” said Wesley Krieger, 7, of West Los Angeles, when asked how she got her puppy named Bridget. “The other ones we couldn’t hold.” (Wesley’s mother, schoolteacher Gail Krieger, said that other puppies in the same litter were being treated for ringworm at the time, so the choice was easy).

Lange Foundation volunteers assured the Krieger family that “if this doesn’t work out for you, we want the dog back.” But a month into the adoption, everybody in the household is happy, even though Bridget still has trouble distinguishing between carpet and grass.

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About the same time the Kriegers were puppy-hunting, personal trainer and home-store manager Kathleen Tierney, 27, of Agoura, was also looking for a dog, when she heard about Buddy through a friend. Recently separated from her husband and living in a small apartment, Tierney says she “talked about wanting to get a dog but wasn’t totally serious . . . until I finally decided one would be better off even in my small apartment than in the pound.” She looked at several before settling on the retriever and, shortly thereafter, moving back into her parents’ rural home.

Having grown up with large animals, she wanted a big strong dog to run with after work. And so far, year-old Buddy, now renamed Johnson (after Magic), fits the bill perfectly.

Where to Call

* The Lange Foundation: (310) 472-7727

* Amanda Foundation: (310) 278-2935

* Friends of Animals Foundation: (310) 479-5089