The news was grim: Dogs -- both those that failed in the ring and those that refused to fight -- were shot, drowned, beaten to death and even electrocuted on Vick's estate in rural Surrey County, Va. Others were left chained to car axles.
Some animal experts called for the surviving animals to be put down. "We don't regard euthanasia as the worst thing for dogs raised to mangle one another in a bloody pit," PETA's Nachminovitch said.
Reynolds saw things differently. She wrote to federal prosecutors, proposing that the animals be evaluated and that "any dogs that demonstrate stability and resiliency to their abuse be given the opportunity to serve as living examples -- mascots if you will -- to encourage the pet-loving public to stay vigilant against the crime of dog fighting."
Authorities agreed. Last Labor Day weekend, Racer and Reynolds helped evaluate 49 dogs spread across six Virginia shelters. They found many dogs in deplorable conditions. Marked as killers, they were kept in isolation with little human contact.
One by one, they approached each animal to gauge its sociability. Was the animal shut down? Was it aggressive?
Experts were impressed with Racer's connection with the creatures.
"There was Tim lying on his stomach to entice these dogs out of their cages," said Stephen L. Zawistowski, an executive vice president for the ASPCA. "We'd been told these were the nation's most dangerous dogs. I thought, wow, Tim is really putting his life on the line."
But the dogs surprised them. Many frightened animals had to be carried outside for testing, where they cowered in the grass, relaxing only in the presence of other dogs.
The hardest test came with the one dog that was eventually euthanized. "She wouldn't even let us into the pen," Reynolds recalled. "She'd had enough abuse. That was it for her."
Several other dog rescue groups nationwide got involved to find homes for the Vick dogs. One is now a therapy dog in Palo Alto. "The majority of the Vick dogs did not need rehabilitation; they just needed to be rescued from that negative element," Racer said.
Huss, the dogs' legal guardian, said Racer's tour of the kennels where the Vick dogs were housed convinced her that authorities were doing the right thing: "Tim helped me see the value in these animals."
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Moose the pit bull stepped out of the Oakland animal shelter with a weightlifter's stride. But once inside the fenced-in field, the brown-and-white dog was all playful puppy. "You're a good boy, yes you are," Racer said, rubbing his belly. "You're going to make somebody very happy."
Racer and Reynolds are helping the city shelter launch a program to find homes for the two dozen pit bulls left there each week. Like many, Moose has a mysterious past. But Racer thinks of the future.
Moose is getting a pit bull makeover. For starters, his name has been changed to Jelly Roll Jones, something whimsical and artistic.
But it's not just the dogs; owners also need image polishing, Racer said. "We're trying to show that even 90-pound women can own a dog like this -- nurses, teachers. Not just tough guys."
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john.glionna@latimes.com
