Animal control officer's best tool? Dog biscuits...

For the most part, the work lacks the drama seen on TV

Instead of hunting rifles filling the rack behind the front seat of Dave Gumm's work truck, there's an assortment of "catch poles" -- long-handled snares for capturing unruly animals.

The box mounted on the rear of the Ford F-350 XL Super Duty pickup includes several cages, a cable winch and a power lift for hoisting dead deer or other big carcasses. There's a two-way radio mounted under the dash and a microchip reader, for pet identification, stowed nearby, as well as leashes, muzzles and cat crates on board.

Gumm is well equipped for his job as a King County animal control officer: zippered navy jump suit, matching baseball cap, wide belt rigged with a walkie-talkie, a can of pepper spray and a telescoping, stainless steel baton called a "bite stick."

But he keeps what he considers his most important gear stashed between the seats in the truck's cab: a bag of dog biscuits.

"We may have to yell at the owners," Gumm said one morning last week, "but the dogs get the biscuits."

Gumm is one of 16 animal control field officers who collectively patrol much of King County 7 a.m. to 9 p.m., seven days a week. For the most part, their work is unexciting, and falls well short of the drama that spices TV programs devoted to cruelty investigations on the Animal Planet cable channel.

But occasionally there's a Mooie.

Mooie was a pit bull puppy brought to a veterinarian in Federal Way after a woman found the dog in her yard, its skin peeling off because of contact with a corrosive chemical.

The puppy was euthanized, but gruesome photographs of the injured animal posted on the Internet inflamed animal rights activists. Some of them claimed King County animal control investigators mishandled the case, which has yet to yield an arrest.

The animal control operation fielded nearly 21,000 calls for help in 2005, with 1,002 of them involving cruelty complaints, Dams said. Most of those complaints technically don't qualify as cruelty under the law, he said.

For example, Dams said, a caller may report that the neighbors keep their dog chained to a tree in the back yard and never play with it or take it for walks -- but that's not illegal, so long as the dog is provided with adequate food, water and veterinary care.

"The law doesn't say you have to love your dog, or that you have to interact with your dog," he said.

Intentionally inflicting pain on an animal is a felony under state law. But cases of cruelty by neglect, such as inadequately feeding an animal, can be considered a misdemeanor -- and aren't illegal if due to the owner's economic hardship.

In 29 years as a county animal control officer, Gumm, 49, said he's never encountered a case of intentional cruelty -- although while working part-time in the 1980s for the private, non-profit Humane Society, he did come across a man who deliberately threw a cat and injured it, which resulted in a conviction.

More common than cruelty reports are calls involving strays, barking dogs or vicious animals. Animal control officers also pick up dead animals, shelter pets left alone by their owners' deaths, help police with animals at a crime scene and enforce leash laws.

To address more serious offenses such as chronically biting dogs, officers can impose a fine, require confinement of the animal in a fenced yard or even order its removal from the county.

"We're problem solvers, dealing with emotions," Gumm said.

The emotions, he said, come from both sides of a dispute: the pet owner's and the complainant's. It can be tricky.

"It does take a very special person to do this," he said. "Most of us would not do this job if we didn't love animals and like to work with people."

Gumm has been nipped by strays he's rounded up and one time lost the feeling in his hand for several days when a dog he had leashed spun on him and crunched down on his wrist.

He's dealt with birds, iguanas, pythons and boa constrictors that escaped from their homes; he's chased a wayward kinkajou, a tropical relative of the raccoon, along the Kirkland waterfront.

Gumm has owned cats, snakes, rats and gerbils, and at one time raised tarantulas. He hopes to retire from his full-time county job in a year, buy a little place in the country and take in older animals from the county shelter that are poor candidates for adoption.

But contemplation of that would have to wait, as another call came in from his radio dispatcher: A pit bull in Snoqualmie had been showing a nasty temper, and the neighbors wanted something done about it.

Reference: www.seattlepi.nwsource.com

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