
For more than a decade, Indiana's largest animal shelter has failed to
provide for the most basic needs of the 17,000 animals entrusted to its care
each year.
From time to time, well-meaning people come together and try to fix the
problems. Task forces are assembled. Studies are conducted. Solutions are found.
But the city of Indianapolis has never implemented them.
A 2003 task force called for better medical care, more staffing and clearer
euthanasia procedures at Animal Care and Control. A report commissioned this
year by the Department of Public Safety found that little has changed.
The lone veterinarian position has been vacant since March, and because of a
shortage of staff, decisions to kill a wounded animal are routinely made without
even a basic medical workup. To meet bare minimum standards, the study found,
the kennel staff needs to double.
Conditions have become so dire that the report's authors suggest the shelter
may even be in violation of the city's own animal cruelty ordinances.
An Indianapolis Star review found that Indianapolis Animal Care and Control
is dramatically understaffed compared with similar facilities in the region. And
despite broad agreement that improvements are needed, efforts to make them have
repeatedly fallen apart when it comes time to pay for them.
Administration officials and some City-County Council members blame the
problems on budget constraints in a city that has seen revenue plummet because
of property tax caps and the national recession.
But animal welfare groups and others on the council say that explanation
obscures the true culprit. A city that spends more than $350 million a year on
public safety, they say, has never made animal care a priority.
"We've known this since at least 2000," said Sue Hobbs, chair of an advisory
board that oversees Animal Care and Control. "There have been committees and
studies and panels, and nothing ever changes. It just doesn't. It's seriously
like Groundhog's Day."
'How ironic it is'
The shelter at 2600 S. Harding St. is required by law to take unwanted,
abused and neglected animals, as well as strays.
At any given time, the shelter's 12 animal care technicians tend to the needs
of 500-plus animals. Forget about walking the dogs — the latest study shows the
shelter needs twice that number just to tend to basic needs, such as feeding
them and cleaning cages, according to minimum standards established by the
Association of Shelter Veterinarians.
Each cage receives a full scrub once a day — often using bleach and rags that
volunteers bring from home. Later, there's a follow-up visit to scoop poop
before the employees leave for the day at 6:30 p.m. Overnight, the animals are
left unsupervised, and it shows the next morning.
During an 11 a.m. weekday visit by The Indianapolis Star, several dog cages
remained littered with feces from overnight, and urine had pooled in one of the
aisles. The shelter smelled about like what you would expect.
Animal welfare advocates describe the staff as caring and hardworking but
overwhelmed.
They've been leaderless since April, when Dan Shackle became the 10th
director in 12 years to resign. The only full-time veterinarian in the shelter's
recent history moved out of state in March, and a replacement hasn't been
found.
To make ends meet, Animal Care and Control relies heavily on volunteers, who
are on pace to log 19,477 hours this year. That's roughly the workload of nine
full-time employees.
Without them, Hobbs said, "laundry wouldn't get done, cat litter pans
wouldn't get washed, dogs wouldn't get walked, adoption events wouldn't get
staffed. It would be a debacle, basically."
Other government-run shelters in the region are better equipped, particularly
on the medical side. Louisville, Ky., and the Franklin County shelter in
Columbus, Ohio, employ a full-time veterinarian with a supporting medical staff
of at least five employees. Indianapolis, which sheltered at least 5,000 more
animals last year than either of them, doesn't budget for any veterinary
technicians or assistants.
Among the regional cities surveyed, only Chicago had more animals per shelter
employee in 2014 than Indianapolis. But Chicago still provides two full-time
vets with a six-member veterinary staff.
But most damning in the recent report is the suggestion that conditions at
the shelter may violate the city's own animal cruelty ordinances.
City code requires food "in adequate amounts to maintain good health." The
city doesn't budget for food at all, instead relying on a hodgepodge of
donations that veterinarians say is detrimental to the animals' well-being.
Additionally, "there's no budget for emergency care and this, the team
members believe, is contrary to local laws on humane care," the report said.
"With lack of budgeting for emergency medical care, IACC staff is forced to make
euthanasia decisions without adequate diagnostic information, such as X-ray and
bloodwork results."
The law requires animal owners to provide proper medical care and to
segregate animals when they are sick to prevent the spread of disease. But the
study, conducted this summer, found that poor sanitation and the lack of a
quarantine area presented a high risk for disease. In October, a deadly viral
outbreak killed two dozen cats before animal rescue groups took the remaining
cats away to prevent its spread.
"The city is charged to investigate cruelty," said John Aleshire, CEO of the
Humane Society of Indianapolis. "How ironic it is that we would bring an animal
back to a shelter that is not properly staffed, that does not have proper
medical care and (where) the staff has to scrounge around for food."
Funds limited
Valerie Washington, deputy director of the Department of Public Safety, which
oversees Animal Care and Control, agrees that better care is needed.
The search for a new leader is ongoing, and she plans to convert the
full-time vet position to a part-time one at the same salary in order to fill
it. She hopes to add at least three vet techs to the budget, plus a $150,000
line item for food, she said. (For context, Louisville spent $579,000 on food
last year.)
That is, of course, if additional funds come through. Washington, council
members and animal welfare advocates are optimistic that the city will fund the
recommendations incrementally beginning in 2015.
So what took so long? Opinions differ, but at least since the recession,
revenue limitations surely played a role.
Marc Lotter, spokesman for Mayor Greg Ballard, said the city's total revenue
is down $63 million from 2008 — and that's not adjusted for inflation.
"At the same time you have people saying you need to spend more money on
Animal Care and Control, you have people saying you need to spend more money on
potholes and you need to hire more police officers," Lotter said. "You have to
balance all of those things."
Former shelter director Steve Talley recalled his own push to add five
control officers and nine kennel staffers in 2009.
"We really fought for it, we tried to get it, and we had commitments from the
director (of Public Safety), from the controller, but again, other things take
place and 'you know what, we're gonna try to do it incrementally,' and we just
never crossed the finish line," Talley said.
Now a city-county councilman, Talley, a Democrat, said he understands why
funding never comes through. And, he insisted, it isn't that the shelter is
being ignored.
If he gets $125,000 to add to the public safety budget, he said, "What am I
gonna do? Which of those have a greater priority or impact on the quality of
life of the citizens of Indianapolis? Naturally, the call is always made to
provide for a police officer or a firefighter."
Washington, meanwhile, bristles at the idea that Public Safety hasn't made
animal care a priority in her tenure. And she promises to follow through on at
least some of the study's recommendations. She and Public Safety Director Troy
Riggs have been there about two years, she said, and in that time, "none of our
efficiency teams have had recommendations that just sit on the shelf."
The problem, she said, is that money isn't easy to find. The police and fire
departments have numerous revenue streams, including a tax earmarked
specifically for public safety. Animal Care and Control's money comes
exclusively from the county's consolidated general fund, which last year was cut
5 percent across the board.
As such, the marching orders from on high have consistently been "be more
efficient." Do more with less money.
The shelter, for all its problems, has done so.
A decade ago, the shelter killed more than half of its animals. Today, as
many as 70 percent of the animals that enter the shelter leave alive, thanks to
better coordination with private rescue groups. Even medical care is
improved.
"When fully staffed, those animals are getting much better attention and
veterinary care than they ever have before," said former shelter employee
Kirsten VantWoud, the chief operating officer at the Humane Society of
Indianapolis.
Cautious optimism
Despite the pervasive optimism, the city's track record leaves room for
skepticism.
"There have been all these points where it has kind of come to a crisis,"
said Republican Councilwoman Christine Scales. "There have been various times
where we've gotten a lot of publicity about the problems, and then there's a
hurry-scurry by the administration to do something, and then it kind of dies
down again."
She suspects animal care is simply easy to ignore.
"They (the animals) are voiceless, they don't have someone politically
well-connected to advocate on their behalf," Scales said. "In a sense, it's
almost like the administration knows: They've heard it before, (animal welfare
groups) get upset, they make their passionate pleas, and then they go away. They
go back to working for the animals."
Councilman Zach Adamson, who co-chaired the task force, says it's time for
the city to make a choice: fund the shelter properly, or shift its focus to
reducing the population.
In Brown County, an aggressive spay-and-neuter program by the local Humane
Society reduced animal intake by 60 percent in a five-year period, said Sue Ann
Werling, the board's president.
"You get your population down, you don't need the staff," she said.
And, she said, "you're not making decisions on who dies today."
Efforts by FACE, a low-cost spay-and-neuter clinic, have had a similar impact
in Indy. The group's director, Ellen Robinson, said intake at Animal Care and
Control was down to 17,000 last year from a peak of nearly 33,000 when FACE
opened in 1999. But its efforts are limited by funding. "We lose $250,000 a
year, just from community cats," she said.
The city provides a $15,000 grant to the organization but little else.
Ultimately, that's to the detriment of taxpayers, advocates say.
"If the city were to back spay and neuter more effectively, statistics show
that for every $1 you spend in spay and neuter, you save $3 over your animal
control budget," VantWoud said. In 2013, animal complaints topped the list of
calls to the mayor's action line, accounting for 16,403 calls. This year,
they've been eclipsed by potholes, trash and high weeds and grass, Lotter said,
but are on a similar pace with more than 15,203 calls through Nov. 9.
Washington said the city could possibly devote more resources to spay and
neuter but has no concrete plans to do so.
In the meantime, Hobbs said she's confident that Animal Care and Control will
get some money next year for food, supplies and a few new positions. These are
small victories, perhaps, in the context of a report that calls for millions in
additional funding. But for now, she said, any money at all would be cause for
celebration.
"If we could just get it up to miserable," she said, "I'd be happy."
Call Star reporter Brian Eason at (317) 444-6129. Follow him on Twitter:
@brianeason.