sago1
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Came across below article in the Atlanta Journal which provides info from an investigator who attended a dogfighting evening as part of his investigation into these activities. I never attended such events nor ever heard about them but those that attend and support such activities sure are scary. Some people certainly have a strange way of getting their kicks.
Dogfighting: A shadow world of bloodlust
By DREW JUBERA
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 07/20/07
Editor's Note:Eric Sakach attended about a dozen dogfights as an undercover investigator for the Humane Society. Here, he gives AJC reporter Drew Jubera an insider's account.
The dogs often fight in near silence, exhausted and trying to survive. But the people grow louder as they see the blood flow.
Fans lie on the floor after officers raided a dogfight in Marked Tree, Ark. Crowds at such spectacles include men, women and children.
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The precautions taken to avoid detection are pretty extraordinary. In one case [in Arkansas], we were told to arrive at a motel the day before. Most of the people there were there to attend the same fight.
The day of the fight, later in the afternoon, we all received a call and were told to stand outside by our vehicles. A lone pickup truck with a couple of occupants made a slow pass by everyone. They then turned around and told us to get in our cars and follow them caravan style. We then drove in an erratic fashion for about 45 minutes, to throw off, or identify, any tails.
We came to a farmhouse on the outskirts of town and waited for several hours. As we were waiting in the field, it turned to dusk, and cars with their lights on — other caravans — were being led in. I always likened it to the last scene in "Field of Dreams."
Virtually all the conversations are about dogs — past fights, who's showing at this event, what you think the odds are. All you do is talk dog.
Some people are also very reserved. The paranoia tends to be thick. It's not unusual to see people light up joints.
They then had everyone drive in one long caravan for about five miles to a good-sized farm building that could accommodate a couple hundred people. Dog fights can be held pretty much whenever and wherever people are willing to assemble. In the South, outside pits are very popular.
Depending on how big the fight is, admission fees are set; men pay, women and children get in free. It's common to see maybe a quarter being female. Socializing goes on for 45 minutes to an hour, giving everyone time to get in, get comfortable if there are bleachers. Frequently a bar is set up where you can buy beer or hard liquor. Sometimes you find barbecue set up at a concession. It's almost an amphitheater setting.
Then announcements are made. They'll say, "If you see somebody you're not sure of, point him out." And, "Anybody representing a law enforcement agency, present yourself." The idea is, if you're a cop and you don't present yourself, you're somehow guilty of entrapment. That doesn't work. But it does tend to create some nervousness. It's not unusual to see armed guards. A lot of folks are packing [guns].
While all that's going on, the owners or dogs' handlers are finalizing everything before their dogs are brought into the pit. The handlers toss a coin with a referee and pick which side of the pit they want. Handlers or owners wash and examine their opponents' dog under the supervision of the referee. That's done to remove any poisonous or caustic substances that may have been applied to the dog's coat.
The dogs are then wrapped in towels and carried to their respective corners. The pit is generally 16 or 20 feet square, usually plywood, [with walls] 24 to 36 inches high. The floor is covered with carpet, for traction.
The dogs are faced toward the walls, beyond diagonal lines on the floor on opposite ends, called scratch lines. They're usually made from duct tape or spray paint, and the distance between the lines is generally 12 and half to 14 feet apart, depending on the rules.
Soon after that, the referee begins things by saying, "Face your dogs!" At which point the handlers face the dogs toward each other. It's about the only time you hear much noise. The dogs will growl. They don't have collars; the handlers hold them between their legs, usually using the inside of their knees pressed into the rib cage and gripping with both hands where the skin is loose over the dog's shoulders.
Quickly, the referee says, "Release your dogs!" Or, "Let go!" And almost instantly the dogs are going to collide somewhere in the pit. It's a frenzied blur of biting, each dog attempting to gain an advantage over the other. It's like a wrestling match with teeth.
A lot of dogs are known by their style of biting. There are nose dogs (they go for the nose), leg dogs ... Their handlers are encouraging the dog by clapping or whistling. They'll yell, "C'mon, boy, get you some." That kind of stuff. They're not allowed to touch the dogs.
Some people are totally rabid, in a betting frenzy, calling out bets like, "100 on the red nose!" If someone acknowledges your call, you have a bet. There's people that lean over the side of the pit, seemingly trying to get the closest view of every bite.
The smell of dope is not much different than at a rock concert. But the overall smell is a bizarre, haunting smell. It's the smell that goes along with blood and sweat and humidity, combined with the cigarettes and cigars and pipes everybody's puffing on. Then there's the smell of the dogs and a carpet that's frequently soaked — the floors of some of these pits look like slaughter plants.
There's not much noise – most of the time the dogs's mouths are full. You will sometimes hear a dog whimper or cry out if bitten in a sensitive area.
But as the match goes on, the noise tends to be almost exclusively from the people. The dogs are so exhausted, their mouths wrapped around a part of the other dog, both lying on the floor, breathing super heavy, their lungs about to explode. Their handlers are on the floor with them, pounding on the floor, encouraging them with commands.
If a dog ceases to attack, or if it turns its head and shoulders away from an opponent without attempting to get a new hold, the dog is said to have committed a "turn." Both dogs are then picked up and carried to their corners and faced to the wall. The referee will throw a sponge to each handler, who has a set time, usually 25 seconds, to sponge off blood, saliva, check for "fang lip" (when a dog's tooth goes through its own lip).
The referee then calls for the dogs to get ready, calls, "Let go!" and the dog that committed the turn is released first. Depending on the rules being used, the dog has 10 to 20 seconds to "scratch to" his opponent – to charge across the pit. If he does, the fight resumes. If the dog fails to do that, the match is over. Generally fighting continues until they're out of holds (they quit biting).
Fights average about 45 minutes. But they can be over fairly quickly, five to 10 minutes, if one dog is not wanting to fight. The longest recorded is 5 hours, 33 minutes. The longest I ever saw was about an hour.
I have not seen a dog killed in the arena, but certainly afterward. Bites are strong enough to break bone. [Dogs] suffer from dehydration, blood loss, shock. The dead are taken off to the side, some are thrown in pits — some guys have burn pits — some are thrown in the back of a pickup. More often you see owners, if the dog is in shock, set up an IV kit, getting fluids into the dog.
Everybody leaves at the same time — you can't leave during the fights — recounting this and that, talking about going to see other dogs. You don't know who all is carrying guns — a lot are — so most people know enough that if they made a bet, you better pay off.
It's a very ugly side of human nature. There's nothing about it that's redeeming or positive. Just stuff that appeals to the basest instincts of people.
ABOUT THE INVESTIGTOR
Eric Sakach, 53, was an investigator for 19 years for the Humane Society of the United States. He was often paired with informants to gain access to these highly secretive events around the country. His undercover work led to the arrest of more than 500 people involved in illegal dogfights and cockfights. He is now an HSUS regional director in Sacramento, Calif.
Dogfighting: A shadow world of bloodlust
By DREW JUBERA
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 07/20/07
Editor's Note:Eric Sakach attended about a dozen dogfights as an undercover investigator for the Humane Society. Here, he gives AJC reporter Drew Jubera an insider's account.
The dogs often fight in near silence, exhausted and trying to survive. But the people grow louder as they see the blood flow.
Fans lie on the floor after officers raided a dogfight in Marked Tree, Ark. Crowds at such spectacles include men, women and children.
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The precautions taken to avoid detection are pretty extraordinary. In one case [in Arkansas], we were told to arrive at a motel the day before. Most of the people there were there to attend the same fight.
The day of the fight, later in the afternoon, we all received a call and were told to stand outside by our vehicles. A lone pickup truck with a couple of occupants made a slow pass by everyone. They then turned around and told us to get in our cars and follow them caravan style. We then drove in an erratic fashion for about 45 minutes, to throw off, or identify, any tails.
We came to a farmhouse on the outskirts of town and waited for several hours. As we were waiting in the field, it turned to dusk, and cars with their lights on — other caravans — were being led in. I always likened it to the last scene in "Field of Dreams."
Virtually all the conversations are about dogs — past fights, who's showing at this event, what you think the odds are. All you do is talk dog.
Some people are also very reserved. The paranoia tends to be thick. It's not unusual to see people light up joints.
They then had everyone drive in one long caravan for about five miles to a good-sized farm building that could accommodate a couple hundred people. Dog fights can be held pretty much whenever and wherever people are willing to assemble. In the South, outside pits are very popular.
Depending on how big the fight is, admission fees are set; men pay, women and children get in free. It's common to see maybe a quarter being female. Socializing goes on for 45 minutes to an hour, giving everyone time to get in, get comfortable if there are bleachers. Frequently a bar is set up where you can buy beer or hard liquor. Sometimes you find barbecue set up at a concession. It's almost an amphitheater setting.
Then announcements are made. They'll say, "If you see somebody you're not sure of, point him out." And, "Anybody representing a law enforcement agency, present yourself." The idea is, if you're a cop and you don't present yourself, you're somehow guilty of entrapment. That doesn't work. But it does tend to create some nervousness. It's not unusual to see armed guards. A lot of folks are packing [guns].
While all that's going on, the owners or dogs' handlers are finalizing everything before their dogs are brought into the pit. The handlers toss a coin with a referee and pick which side of the pit they want. Handlers or owners wash and examine their opponents' dog under the supervision of the referee. That's done to remove any poisonous or caustic substances that may have been applied to the dog's coat.
The dogs are then wrapped in towels and carried to their respective corners. The pit is generally 16 or 20 feet square, usually plywood, [with walls] 24 to 36 inches high. The floor is covered with carpet, for traction.
The dogs are faced toward the walls, beyond diagonal lines on the floor on opposite ends, called scratch lines. They're usually made from duct tape or spray paint, and the distance between the lines is generally 12 and half to 14 feet apart, depending on the rules.
Soon after that, the referee begins things by saying, "Face your dogs!" At which point the handlers face the dogs toward each other. It's about the only time you hear much noise. The dogs will growl. They don't have collars; the handlers hold them between their legs, usually using the inside of their knees pressed into the rib cage and gripping with both hands where the skin is loose over the dog's shoulders.
Quickly, the referee says, "Release your dogs!" Or, "Let go!" And almost instantly the dogs are going to collide somewhere in the pit. It's a frenzied blur of biting, each dog attempting to gain an advantage over the other. It's like a wrestling match with teeth.
A lot of dogs are known by their style of biting. There are nose dogs (they go for the nose), leg dogs ... Their handlers are encouraging the dog by clapping or whistling. They'll yell, "C'mon, boy, get you some." That kind of stuff. They're not allowed to touch the dogs.
Some people are totally rabid, in a betting frenzy, calling out bets like, "100 on the red nose!" If someone acknowledges your call, you have a bet. There's people that lean over the side of the pit, seemingly trying to get the closest view of every bite.
The smell of dope is not much different than at a rock concert. But the overall smell is a bizarre, haunting smell. It's the smell that goes along with blood and sweat and humidity, combined with the cigarettes and cigars and pipes everybody's puffing on. Then there's the smell of the dogs and a carpet that's frequently soaked — the floors of some of these pits look like slaughter plants.
There's not much noise – most of the time the dogs's mouths are full. You will sometimes hear a dog whimper or cry out if bitten in a sensitive area.
But as the match goes on, the noise tends to be almost exclusively from the people. The dogs are so exhausted, their mouths wrapped around a part of the other dog, both lying on the floor, breathing super heavy, their lungs about to explode. Their handlers are on the floor with them, pounding on the floor, encouraging them with commands.
If a dog ceases to attack, or if it turns its head and shoulders away from an opponent without attempting to get a new hold, the dog is said to have committed a "turn." Both dogs are then picked up and carried to their corners and faced to the wall. The referee will throw a sponge to each handler, who has a set time, usually 25 seconds, to sponge off blood, saliva, check for "fang lip" (when a dog's tooth goes through its own lip).
The referee then calls for the dogs to get ready, calls, "Let go!" and the dog that committed the turn is released first. Depending on the rules being used, the dog has 10 to 20 seconds to "scratch to" his opponent – to charge across the pit. If he does, the fight resumes. If the dog fails to do that, the match is over. Generally fighting continues until they're out of holds (they quit biting).
Fights average about 45 minutes. But they can be over fairly quickly, five to 10 minutes, if one dog is not wanting to fight. The longest recorded is 5 hours, 33 minutes. The longest I ever saw was about an hour.
I have not seen a dog killed in the arena, but certainly afterward. Bites are strong enough to break bone. [Dogs] suffer from dehydration, blood loss, shock. The dead are taken off to the side, some are thrown in pits — some guys have burn pits — some are thrown in the back of a pickup. More often you see owners, if the dog is in shock, set up an IV kit, getting fluids into the dog.
Everybody leaves at the same time — you can't leave during the fights — recounting this and that, talking about going to see other dogs. You don't know who all is carrying guns — a lot are — so most people know enough that if they made a bet, you better pay off.
It's a very ugly side of human nature. There's nothing about it that's redeeming or positive. Just stuff that appeals to the basest instincts of people.
ABOUT THE INVESTIGTOR
Eric Sakach, 53, was an investigator for 19 years for the Humane Society of the United States. He was often paired with informants to gain access to these highly secretive events around the country. His undercover work led to the arrest of more than 500 people involved in illegal dogfights and cockfights. He is now an HSUS regional director in Sacramento, Calif.
