Chicago, New Jersey, Macon: Model animal control programs meet fiscal reality; SHORT-TERM SAVINGS MAY MEAN LONG-TERM TROUBLE
From ANIMAL PEOPLE, June 1993:
CHICAGO, Ill., SPRINGFIELD, N.J., and MACON, Ga.–– The financial pres-
sures of the 1990s threaten to undo the model animal population control programs envisioned in
the late 1980s, just as their benefits are beginning to be realized.
The budgetary ax fell first and hardest in Los Angeles, California, where on July 1,
1992, the city closed the public low-cost neutering clinics that helped cut animal control pickups
from 144,000 in 1970 to 87,000 in 1991, even as the estimated city pet population rose by 21%.
Euthanasia rates were cut proportionately. Animal control officials estimated that for every dollar
spent on neutering, the city saved $10 in pickup and
euthanasia expenses. The clinics survived the huge
rollback of city services that followed the adoption
of statewide property tax limits in 1977, but after
riots wiped out the city treasury in early 1992, they
were deemed expendable.
Riots weren’t to blame in Chicago, Illinois,
nor in New Jersey, nor in Macon, Georgia––only
decades of business-as-usual that somehow left
behind eroding tax bases, failed developments,
declining family incomes, increased demand for
social services, and sharply reduced federal aid.
The result is the gradual dismemberment of
trend-setting animal population control programs
that by all accounts have been successful––just not
self-sufficient at a time when governments have no
money to invest, even in developing longterm sav-
ings.
Chicago
The $8.5 million David R. Lee Animal
Care Center, opened in March 1984, testifies to the
scope of Peter Poholik’s vision. Poholic was
appointed executive director of the Chicago
Commission on Animal Care and Control by former
mayor Jayne Byrne in 1982, after serving a decade
with the Chicago Police Department mounted patrol
unit. He inherited a traditional dog pound, with a
high euthanasia rate, low adoption rate, antiquated
facilities, and a demoralized staff of 67. Helping
push through a bond issue, Poholik supervised con-
struction of the Lee Center, which ten years
after it opened, in March 1984, remains
state-of-the-art. The airy, skylit lobby full
of potted plants invites visitors; an auditori-
um seating 75 people serves 4,000 Chicago
children a year (and could serve more, if the
city schools could afford more field trips);
and three staff veterinarians enjoy the use of
complete surgical and radiological facilities.
Poholik also halted the sale of as
many as 1,600 animals a year to biomedical
research laboratories; opened a public dis-
count neutering clinic; and increased
staffing, to a peak of 112 in 1984. In 1986,
when Chicago animal control became the
first municipal agency anywhere ever to
qualify for the American Humane
Association’s Five-Star Shelter Award, the
staff roster was at 101.
For fiscal year 1993, the roster was
at 60, down nine positions from 1992. But
the workload is approximately the same as it
was in 1984-1986: between 60,000 and
65,000 telephone calls per year, with
between 33,000 and 34,500 animal pickups.
Adoptions are up to 2,500 a year now, more
than double the pre-Lee Center adoption rate,
and euthanasias are down from a peak of
29,000 to circa 20,000. Clearly, Chicago
animal control is more efficient and humane
now than ever before. But the department
struggles to maintain the facilities and level
of service.
Poholik isn’t complaining, just
worrying. “I don’t find fault with my
mayor,” he says of incumbent Richard W.
Daley. “He’s trying to balance the budget.
He does what he has to do. He’s sympathet-
ic. We have 50 aldermen, and they’re all
sympathetic. But they have their priorities.
They hired 600 more police officers last
year, and they had to get the money from
somewhere.”
To live within the sharply
decreased animal control budget, Chicago
animal control has gone from working two
scheduled shifts per day to having just one.
Two one-person pickup units handle emer-
gency calls from 7:30 a.m. until 11 a.m.,
while five or six two-person units are on the
streets from 11 a.m. until six p.m.
The shelter remains open 24 hours a
day. Wildlife service, however, has been all
but eliminated. “We still pick up wildlife,”
Poholik says, “but we have no trapping ser-
vice. We used to drop off the humane traps
for a $20 deposit and pick them up the next
morning. Some of the animals were relocat-
ed and some were euthanized––whatever the
state Department of Environmental
Conservation was into at the time, because
they were the ones who had to authorize us.
But we lost the people who maintained the
traps and did the bookkeeping. Now we’re
seeing more and more wildlife in the city,
because we’re not trapping them and they’re
out there reproducing. Now that’s fine
except that some people think they’re nui-
sances and shoot at them or put out poison.
And then maybe we’re going to get some
rabies here from Pennsylvania or Texas and
there’s going to be panic in the streets.”
Poholik envisions the same only
worse for pet overpopulation. “We man-
aged to cut registered bites from stray dogs
from over 10,000 in 1981 to under 5,000
last year,” he says proudly. “That’s one of
the biggest indicators that we’re doing our
job, taking strays off the street. But if it
gets to where we can’t do it from lack of
manpower, what’s going to happen?”
Bring out your dead!
Jane Stern of the Anti-Cruelty
Society already knows what’s going to hap-
pen. The Anti-Cruelty Society is the largest
of three private shelters serving Chicago.
Already, she says, “We have been receiv-
ing more calls for stray animal pickups,
because Pete is only picking up the most
severe cases.” But handling the extra work-
load, especially if it increases further, is
going to be difficult. Although the Anti-
Cruelty Society receives no governmental
funding whatever, until last December the
city picked up and incinerated dead animals
free of charge.
“In December,” explains Stern,
“the mayor decided to cut out this service to
all private agencies, meaning humane soci-
eties and private veterinarians. Even though
we have a contract with the city to take in
stray animals, we too were cut. The finan-
cial burden placed on us has been tremen-
dous. We are paying huge amounts of
money to take away dead animals, when
our precious funds should be spent on help-
ing those who are in our care. We asked the
city if we could begin paying them to take
away the animals, since the incinerator is
still working and burns animal control’s ani-
mals on a daily basis. They came back to us
with a figure that would have cost us
$100,000 annually.”
Negotiations continue. Mean-
while, says Stern, “We are using a private
animal crematorium, which is cost-prohibi-
tive, so we think we will be forced to turn
to rendering.”
That means former pets become
fish food, fertilizer, and soap. Though ren-
dering may be the most environmentally
safe means of disposing of animal remains,
it’s the most unpopular with the public. But
there seem to be no other options.
New Jersey
Financed by dog license sales
since May 1983, the New Jersey Animal
Population Control Fund hasn’t been
cut––only diverted. Since 1990, a $900,000
“surplus” from the APCF has been reallocat-
ed to rabies control. But it wasn’t really a
surplus.
Explains New Jersey Veterinary
Medical Association executive director
Richard Alampi, “In the last fiscal year,
from July 1, 1991 through June 30, 1992,
over 21,000 surgeries were performed
(6,000 more than a year earlier). That level
of activity depleted the cash reserves of the
APCF, leaving approximately $550,000
available for fiscal year 1992-1993,” of
which about $400,000 was available to pay
veterinarians, while the rest went to over-
head. Consequently, the program was cut
back to assist in neutering only the animals
of people on public assistance, the original
basis of the program, which had been sig-
nificantly expanded over the preceding
decade. Veterinarians were also limited in
the number of neuterings each could per-
form with an APCF subsidy.
“The New Jersey Department of
Health projects there will be approximately
6,000 to 7,000 surgeries performed under
the APCF in fiscal year 1992-1993,”
Alampi continues. “Legislation has been
introduced that would provide additional
funding for the APCF from the sale of
license plates, and the Department of
Health would be willing to work with an
outside charitable foundation to earmark
funds for surgeries. The NJVMA is actively
working with humane groups to resurrect the
APCF to previous levels,” Alampi adds,
“as we still believe this program is a model,
the most successful of any program yet
devised in addressing pet overpopulation.”
Macon
There never was much money
spent on animal population control around
Macon, Georgia, and now there’s less. The
city animal control department cut two posi-
tions in 1989-1990, leaving a working staff
of six, and still functions on essentially the
same $220,000-a-year budget it had then.
The budget is so tight that even though
director Bill Brooks is president of the
Southeast Animal Control Association, he
has to pay his own expenses to attend the
SACA annual training conference 96 miles
away in Columbus. The $80,000 a year the
animal control department earns from adop-
tions, reclaims, $5.00 non-differential dog
licensing, and various other sources goes
back into the Macon general fund.
