NEVADA -- Victor Perea wants to catch a dog. He cranes his neck for a better view of driveways and yards as his truck creeps along the residential streets behind the barrier wall along Windmill Avenue.
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| A resident reports two stray dogs she found wandering in her neighborhood. “ |
"It helps when you're told the direction they're headed," he says. The dispatcher has reported that a white Pomeranian is loose and running back and forth along the sidewalk.
Perea, 29, has been an Animal Control officer for seven years and is one of five officers in the unit. Three officers will typically be on patrol on a given day, responding to calls throughout the city.
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| We all love animals,” says Perea of his Animal Control colleagues. “It’s a passion for us … it has to be.” |
"We have a dedicated group," he says. "A good group, and really … highly educated. Everybody has different strengths. We all love animals. It's a passion for us ... it has to be."
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| A tropical beach backdrop makes for a happier photograph than a cage for incoming shelter animals. The Henderson shelter adopts out more than 65 percent of the animals that come through its doors, significantly higher than the national average. |
Perea says much of the public holds a misperception about his profession. "People still think of us as dumb dog-catchers," he says. "Our number one priority is public safety, but right behind that is animal welfare."
Scars from bites and scratches that are visible on Perea's face, hands and his one exposed arm are testament to a willingness to risk injury toward that goal. A flesh-colored sheath conceals tattoos that spread over his other arm.
He pulls down the sheath to reveal the remains of a deep wound inflicted by the claw of a pigeon. A tattoo on his bicep reads 'Forgive me, Brethren', which alludes to one of the job's more difficult elements—administering euthanasia to healthy animals.
"I wear my heart on my sleeve," he says. "I've killed a lot of animals. I counted it up once, a few years ago … I probably shouldn't do that."
The Henderson shelter puts more than 65 percent of the animals that come through its doors up for adoption, significantly higher than the national average, but cage space is not unlimited, and sometimes even animals that are viable pets must be euthanized to make way for others.
"You never get used to it," says Perea. "And when it really gets to you, you can't talk about it with many people so easily."
For twenty minutes Perea searches the neighborhood for the loose dog, but other calls are waiting and he is forced to abandon the hunt.
"I just hope he stays off Windmill," he says. "He's going to get smashed if he doesn't."
Minutes later he responds to a report of a coyote running through a strip mall on Boulder Highway.
The juvenile animal is lying by the entrance of a Mexican restaurant. Assisted by Henderson Police officers, Perea contains the coyote with a snappy snare on his second attempt. The animal does not appear sick or injured, but its behavior is unusual.
"Something's not right," Perea says. "In the middle of the day, coyotes don't act like this. Something's definitely not right."
Perea is conflicted. Protocol dictates that he reports the capture to the Nevada Department of Wildlife, but he knows that if he does, he will almost certainly be instructed to destroy the animal.
"See, they are afraid he could pick up a disease from another animal that has been in that cage, and then bring it back to the wild. But we wash and sanitize our cages every day. There's no way he's going to contract anything."
He secures the coyote in one of the truck's air-conditioned cages and stops at a grocery store to buy raw chicken and water.
"I want to see if he's going to eat anything. I haven't decided what to do with him yet."
Later in the day, Perea responds to a neighbor complaint about a dead desert tortoise in the yard of an upscale Lake Las Vegas residence.
The neighbor leads Perea to the perimeter fence to get a view of the deceased reptile. A recent rainfall has refreshed the carcass which is emitting a strong odor of decay.
"I think she put it there to f--k with me," the neighbor tells Perea.
"Well, it definitely could have died there like that," the officer tells him. "I can see it's been dead a few weeks at least."
"No, she just put it there," the neighbor asserts. "I'd have noticed. I'm anal."
Perea walks to the front of the house and knocks without getting an answer. He leaves a card for the tortoise owner, but she returns home just as he is about to leave the neighborhood.
"I need to tell you, one of your tortoises is dead," he informs the woman.
"I know," she tells him casually. "I put it there."
"You put it there?"
"To dry out. I want to keep the shell."
"I can understand that," Perea tells her. It's a beautiful shell. But one of your neighbors is complaining about the odor."
"My neighbors?"
"Yeah, somebody. I don't really know which one …"
"I have a pretty good idea which one," she tells him. "You don't have to play games. I think he poisoned the tortoise in the first place."
Perea resolves the issue by suggesting she take the carcass a local taxidermist. "The majority of animal control is people management, absolutely," he says afterward. "Animals are predictable. Humans aren't."
Another call has come over the radio. A dog has been struck by a car on Windmill Avenue. Perea curses. "That's the worst. We were just looking for that dog."
He pulls up to the curb where a white Pomeranian lies on its side, as though sleeping. No external injuries are visible. Perea leans over the dog, checking for signs of life as the driver who hit the animal stands behind him, expressing her regret.
The dog is alive, but just barely. Perea determines the internal injuries are not survivable. He gently lifts the dog and places it in the back of the truck, then drives directly to the animal control office.
"If there is any chance for a domesticated animal to survive, we take them to our contracted vet for treatment," he explains.
The Pomeranian is placed on an elevated metal grate in the euthanasia room and very quickly any suffering is over. The animal has no tags and no computer chip. The body will be placed in the frozen storage for several days before being disposed of, in case the owner comes to claim it.
Perea has one last piece of business to attend to before his ten hour shift is over. He drives into the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, as far from human dwellings as he can quickly reach.
He stops on a bluff overlooking a meandering wash that snakes through the valley below, connecting Lake Las Vegas to Lake Mead.
Perea gathers the little coyote in his arms and carries down a steep embankment of loose soil. He frees it from the tether and the animal scampers a short distance, then stops thirty feet down the hill and looks up at the officer.
Eventually it turns away again and reluctantly disappears into the brush along the water's bank.
"He'll have a lot of prey here, a lot of rodents," Perea said. "At least he'll have a chance."
(Henderson Press - Sept 4 2013)
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