Puppy Mills: Your Stories

If you have had an experience with a puppy mill, please share it with fellow ASPCA supporters by emailing your story to dogstory@aspca.org. Maybe you’ve seen a puppy mill firsthand, rescued a breeder dog or bought a puppy from a pet store who had problems you couldn’t have anticipated. We would love to hear from you.

Since your submission may be posted to this page, please include an accompanying photo and let us know if it's okay to use your name with your story.

Ava by Emily Anselmo

One afternoon my boyfriend and I were walking around a shopping center when we passed a pet store. As soon as we walked in, I saw the cutest puppy ever. They took her out so I could play with her, but she was very shy and didn't really come close to me. After about five or ten minutes of looking at her, I could see her eyes were very sad. I told the store clerk not to put this puppy back—she was coming home with me.

I named my new puppy Ava and immediately took her home to show her off to my family. When I arrived at my mom's, Ava was still very distant and shy. She was terrified of everything, even the grass and the wind on her face. I thought it was the worst thing I had ever seen. But the next day was even worse. Ava would not get up or even stand. I looked over her papers and realized she had been at the store for over five months! Now, everyone knows when animals—or even humans—are kept in small confined spaces for too long, they are going to have a hard time walking, so I took Ava straight to the vet. I had no idea what a surprise I was in for.

The vet told me Ava had luxating patellas and would most likely need mandatory surgery in six months. She also had a urinary tract infection and had to be put on pain medication for her bad knees. Two days after we visited the vet, Ava started throwing up repeatedly, and I had to rush her to the emergency vet hospital. My puppy spent three days and two nights in the intensive care unit.

When I called the owner of the pet store, he was rude and said that she was perfectly fine before leaving the store. He said he would not pay for her surgery or any of the vet bills. He also refused to tell me where she had come from or show me any papers about her. Overall, in the few months I have had Ava, she has been to the vet over 15 times, and I have spent over $2,000 on her medical care.

Nani's Story by Jason Taniguchi

When I adopted my first dog I had no idea what it meant to be a "rescue dog." I only knew that the humane society had dogs who needed homes, and that I could provide one so he wouldn't have to be put down. And embarrassingly enough, I didn't look into it more the entire time he was with me.

A few years later, I wanted to adopt another dog. Being older and wiser, I looked more deeply into where these rescue dogs come from. Nothing in life has made me feel such a complex range of emotions—from angry to sad, from sick to as close to violent as someone like me gets—as when I was learning about puppy mills. I knew I could only adopt a puppy mill rescue after that.

Part of being older and wiser meant really thinking about what personality characteristics my next dog should have to best fit my lifestyle. To be frank, I felt guilty about doing so. There are so many dogs in need of homes that I felt going to an adoption center and saying, "I'm looking for a dog with A, B & C characteristics" would be incredibly pretentious. Imagine my surprise when the adoption centers were excited when I came in with such a list! [Read about the ASPCA pet matching program, Meet Your Match^®]

If I could choose one thing to tell all potential adopters, it would be the lesson learned from that. You'd be surprised how many people come in and adopt a dog, only to bring it back a few weeks later because there's something about him that didn't mesh with their lifestyle. The people working at adoption and fostering locations think of their dogs' interests first. Their goal is to find a loving forever home for a dog, so if you put the time and thought into your lifestyle ahead of time, they will not look down on you as I had assumed. On the contrary, everywhere I went I was greeted by people enthusiastic to work with me. This led to the adoption of my little girl, Nani, which in Hawaii means "beautiful."

Were it not for having made my "lifestyle list," Nani never would have come into my life. I received a call from a puppy mill rescue I'd previously visited, telling me about a puppy mill police seizure that had happened the night before. Many of the dogs apparently had the temperament I was looking for, so off I went.

All the dogs were so scared. Meeting them individually in the introduction rooms broke my heart. The last dog I saw, we just sat on the floor looking at each other. The worker told me that because of her mill experience, this dog had a harder time with men than women. Slowly I let her sniff me, and after a few minutes she let me put her in my lap. I wanted to cry as I petted her; when I raised my hand to pet her head she'd cringe as if waiting to be struck. As my hand stroked her back, she'd look up and give me a confused look ... it was heartbreaking. I continued petting her while I spoke with the attendant in the room with me, but stopped mid-sentence when I realized that this dog in my lap had started leaning into my chest. I continued petting her, and the more I did so the more she pushed her body into mine. That did it for me, I knew I'd found my dog.

Now a year later, she still has some lingering issues from her time at the mill. It took some time (and many trips to doggy day care) to understand how to be around other dogs and have fun. To be honest, I probably spoil her, but she's gone through enough already and deserves some pampering. I truly believe that when the two of us came together, both our lives improved. She recently won an obedience contest at a "doggy olympics"—which just goes to show, a puppy mill dog can have a lot of potential! I'm so proud of how far she's come, and it makes me feel great to know she trusts and loves me.

Missy's Story by Yvette Horn

Unfortunately, this is a story that does not have a happy ending. It shows the cruelty of irresponsible breeders and puppy mills.

Missy was the first puppy I ever purchased. I found her on a website and made arrangements to go see her in person. After a 2-hour drive, the breeder was not home when we first arrived, but drove up shortly with a cage of 6 puppies. (We only played with 5 of the puppies—the sixth would not move around. The breeder said she was just tired from playing all day.) We asked the breeder several questions about caring for the puppy we had chosen, and my husband paid him. The last thing he said to us was to be sure we gave her a good bath, because all the puppies had been walking around in each other's feces and urine.

I brought Missy home on a Wednesday. Saturday evening she came down with diarrhea and by Sunday morning she was very weak. I took her to the emergency vet and she was diagnosed with Parvo. The contract the breeder had me sign stated that I should call at the first signs of illness, so I called him while sitting in the waiting room of the emergency clinic. At first, he did not remember me and I had to explain what kind of dog I purchased, when I had been there and where I was from. He wanted me to bring Missy to him immediately. If I didn't, my contract would be void. He said he would give her some Pedialyte and take her to the vet the next day and that I could come pick up another puppy in 3 days. I soon realized he was running a puppy mill, but trying to do it undercover by bringing the puppies to his home to show them to the public.

I opted to void my contract and try to save Missy's life. She spent 4 days and 3 nights under 24-hour vet care, getting extra proteins, fluids and 2 plasma transfusions. Wednesday night she took a turn for the worse, and by the following morning she was moaning with every breath. I had no choice but to put her to sleep. I brought little Missy home. My husband built a tiny wood casket and we buried her at the back of our property, putting a little white cross with a red bow above her to remember her by.

In hindsight, I truly believe this breeder knew he was selling sick puppies. He never followed up with me to see how Missy was doing because he did not care. Every puppy in that crate was exposed to Parvo, and he still had them for sale on his website. He not only exposed the puppies in his facility, but all dogs that came in contact with the puppies once they were sold … all in the name of making a buck.

Benzi’s Story by Brandi Friesenhahn

When I began my search for an American Eskimo dog, I first tried going through a breed rescue group. Unfortunately, because I lived over four hours away, the rescue group did not want adopt to me. That’s when I found an ad in the Dallas Morning News offering a five-month-old American Eskimo puppy.

I contacted the owner and he told me she was a wonderful dog. I made the two-hour drive and arrived at the kennel—the scene was horrible. There were dozens and dozens of cages outside full of poor little dogs barking and jumping in the bitter weather. I was very wary of purchasing a dog from this place, but leaving one behind was unthinkable. The kennel told me they hadn’t had a chance to get the puppy’s paperwork together and that they would fax me records the next morning.

I took the puppy—whom I named Benzi—to the vet the very next morning. To my shock, the vet informed me that my new puppy was actually seven or eight years old! The vet also told me Benzi had given birth to several litters and had an infected uterus that had to be removed immediately. Had I not rescued her, she would have died. After the vet, I immediately called my bank to cancel the payment I had made to the kennel—not surprisingly, they never contacted me about it. They knew how sick she was and that she was no use to them any longer.

It has been almost five months since I rescued Benzi, yet she is still too scared to venture out from the corner I have set up for her. It breaks my heart that people could put dogs through so much pain that they fear human contact. This kennel is a horrible place and I feel very sorry for all the people they have tricked into purchasing a dog from them.

Harvey’s Rescue by Jeanine Reed

Harvey is the sad victim of a puppy mill in the Midwest. He is eight years old and clearly displays signs of having been in a mill since puppyhood. Although he arrived emaciated, his spirit was very much alive. Everything is new to him—right down to the feel of the carpet on his paws and the freedom of being able to walk around outside of a crate! Harvey relished in experiencing the loving touch of a human hand for the first time.

Harvey does not show any signs of having been beaten, but the neglect he has experienced is pronounced in all areas. His paws are gnarled from years of living in a cage with wire flooring. His spine and hip area appear slightly curved, most likely from being so confined and never being able to grow appropriately. He has little muscle tone, but his daily walks are increasing that.

Harvey is already thriving in his foster home. He has learned quickly—by show of his waggy tail—that when his foster mom walks in the room, he is going to receive the touch of a loving hand. We are confident that with hearty meals, some TLC and daily exercise, Harvey will learn to be like all other eight-year-old pugs.

Tammy’s Tale by Nancy Terwilliger

I am an animal lover and enjoy looking around on Petfinder.com at all the dogs and reading their stories. One night as I was perusing the site, I came across Tammy, a Pekingese with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. She had been used in a puppy mill as a breeder dog for over seven years. Her bio explained that she had hardly any fur and suffered from severe dry eyes, bad knees and horrible food allergies. She also had no teeth due to the constant breeding and malnutrition she suffered. I immediately called the woman who had rescued Tammy.

The puppy mill Tammy is from was located in Lebanon, MO. The woman who ran it had been diagnosed with cancer and allowed a rescue group to take all the dogs. The woman I spoke with from the rescue group said the stench at the puppy mill was so bad that she had to fight vomiting all the way home.

We have had Tammy a little over a year now, and it has taken her this long to begin to enjoy the simple pleasures of her new life—but she has started to. Tammy now likes her fuzzy blankets and comfy beds, her weekly bath and long walks.

When someone who doesn’t know Tammy's story looks at her, they see an old, toothless dog with bad eyes—but to me she is the most beautiful dog in the world. I don’t know how Tammy survived all those years of suffering, but she has learned to be happy and to love again. I don't know how long Tammy will be with us, but I take comfort in knowing I was able to show her a real home. Tammy is a true hero in every sense of the word, and I love her.

Fritz by Claire Liston

Being active in dog rescue, I have my share of good and bad stories to tell. But for anyone thinking of getting a dog, or any dog rescuer who needs a lift, I wanted to share Fritz’s story. Up until about a year ago, he was a stud dog at a puppy mill in Maryland where he’d spent his whole life—four years—in a cage. He was rescued by a shelter, transferred to a local rescue group, housed by a first-time foster parent, and finally adopted, by my mom, at Christmas. He had trouble with his hind legs due to lack of muscle tone and was really spooked by strangers, noises and almost everything else. The first week, my mother wondered if he would ever be normal.

I call the photo below “6 A.M. on Dog Beach.” It was taken over the summer while we were on vacation with the extended family and all their dogs. Fritz had a ball! He was perfectly happy, healthy and social. It’s hard to imagine that he so recently was a fearful, crippled, unwanted breeder dog. If my mom wasn’t connected to dog rescue through me, she might have purchased one of his puppies from a store. Now, of course, she can’t imagine letting a dog like Fritz die in a shelter.

So these are my thoughts today, and I hope you’ll share them. Every dog in trouble has a perfect life that he’s waiting to live. Every person who knows about buying-versus-adopting has the opportunity to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

Keisha’s Story by Rita Vetsch

Would you please read my story? It’s about how bad puppy mills really are, and how the public should be more aware of them. My Keisha was bred from parents who had life-threatening allergies. The puppy mill did not give her adequate nutrition, which set her up for health failure for her ten years of life. Even if one person turned away from a puppy mill because of her story, it would be worth it. She lived in misery for ten years just to love me and to educate me on her condition. If dogs could be saints, she'd definitely qualify.

My sister and her husband bought Keisha from a nice couple—or so they thought—from up north in Minnesota. Of course they didn’t want people to see the conditions that they were breeding in, so they offered to meet my sister halfway. Keisha was a beautiful puppy, a mix of American Eskimo and Pomeranian.

My sister’s family had small children, and Keisha’s sharp puppy teeth were hurting them. They were not ready for a puppy yet, so I offered to take her in a heartbeat. During the first two years of her life, she seemed healthy—but that would all end soon. Keisha started licking her feet, and we didn’t think much of it until it rapidly progressed into biting the feet bloody to the bone, and rubbing her head and ears into the carpet endlessly. We tried over-the-counter remedies like lotions and sprays, but they did not offer any help. The vets we saw diagnosed her with allergies, but no one could have known how severe they would become.

We could not leave her outside for more than a few minutes because she was allergic to the grass, weeds, flowers, dead bugs, cotton, dust, mold…you name it, she was allergic to it. She loved to be outside and go for walks, but if we left her out too long, her nose would start to run with white foam, and her head would get hot to the touch. Driven mad by her itching skin, she could gnaw her feet bloody

to the bone in less than five minutes. She would rub her head, ears and eyes onto anything that would offer a little relief, including the rocks and cement sidewalk. We loved her so much that we tried everything we could to help her--antihistamines of many different kinds, fatty acids, special foods, baths with prescription shampoo. We even trimmed between her toes to prevent yeast infections. I sewed special pajamas with feet on them for her to wear at night and made leggings for the daytime, but she bit through them all. She could take bandages and wraps off her legs in seconds.

Over her lifetime we took Keisha to many vets, and ended up at the University of Minnesota. The allergy specialists there gave her numerous tests, and she tested positive to almost everything. We started her on allergy shots with high hopes they would help. But after six months, she actually became allergic to her own shots, and would get sick every time we gave her one.

Our veterinarians explained that it all started at the breeders. At least one of Keisha’s parents most likely had allergies. A reputable breeder would never breed a dog purposely knowing he or she had such a severe condition. Our vets concluded that Keisha did not receive adequate nutrition as a puppy, and was denied her own mother’s milk. She probably was fed a cheap off-brand food, dirty or little water, and lived in unbearable conditions. This set her up for disaster for the rest of her years. Who would have thought that a dog’s insides could actually reject everything she ate, or that the very air she breathed was detrimental to her health? The veterinarians at the University of Minnesota said that this was the worst case they had ever seen.

For the last three years of her life, Keisha had to wear an Elizabethan collar, and it hardly ever came off. You might think this sounds mean, but it was the only choice we had—because with that hood on, she actually seemed a bit more at ease and knew she couldn’t get at her feet so easily. But she’d still run from run to room as if she were running from the constant itching, as if she could outrun it...but she never could. People would point, laugh and ridicule her when she was out in the yard. Even other dogs seemed to treat her differently, and she knew it. We just kept thinking that there must be something that we hadn’t tried so kept searching. They put her on two different types of steroids in addition to her other medications, but that only reduced her to a glossy eyed little girl who was still miserable and no longer her true self.
We just kept thinking, “Who puts their dogs down because of allergies?” I couldn’t bring myself to do it, until one day she just gave me that look and I knew that I had to help her the best way I knew how. I cried as my husband and I took her to the clinic. It didn’t take long, and she went limp and fell to sleep. I managed to muster up enough courage to say my goodbyes and give her a final kiss on her little head.

When I got home, I felt terrible and had so many regrets. I just wanted her back so badly and couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what to do. My husband and I did not take her body home, but we put together a little memorial in her treat jar. We put the “The Rainbow Bridge” poem in the jar along with her favorite ball, bone and a picture of her with our family. We read the poem out loud and buried the jar beneath a beautiful flowering crab tree in our yard. We then put a statue of an angel holding a puppy beneath the tree. Every time I look at that statue I get a sense of peace knowing that Keisha is in heaven with God, and she is finally comfortable in her brand new fur suit.

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