Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, March 19, 1993 TAG: 9303190032
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ed Shamy
DATELINE: BEDFORD LENGTH: Medium
DOGNAPPINGS? TV'S BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE
A ruthless impostor is stalking doggies in Bedford County. Posing as a county animal control officer, driving a pickup truck with fake insignia, wearing a fake uniform, he is snatching up Fidos - SOME FROM THEIR OWN YARDS, RIGHT OFF THEIR OWN LEASHES!Once in his evil grips, the dogs' fates are up to conjecture.
Said Tammy Javier at the Roanoke Valley SPCA: They're sold to laboratories for medical testing. She said as many 60 dogs may have been dognapped.
Said David Voiles, who manages the Bedford County animal shelter: They're used in dog fights. He said that maybe four dogs have been swiped.
Said Vincent Brads, one of the county's animal control officers, on Thursday: Cults buy the dogs for use in sacrifice rituals. He adds that lost and missing dogs are nothing new in Bedford County, which doesn't have a leash law.
But the story has taken on a life of its own, fueled by local television news crews who know a story that'll make you viewers drop your spoons into your macaroni and cheese.
Wide-eyed pups locked in chain-link kennels, sniffling testimonials from orphaned pet owners, empty doghouses, unhooked leashes. It's made for television. It's the video sound bite.
For two nights, the local TV news featured reels of footage and hushed stand-up reports. It's such good stuff for the news, it'd be a shame to look into it too hard. No local story could come close to the pet-theft ring for emotion and drama among the commoners.
It was the buzz Thursday in Bedford.
Everyone was talking about the innocent family pups swiped from their homes and subjected to electric flashes through their open skulls, or their throats slit during a full moon. The lunatic plying this ghastly crime is said to be carrying a handgun.
A woman from Rockbridge County called O.V. Rawlins in the morning. She was pretty sure someone has been masquerading as an animal control officer near her home.
The story has taken on a life of its own. The more people hear it, the more think they may have seen the charcoal-gray Ford Rangers cruising their neighborhoods, or had a glimpse of the man in khakis.
Supposedly, the nefarious thief tells dog owners he's taking their dogs to the pound, but the pooches never get there.
Paula Wells, a Blue Ridge Parkway ranger, thinks she saw the man drive past her house. She knows the animal control officers, and she waved, but the driver didn't wave back. She even caught him on film, but couldn't get a tag number.
That's the closest anyone has come to an encounter.
You know how many people who've had a direct experience with him? Or spoken to him? Or had a good look at him? Do you know how many fish swim tonight on the moon?
It's the same number. Zero.
Why anyone would want to risk a dog bite to steal a pet for resale, especially when free pets go begging in the newspaper classifieds every day, is a question that's difficult to answer.
Maybe Jan Harold Brunvand, an expert in modern folklore, wrote it best in his compilation, "Curses! Broiled Again."
"I always say, `Never trust a dead-cat story,' " he wrote. "That principle applies to suffering-pet stories in general and to small-pet nabbings in particular."
Television newshounds notwithstanding, this dognapping story seems long on gore appeal and short on facts.