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  BEST FRIENDS

  The True Story of the World’s Most Beloved Animal Sanctuary

  SAMANTHA GLEN

  Introduction by

  MARY TYLER MOORE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Dedicated to:

  No more homeless pets

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once in a rare while in your career you might get lucky and connect with something or somebody . . . and magic happens. Little did I know when I accepted a spontaneous invitation to accompany a special friend to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary (thank you, Meredith Meiling), that it would be the beginning of a wondrous journey.

  Like everyone who visits Best Friends, I too was touched by the many furred and feathered creatures, pleased to observe their playful well-being, and awed by the spectacular scenery of Angel Canyon. But it was the quiet tranquility of the land, the pervasive feeling of goodwill, and the kindness of the people who lived and worked at the sanctuary that tugged at my emotions.

  I was taking a break from writing and had no intention of starting a new project when I emailed our tour guide, Cyrus Mejia, a few days later to ask, “Has anyone ever suggested writing a book about Best Friends?”

  “Many,” he shot back, “but I’ll pass this on to Michael.”

  Michael Mountain, editor of Best Friends magazine, called that night. We talked a long time, the conversation ending with an agreement that I would revisit to meet everyone.

  And so it began. As the work progressed and I got to know the men and women who founded the sanctuary, I felt as if I were being enfolded into a large, loving extended family. Now, I am not a Pollyanna kind of woman, and as the months went on, a part of me looked hard for the discrepancies, the phrase or action that didn’t quite ring true. They were not to be found. Instead, I found normal, everyday human beings with an uncommon difference: these were people who truly lived and breathed their ideals and commitment to the well-being of the creatures of this planet and the land we all share; people who really “walked their talk” that kindness is the answer; people who made it a pleasure and a privilege to write their story.

  One person in particular went above and beyond the call of duty in his tireless input to the manuscript. Thank you, Michael Mountain, for your endless hours of talking through the narrative, your attention to details, your often brilliant suggestions for more vivid portrayals. I shall never forget that you were always there for me when I needed clarification, were always a friend when I’d spent too many hours alone in a room staring at a computer screen. I will forever recall with gratitude your calm insights when frustrations arose.

  Then too, I shall always thank my “simply the best” agent, Meredith Bernstein, for her advice when I first started writing. “Write about what you love—the animals. That’s where your passion lies.” Her words changed my direction and began the journey to this book.

  Different, but no less genuine words directed that I work with the marvelous Tracy Bernstein as my editor. At the end of our first conversation she said, “Samantha, I know other major houses want this book. I want you to know that, whoever you choose, I wish you the best of luck and success. Best Friends is a wonderful project.” My decision to go with Kensington Books was made in that moment.

  I also wish to gratefully acknowledge the patient and perceptive advice of veterinarian Jim Lane of Incline Village and Katie Stevens of Reno Animal Control, and the input of my dear friend Mary Pesaresi.

  Almost last, but never, ever least, thank you to my husband, Alan, and his infinite understanding when I just wasn’t available.

  And, perhaps most of all, my gratitude to the so-very-special furred and feathered beings that bring so much joy and comfort into our lives. My heartfelt wish is that every one of you will be part of a loving family—that one day there will be no more homeless pets.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  PROLOGUE - The Brothers

  PART ONE - The Canyon 1982–1986

  CHAPTER ONE - Montezuma’s Treasure

  CHAPTER TWO - Coming Home

  CHAPTER THREE - Commitment

  CHAPTER FOUR - The Welcoming Committee

  CHAPTER FIVE - Angel Canyon

  CHAPTER SIX - Goldilocks

  CHAPTER SEVEN - Sun

  CHAPTER EIGHT - Good Days/Bad Days

  CHAPTER NINE - Dr. Christy

  CHAPTER TEN - Burnt Offering

  PART TWO - Faith 1986–1990

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - Becoming Best Friends

  CHAPTER TWELVE - Dogtown

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Dogfather

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Animal Control

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Sheriff of Dogtown

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - New Policy

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - The Silver Bullet

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - The TLC Club

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - Puppy Mills . . . and the Wall of Triumph

  CHAPTER TWENTY - Summertime

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Chesapeake Bay

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Burnout!

  PART THREE - Reaching Out 1991–1997

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - New Directions

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - All for One and One for All

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - Whatever It Takes

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Revelation

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Tabling

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Another Straw on the Camel’s Back

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - San Diego Angel

  CHAPTER THIRTY - Illegal in July

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - Mollie

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - First Validation

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - Confluence of Events

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - The Lady and the Water Snake

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Volunteer Extraordinaire

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - Chateau Marmont

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - Earthquake

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Feathered Friends

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - Medicine Man

  CHAPTER FORTY - Finding Their Gifts

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE - Community of the World

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - Hello and Good-bye

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE - Benton’s House

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR - Utah’s Week for the Animals

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE - Kid Lady

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX - Oscar Heginbotham

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN - All Are Beautiful

  AFTERWORD

  RESOURCES

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION

  When I look into the eyes of my dog, Shadow, I see such love, such acceptance. Animals may not be able to communicate in our language, but their goodness transcends the barrier of words in a way that to me is spiritual.

  Even as a child I felt this way, and over the years this love of animals has brought me into contact with many very special people, including Best Friends.

  I’ll never forget when Bernadette Peters and I were starting our own organization—FIDONYC—to help homeless pets in New York, Francis Battista of Best Friends was one of the first people to call. “Our sanctuary is out near the Grand Canyon,” he said, “but we have a lot of members in your city. I’m sure that several of them would love to work with you, too.”

  Francis suggested a kickoff benefit, and that was where I began to connect with a whole grass-roots network who felt the same as I do about animals.

  The benefit was a huge success for our fledgling FIDONYC and the beginning of my friendship with Best Friends. So when I heard about this book, I knew I’d be fascinated with the tale of how a group of men and women who wan
ted to make a difference took a piece of raw land in the wilds of southern Utah and turned it into one of the most beloved animal sanctuaries in the world.

  If you’re like I am, get ready to laugh and cry, be deeply touched, and fall in love with all the delightful creatures whose stories emblazon the pages and trumpet the belief of Best Friends that kindness is the answer: to the animals; to one another; and to the planet we all share.

  Best Friends is a wonderful book. I wish you joy in reading it.

  —Mary Tyler Moore

  In the summer of 1982, a group of young men and women pooled their resources and bought 3,000 acres of high desert in the wilds of southern Utah. Nineteen years later they had brought into being the most beloved animal sanctuary in the world—The place called, simply, Best friends.

  This is their story.

  PROLOGUE

  The Brothers

  The woman hugged her fleece vest tighter as she peered into the shadowy quiet of the alley. It was going to be unseasonably cold tonight; she could tell by the persistent twinge of arthritis in her left knee. She glanced over her shoulder one last time before venturing into the narrow passageway between the huge apartment buildings. Her husband had told her a million times that the streets of downtown weren’t safe after dark anymore.

  The rank odor of garbage almost made her gag as she moved deeper into the gloom. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called softly. As if they’d been waiting, a dozen apparitions materialized from the shadows. Quickly the woman slid a Tupperware container full of food from her backpack and spooned the daily rations onto the ground. She smiled as she counted the hungry felines. Not many left now. She’d trapped most of the colony and miraculously found homes for them. But something was wrong. Two were missing. The brothers were always here by now. Where were Tommy and Tyson?

  The woman skirted the feeding cats and hurried along to the front of the alley. She paused as she stepped out to the sidewalk, adjusting her eyes to the sudden onslaught of light from passing cars. Where were Tommy and Tyson?

  Suddenly she saw them: two little cats, black as ebony, tails entwined like furled flags, picking their way across the street with agonizing slowness. She could hardly bear to watch. She wanted to run and grab them, but knew better. Tommy and Tyson had never felt the touch of a human hand. Any such gesture on her part would frighten them back into the street.

  The woman felt an uncommon sense of relief as Tyson, two steps in front of his brother as always, nudged his sibling’s front paw onto the safety of the curb. She remembered the first time she saw the two cats: skittish bundles of fur hugging the brick wall of the alley, freezing at every movement as they felt their way into alien territory.

  She’d wondered why they walked so close together, attached like Siamese twins. It was only after observing them for a few weeks that she realized the smaller cat was blind and his brother was his guide.

  Slowly the woman retraced her steps. This had gone on too long. It was time to call Best Friends. It was the only refuge she knew where the lame, the blind, the old and the ugly, those reject animals nobody else cared about, could live out their lives in a safe, loving environment.

  She felt rather than saw the movement behind her as Tommy and Tyson melted into the alley. She scooped out the last of the food for the blind cat and his brother and walked out the way she’d come. She would call Faith in the morning.

  The weary basset mother lay on her side, belly swollen like a pregnant pig, four pups suckling hungrily on her pendulous nipples. Faith Maloney noted with satisfaction that the filmy glaze clouding the dog’s eyes had cleared up since yesterday. The family could be moved out of the clinic to Dogtown in a couple of days. Through the half-open door of the operating room she could hear Dr. Allen nattering to himself as usual. Faith smiled, took a last look at Mama Basset, and hurried to join him.

  “You’re going to be much happier without these big things getting in your way, you know,” the veterinarian earnestly assured a huge Rottweiler that lay sedated on the immaculate table in the middle of the room. The animal lay as dead, oblivious to the soothing patter of the man preparing to neuter him.

  “You’ll wake a bit groggy, but guess what?” Rich Allen hummed loudly as he picked up a gleaming scalpel. He held it to the light and critically eyeballed its razor edge, then continued his one-way conversation. “We’re going to introduce you to the prettiest little girl. But no more unwanted babies,” he chided as if expecting the dog to argue with him.

  “Morning, Doc,” Faith said.

  The veterinarian looked up and smiled at the pleasing comfort-of-a-woman before him. Dr. Allen was very fond of Faith. The director of the sanctuary was the quintessential earth mother. Irish-born, with chestnut hair framing honest hazel eyes as quick to genuine empathy as to laughter, Faith was a female to whom you could pour out your heart. One of Rich Allen’s treasures was the mandala that she’d painted to welcome him to the sanctuary. Her artwork reflected Faith’s special spirit.

  “You’re just in time, my dear.” He nodded toward the formica-topped cupboards snuggled under a rectangle of windows. “I’m missing my music this morning. Would you mind?” The veterinarian held up his rubber-gloved hands in explanation.

  Faith rummaged through the clutter of dressings, boxes, and bottles crowding the counter and unearthed an old boombox from beneath a mound of bandages. She pressed “play” and Dolly Parton’s sweet contralto quavered achingly into the sunlit space of the operating room. “Don’t leave me darlin’, I’ll die if you do.”

  “Ah-h,” Dr. Allen sighed. “Can’t beat a little country to soothe the soul.” He leaned over and lifted his patient’s left eyelid. “Out like a light,” he drawled with satisfaction. He turned his attention back to Faith. “You want to scrub up and help me? Nothing like warming up with a neuter or two.”

  Faith shook her head. “Not this morning, Doc. I just popped in to look at Lucy next door, and to tell you I’ll be bringing Rhonda for her final checkup this afternoon.”

  “You mean someone’s going to adopt that plain little mutt?”

  “She’s not plain,” Faith objected, then caught the teasing in Rich Allen’s eyes. “Okay. Okay. A member, Dr. Sharyn Faro . . .” The annoying buzz of an intercom interrupted her in mid-sentence.

  “Faith, are you there?” The girl’s voice sounded urgent.

  “I’m here,” Faith answered quickly, her fingers muting Dolly’s closing notes.

  “Oh, good. I’ve got Lydia on hold from L.A. She says the blind cat Tommy’s looking real bad. She doesn’t think he’ll last another week on the streets.”

  Faith scrolled through the Rolodex of her mind. Lydia? Of course, Lydia Rice. She and Francis Battista were good friends. He was Lydia’s liaison in Los Angeles for the feral cats program. Faith picked up the phone. “Hello, luv. What’s up?”

  Lydia had never been so glad to hear Faith’s calm English accent. “I know it’s early but . . .”

  “No problem. What’s with Tommy?”

  Faith listened while the woman who saved cats recounted watching Tyson lead his brother through last night’s traffic. “I’m sure that Tommy’s totally blind now,” Lydia finished.

  Faith didn’t hesitate. “I think we can find room for both little ones, Lydia. Do you think you could trap them?”

  “Well,” Lydia said, “I’ve had zero luck so far.” She paused. “Maybe if I let them go hungry for a few days. Oh, I’d hate to do that.”

  “Could you give them just a little food for a night or two, then bait a trap with tuna?”

  “I’ll think of something,” Lydia replied.

  Faith cradled the phone, then stood lost in thought as Dr. Allen bent over the Rottweiler, suturing the incision with practiced speed. “Something wrong?” he asked without looking up.

  “We’re about out of room at WildCats Village until the new addition’s finished, and I’m expecting two very special newcomers.”

  “They’re all very special, and you
always find a place.”

  The director of Best Friends Animal Sanctuary smiled as she walked to the door. “We always do, don’t we?”

  Faith paused for a moment outside the clinic. The familiar essence of sage and piñon, perfumed with the earthy scents of horse, dog, cat, goat, and bird, wafted sweetly toward her. The sky above was so brilliant a blue, it almost hurt her eyes. Once again, as she did every morning, Faith gave thanks to whoever was up there for leading her to this place.

  She strode the red-dirt paths that crisscrossed the sprawling enclosures of Dogtown, happy with what she saw. Dogs, dogs everywhere. Canines of every shape, size, and character barking their greetings as she passed. Even Ginger, the aging Chesapeake who guarded her stash of tennis balls with gallant zeal, hobbled from beneath her favorite juniper tree in welcome. Faith petted the grizzled head and acknowledged the slow licks to her hand as permission to navigate the last few yards to the kitchen.

  The usual carpet of snoozing canines lay sprawled outside the pink-washed adobe building. As Faith approached, a small reddish terrier mix extricated herself from the mass of fur. With the built-in radar of the loved, the dog with the deep, strong eyes and soft, white muzzle padded purposefully toward her Big Mama.

  After eleven years at Best Friends, Rhonda had earned the right to hang out with the old dogs around the kitchen. She even had a title—Volunteer First Class Official Greeter—and a job. It was Rhonda’s solemn duty to meet all visitors as soon as they arrived, for the explicit purpose of evoking silly smiles and lots of petting before the company was allowed to tour Dogtown.

  Faith squatted to receive kisses. “Hello, Rhonda,” she murmured, enfolding the common little mutt who was so very dear. “Now you musn’t get your knickers in a twist—just listen.” Rhonda snuffled a moist nose into her special person’s neck.