Stella and the Regulators
When my dog was attacked, the authorities proved worse than worthless.
THIS IS A STORY ABOUT regulators—you know, the people whose job it is to keep the rest of us safe by making sure standards are in place and violators are held to account. Regulators are often maligned, as though their only purpose is to gleefully complicate and obstruct. Promises to eliminate red tape are politically popular, even when doing so is demonstrably foolish.
Reduce workplace inspections, and more workers will die from avoidable accidents. Cut billions of dollars for IRS auditors, and rich tax cheats will get away with stealing trillions. Undermine the so-called Chevron doctrine that allows regulatory agencies and not just the courts to interpret ambiguous rules, as the U.S. Supreme Court is considering, and the result could be regulatory chaos, which even some of the Republicans pushing for this change may come to regret. (Turning this function over to the courts, warns the Washington Post, “would spur advocates of all ideological stripes to bring countless new lawsuits before judges they believe will be sympathetic to their cause.”)
For these and other reasons, I am not opposed to regulation; it’s one of the bedrock reasons we have governments in the first place. Yet my experience with regulators makes me wonder whether the bad rap they often get might just be deserved.
As I have written in The Bulwark and more than a dozen stories in other outlets, when my family needed help from the state officials after our then-97-year-old mother, Elaine Benz, was booted from her senior care facility, we were betrayed. She was evicted in October 2021 because she had become too much work, which happens to elderly people all the time. An inspector with the Wisconsin Department of Health Services immediately recognized the lack of advance notice as a violation of law. The facility, owned by a “nonprofit” that raked in more than $100 million in “revenue less expenses” the year before, was cited for two “deficiencies” and fined a small amount.
But when the facility complained, the state promptly backed down and rescinded the citations; it even created a fraudulent document that purported to show that its inspector had found “no deficiencies.” No good reasons for these actions were ever given to me, my family, or a Milwaukee-based investigative journalist who looked into the matter.
As crushing as I found this to be, I was not really surprised. My mentor, Erwin Knoll, the late editor of The Progressive, used to say that regulators are “invariably corrupted by the interests they are supposed to regulate.” Time and again in my more than four decades as a reporter, I have seen this affirmed. As I once wrote in a column for Madison’s Isthmus newspaper, “Given the constraints under which they operate, regulatory agencies of all stripes commonly do a better job protecting shady operators than the folks who get hurt.”
In fact, I’ve argued that some regulators are actually worse than worthless, because they serve to sustain the illusion that the public is being protected. If they were disabused of this notion, wronged parties might find more effective ways to respond, like suing as a first resort.
Yet, even given my admittedly jaded mindset, I was not prepared for the wholesale abdication of regulatory responsibility I encountered after my dog, Stella, was viciously attacked by another dog last spring. We expected that the people whose job it is to protect the public from vicious animals—in this case an entity known as Public Health Madison & Dane County—would step in and take appropriate action.
Wait till you hear what really happened.
STELLA IS A MUTT, made up of seventeen kinds of dog. She has brown fur, a white blaze on her chest, and silver-tipped paws. She weighs twenty-one pounds. My wife, Linda, and I have had Stella for twelve years; she’s now about thirteen-and-a-half. No dog has ever been loved more. What happened with Stella shattered our sense of safety in our own neighborhood. It has dramatically changed our daily walks, which now always include an element of fear.
Late in the afternoon of May 4, 2023, Linda and I were walking with Stella on the sidewalk of a busy street not far from our home in Madison. A tan-colored mass charged at us from the yard of a house on the street. The “90+ LB” pit bull dog, whose name we later learned is Roscoe, had been left unattended in his yard, restrained only by an electric shock-collar device of the sort that is not supposed to be used for aggressive dogs. He snatched up Stella in his jaws and began shaking her like a rag doll. I tackled Roscoe and was pounding on his head as we rolled on the sidewalk, my face less than a foot away from his. I grabbed on to Roscoe’s collar, which came off in my hands. He eventually let go of Stella, and Linda snatched her up.
Stella had a huge wound on her side, about six inches in diameter, where all of the fur and some of the flesh had been torn off, as well as bite wounds in other places. We were at the emergency animal hospital for six hours, until nearly midnight. Stella went home with eleven large stitches and a tube on her side from which blood drained for several days. It was about a month before her wounds healed.
Roscoe’s owner, who I’ll call Joe, is a convicted felon who had recently served several months in jail. He told Shannon Meyer, an animal services worker with the public health department who was assigned to oversee the case, that there were two pit bulls in the home, both so aggressive they had to be kept apart at all times. The second dog at the residence, a female named Ginger, is—or, rather, was—owned by someone I’ll call David.
I later learned that on at least two occasions in 2021, the two dogs had gotten into fights and bit people who tried to separate them, including a case where Roscoe bit Joe. In both cases, the person bit required medical attention, which is how the incidents came to light. Both attacks were considered freebees in terms of the regulatory response.
But after Roscoe attacked Stella, the public health department imposed fines totalling $311 and opened what is known as a dangerous dog investigation. If it was determined that Roscoe was dangerous, the department could impose restrictions, like requiring that a fence be built to restrain him or that he be kept on a tether when let outside.
Joe stopped by our home to apologize and reimburse our veterinary costs, as state law requires; they totaled more than $800, which he paid in cash. He lied to me directly, saying he has never had a problem with any of his several pit bulls over the years. Joe strung public health officials along by saying he was looking to move out of the residence, where his parents also live, and take Roscoe with him, and then never did.
And so the department kept the dangerous dog investigation open, even after it learned, in June, that Roscoe was still being allowed to roam unattended outside without any restraint other than the electric shock collar that had failed before and that Cheri Carr, the first animal services officer to respond to the attack on Stella, told me was “unacceptable” as a containment method for such a dog. But now the department was accepting it, since, as Meyer explained it to me, there was no way to require more effective constraints unless or until the department determined that Roscoe was dangerous, which it still had not done.
In other words, the department was literally hamstrung by its own refusal to act. On the plus side, Joe’s mother told Meyer that they were now changing the batteries in Roscoe’s shock collar more often.
THE SITUATION AT THE RESIDENCE continued to deteriorate. In July, Roscoe again got into a fight with Ginger, and a person whose name was blacked out in the reports I obtained was bitten while trying to separate them. Joe told Meyer that Roscoe started things off by attacking Ginger but that it was Ginger who bit the person. The report notes the person who was bit ended up in the hospital for a number of days. There is also a reference in the report to Ginger biting a child that same day.
Joe told Meyer that “everyone in the family wants him to euthanize both dogs.” That didn’t happen. On October 9, Meyer told Joe that Roscoe should only be allowed outside “on a secure tie out.” Joe told Meyer that new people were moving in next door and he was “concerned if the new residents have kids or other dogs.”
On October 13, the report states, another fight broke out between Roscoe and Ginger; again, someone trying to separate the dogs was bitten, suffering injuries that required more than a full line to black out. The victim “was transported to the hospital” by ambulance. Joe said it was Ginger that did the biting, while acknowledging that Roscoe might have had to be put down if identified as the culprit.
Shortly thereafter, the new neighbors moved in. Let’s call them Marcelle and Roger.
The couple, it turns out, have both a dog and a child—Marcelle’s twelve-year-old rat terrier, Henrii, and Roger’s six-year-old daughter. Marcelle told me that on the day they closed on the house, she was in her new backyard with Henrii when Joe began yelling “Pick up your dog, pick up your dog!” She did. Roscoe was in the yard, unleashed. Joe told her his two dogs were “violent” and posed a threat. She suggested keeping them on a tether, or else use a muzzle. He would not agree. Why should he?
On December 10, Ginger, left outside with only a shock collar as a restraint, charged into the neighbor’s yard and snatched up Henrii, dragging him back into her yard. Marcelle “jumped on top of the attacking dog and screamed,” says the public health department’s report. Ginger released Henrii only after someone in the house came out. Henrii had multiple bite wounds. The report said Marcelle cried as she related what occurred. I cried when I saw the photographs of Henrii’s wounds. The department opened a dangerous dog investigation into Ginger.
On January 4, eight months to the day after Roscoe attacked Stella, I asked Meyers for an update on the case. She told me that the public health department was “actually now considering declaring both the dogs dangerous.” At long last, I thought, the regulators were about to regulate. But this was not to be.
Three days later, at about 2 a.m., someone at the residence got into an argument with someone who was visiting. According to the public health department’s report, Ginger broke out of a wire kennel and grabbed hold of the visitor and wouldn’t let go, even after they sprayed Lysol into her eyes. Another person at the scene “was also bitten badly.” Eventually, Ginger’s owner David “stabbed the dog to death with a large kitchen knife.” At least one of the bite victims ended up in the emergency room.
In response, the public health department closed its dangerous dog investigation against both dogs—Ginger, because she was dead, and Roscoe, because something about this bloody event convinced the folks at Public Health Madison & Dane County that there was no need for more serious regulatory action. The department’s supervisor, John Hausbeck, sent me an email: “Our Dangerous Animal Investigation of Roscoe was closed with the outcome being a warning to the owners that the dog, Roscoe, could be declared dangerous if there are any further incidents.”
One more savage attack, and we might just do something.
It’s par for the course. According to the public health department, only 30 of the 6,850 dog-related calls received in 2023 led to dangerous dog investigations being opened. Of these, 25 led to warnings and just five to dangerous dog declarations. Just two dogs were ordered euthanized.
HAUSBECK, IN AN EMAIL to Roger, explained that “taking a person’s animal away from them is harder than you might think. There are limits on our Department’s authority, most importantly the requirement to provide due process.” He said it is now up to Roscoe’s owner to “take action to keep the community safe from further harm.” The fact that no such action is being taken—no fence, no leash, no tether, no muzzle, just an electric shock collar that has been proven ineffective—is seen by Hausbeck as unfortunate but beyond his control: “While we would like to see Roscoe leashed at all times when he is outside his home, there is no ordinance that requires this action.”
A pair of Madison alderpersons, Tag Evers and Charles Myadze, are now looking to change this. They would like to amend an existing ordinance that allows owners of violent dogs to be fined for attacks to also require that dogs who attack humans and other dogs even once must be physically restrained (not just a shock collar) when outside. But this is a process that could take months.
Meanwhile, Marcelle told me that she and her family “feel like we’re being held hostage in our home.” She is astonished by “the lack of consequences” for these clearly irresponsible dog owners. No one has reimbursed the couple for Henrii’s veterinary costs. Ginger’s owner David is contesting the $187 citation he was issued over this particular attack.
On January 25, Marcelle emailed Meyer to report that Roscoe was in his yard, unleashed, saying her family felt “it is seemingly not safe for us to leave our home as he just stands, stares, and barks at the property line.”
Meyer wrote back: “Thank you for letting us know that Roscoe is off leash. I have asked his owners to have him on a physical tie out, but cannot require it at this time as Roscoe is not declared dangerous.”
I don’t doubt that these regulators, like most regulators, are good people who want to do a decent job. They feel hamstrung by the limits that have been placed on their authority. But just because they have reasons they can cite for not taking more meaningful action doesn’t make their failure to do so any less frustrating—okay, infuriating.
When Roscoe attacks again, which seems all but certain, perhaps there will be no one who will successfully intervene. Perhaps next time, the dog or person he attacks will be killed. When that happens, Joe will be to blame. So will Roscoe. But, if you ask me, a good deal of the blame will also belong to the regulators at Public Health Madison & Dane County.
Correction (11:15 a.m. EST, Feb. 20 2024): As published, this article incorrectly stated that Madison's public health department reported 6,850 dog bites in 2023. It instead reported 6,850 dog-related calls in 2023.
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