Getting outside proved uneventful, but what would happen once they got out there? There was a six-foot-high fence but how high could these dogs jump? How aggressive were they? Could they be let off the leash? The fence was see-through and no one knew if the sight of other dogs walking through the parking lot or birds and squirrels flickering in the trees across the street would set them off. To prevent such problems the staff had put screening around the outside of the fence to limit the visual stimuli. Still, that first time out, it was a "hold on and hope for the best" situation.

The best turned out to be what they got. Before long the staff realized the dogs might be much less of a problem than they were led to believe.

Dr. Janet Rosen, WARL's staff veterinarian, was able to give the dogs their first serious medical attention in months, which included spaying or neutering all of them. She was surprised to find that three of them had von Willebrand disease, an anemia-like bleeding disorder. How could anyone have a fighting dog with a bleeding disorder?

More than anything, Rosen found that the dogs needed dental attention. This was especially true of Georgia, the grand champion formerly known as Jane, who liked to destroy metal food bowls. Georgia had only a few teeth remaining and no one knew why. She had been bred multiple times, and there had been some speculation that the Bad Newz crew had pulled her teeth so that she couldn't injure the male dogs that were being foisted on her.

But when Rosen went to clean Georgia's remaining teeth, she discovered the true reason. Something was wrong with the dog's jaw; the bone was very soft. She prodded the teeth and they lifted right out. This process caused the dog no pain and required almost no effort. Within minutes, the grand champion was literally toothless. To show how unbothered she was by this, Georgia went back to her pen and began playing air hockey with her metal bowl before gumming it into a new twisted shape.

Like the dogs in the RV, the ones brought from Suss.e.x to WARL had been living under high-stress circ.u.mstances for months, and although they were still in a kennel, these were far more pleasant and nurturing surroundings. They seemed to spend the first few days shaking off the effects of their recent past. The staff too was settling in. They continued to take the utmost precautions, but they also began to see the dogs for what they were rather than what they were reputed to be. They began to get more comfortable as well.

Two weeks had pa.s.sed since Rebecca Huss had been appointed guardian and already sixteen of the dogs were in or on their way to foster homes while another eleven had been moved to one of the cushiest and most attentive shelters in the country. The application for rescue groups, including all the government's terms and conditions, had been posted online and completed forms were beginning to come in. Evaluations were being updated and the dogs constantly rea.s.sessed. Still, Huss felt as though she needed to do something about the other twenty-one dogs. They couldn't simply be left to linger in county shelters until the court ruled on a final disposition.

23.

NICOLE RATTAY WAS CRYING. This was not terribly surprising. Every night for the last two weeks, she'd found herself in tears as she drove home. But tonight felt different. This was not terribly surprising. Every night for the last two weeks, she'd found herself in tears as she drove home. But tonight felt different.

After her long drive back to Oakland, Rattay received another call. Rebecca Huss was looking for someone to go to southern Virginia and spend the four weeks leading up to Vick's sentencing caring for the dogs that remained in the shelters.

Rattay consulted her husband. It would be a large burden on him. As the operations manager for a small hotel and restaurant company, he had a busy job, and with his wife away he'd have to come home and take care of five dogs-the couple's three and the two Vick dogs they were fostering. It was a lot to ask, especially from someone who wasn't really a "dog person," but he agreed to do it.

So on November 6, Nicole had flown across country, rented a shabby one-bedroom apartment centrally located between the two shelters where the dogs remained-Chesapeake and Virginia Beach-and begun her a.s.signment. The job required her to spend time with the dogs every day, if possible, and provide them with some attention and enrichment. What that meant varied from dog to dog.

For some of the more shut-down dogs it might be very simple-sitting with them in their pens, petting them, letting them relax. She might give them a blanket and let them snuggle and feel comfortable. The idea was to let them know that, contrary to what their pasts had taught them, the world was not out to do them harm.

For more active dogs, enrichment might mean running around outside to help them blow off steam and get exercise, or playing with toys to help keep them engaged mentally and break up their boredom. As she did this, she was amazed to find that none of them knew what to do with the toys. The dogs would ignore them, fling them in the air, and hide them in the corners of their kennels. But slowly they caught on. Rattay also introduced the Kong, a small rubber toy in the shape of a barrel that's open at either end. A treat is pressed into the middle of the barrel and the dog has to chew and claw at the hard rubber to try to get the treat. As simple as it sounds, it can keep dogs engaged for long periods, giving them something to focus on and work at, along with a reward for their efforts. With some of the more advanced dogs, Rattay even began basic training-teaching commands like sit, stay, etc.

For the most part Rattay loved the a.s.signment. She felt as though she'd gone to doggie heaven. Even when she was crammed into a small kennel, sitting on the cold wet concrete floor and playing with a dog, she was happy. The appreciation of dogs that inspired her sprung from her childhood in Southern California. Her family had taken in a long list of dogs, all of them rescued from shelters. One of them, Max, was defined by the kennel as a "terrier mix," and it wasn't until years later that Nicole realized Max had been a pit bull.

Her husband, Steve, had been a cat person, but shortly after they were married she told him she needed to get a dog; she really missed having one. He capitulated, but when Nicole made it clear she wanted to rescue a pit bull, he had second thoughts. As fate would have it, a few days after that conversation, the couple came across a stray pit bull at the apartment complex in Las Vegas where they were living. Nicole took it in, and though they found the dog's owner a few weeks later, Steve had seen enough. He was a pit bull convert.

But before they could find a dog to adopt, the couple moved to the Bay Area. Once Nicole settled in, she found BAD RAP. She adopted a dog through Donna and Tim and became a volunteer for the group. Even after she and Steve moved to San Diego, where they still lived, Nicole continued to foster dogs for BAD RAP. She'd never been a certified dog trainer-she was a culinary school grad-but she'd spent so much time around dogs that she was very comfortable with them and quite accomplished at working with them.

It was no surprise that she had bonded quickly with many of the dogs, getting to know them, what they liked and disliked, and what they were capable of. Every night she would summarize her experiences and e-mail them to Donna Reynolds and Rebecca Huss. Huss came to rely on the updates, not only because they helped her get a sense of each dog and what would be best for it, but because they helped her stay connected to the dogs. In the fury of paperwork and legal proceedings that filled Huss's day, it was easy to forget the reason for all the effort, and Rattay's reports undercut all of that.

But Rattay was quickly growing attached to the dogs and this caused her distress. They made her cry. Every night as she drove home thinking about all she'd done that day, all she'd seen and felt, about how resilient and loving the dogs were, she was overcome with sadness. How many of them would make it? Would any? There was still no way to know.

Rose, a friendly and fun-loving white dog with a large tumor protruding from her abdomen, was the perfect example. One of Rattay's first missions upon arriving was to spend time with Rose and a.s.sess her condition. How badly was she suffering? Was she in any shape for surgery?

Rattay spent much of the first two days with Rose and the prospects were mixed at best. The dog wanted to run and play, but she could not do so for more than a minute or so. Huss decided that Rose would go to the Animal Farm Foundation, a sanctuary and rescue in d.u.c.h.ess County, New York, where she would be able to convalesce in very comfortable surroundings while getting almost around-the-clock care.

Animal Farm had taken one of the foster dogs that had already been released into temporary care, and now Bernice Clifford, the foundation's head trainer, would drive down to get Rose. Rose's injury had begun to ooze, so upon arrival she and Rattay went to a Walmart and bought a few blankets for her to lie on during the ride. Then they prepped Rose for the trip, giving her food and water and walking her in the small yard. As always, Rose was thrilled to get out, and she burst through the kennel door, tail wagging. She ran a bit, chased a tennis ball, then lay down, unable to continue. There were no complaints, though; she sat wagging, happy to be there.

Rattay and Clifford led her to the car, and Rose popped her front legs into the seat but couldn't get her backside up, so the two women helped. At slightly after 3:00 P.M., in a light rain, Clifford pulled the car out of the lot and set off on the eight- to nine-hour ride up the coast.

As they drove, Rose seemed to want nothing: no food, no water, no stops. Clifford figured the best thing she could do was get Rose home as quickly as possible. At one point Clifford felt a stirring. Rose had raised herself up and was climbing into the front seat. With a little help, the dog pulled herself up and settled in next to Clifford. Her tail wagged and she nudged Clifford's elbow and hand with her nose. All Rose wanted was to be closer and to get a little affection.

She was happier in the front seat and the spot had advantages beyond companionship. Clifford stopped at a drive-through Dunkin' Donuts, bought a coffee, and put it in the drink holder between the seats. As she drove, Rose leaned over and drank from the cup, an impish look on her face.

They arrived around midnight and, despite the caffeine intake, both promptly went to sleep. In the morning the entire staff a.s.sembled to meet Rose, and they showered her with attention. She was being kept in a facility with a houselike setup that was warm and comfortable, its large windows looking out on the surrounding countryside. In the middle of the morning, the staff veterinarian gave her the most thorough checkup she'd had yet. Afterward Rose settled into a sunny spot that arched across the floor. She was wrapped in a soft blanket, and there she slept like she'd probably never slept before.

While she snoozed, the vet relayed her findings. She couldn't say for sure what was causing the bulge in Rose's abdomen, but it was clear that Rose's condition had advanced to the point where it was no longer operable and, despite her disposition, Rose was suffering. The vet recommended that she be put down as soon as possible.

A call went out to Rebecca Huss. Huss processed the paperwork through the court, and by late that afternoon Animal Farm had received permission to end Rose's misery. Clifford was devastated, but she took solace in one fact: Rose had spent her last day out of a kennel, without a lick of chain link in her line of sight, and surrounded by people who cared for her.

Afterward, the vet performed a necropsy on Rose. She discovered that the dog did not have a tumor but something more troubling. The muscles that formed a wall around her abdomen, the vet explained, had torn and her uterus had pushed into the parting and become lodged there. There was no way to know for certain what caused the tear, but if the vet had to guess she would say it was a human foot.

Someone, somewhere along the line, had kicked Rose in the belly and her insides had been slowly spilling out ever since. It was possible that she had left Vick's place that way-in the mayhem and confusion of the first days no one had done much to doc.u.ment the condition of the dogs-but it seemed just as likely the injury happened afterward. In effect, Rose was killed after she'd been saved.

Nicole Rattay had cried extra hard the night she heard about Rose, but that was more than a week ago. Tonight, she was sobbing in the car with particular fury for a different reason. Michael Vick had been in the news that day. Vick had turned himself in at the county jail so he could get a head start on his upcoming sentence. Later, the Atlanta-Journal Const.i.tution Atlanta-Journal Const.i.tution would report that Vick had woken up that morning and bought a $99,000 Mercedes, cashed $24,900 in checks, gave away another $44,000, and paid $23,000 to a PR firm before showing up at the prison. Rattay did not yet know all that but she was still upset. would report that Vick had woken up that morning and bought a $99,000 Mercedes, cashed $24,900 in checks, gave away another $44,000, and paid $23,000 to a PR firm before showing up at the prison. Rattay did not yet know all that but she was still upset.

For starters, Vick had still not paid the $928,000 for the care of the dogs. So far Rattay had been paying her own way in southern Virginia-just as Donna Reynolds had maxed out her personal credit cards to rent the RV-in hope that she would someday be reimbursed. More than the money though, Vick's actions were clearly a calculated look to the future. He was starting his sentence early so he could get out as soon as possible and start playing football again. The idea that Vick had a future, that Vick still had potential, cut against everything that Rattay felt was happening with the dogs. Their future was still uncertain. They could all end up like Rose. He had some prison time coming, but beyond that a life with expensive cars, pro athletics, and grateful friends and family awaited.

Nicole Rattay thought about that as she drove her little dark blue rental car across the tidelands and cried.

24.

THE LITTLE BROWN DOG yawns in the early-morning light. She has more s.p.a.ce, a soft bed, a blanket, some toys. She even has a name. She is no longer Suss.e.x 2602. She is Sweet Jasmine, and when the people come around every day they whisper it to her. yawns in the early-morning light. She has more s.p.a.ce, a soft bed, a blanket, some toys. She even has a name. She is no longer Suss.e.x 2602. She is Sweet Jasmine, and when the people come around every day they whisper it to her.

The sound of the trickling water is far better than the echoic barking of the previous shelter, and the heat that emerges from the soft floor feels superior to the cold, wet concrete of days gone by. But still Sweet Jasmine struggles. She cowers in a corner of her kennel. She doesn't play with the toys. She doesn't want to be touched by the softly speaking people. When it is time to leave the kennel, she refuses to get up and walk. Someone has to carry her outside.

She likes it better outside. She can relax a little bit. If everyone backs away and leaves her alone, she can stand, crouched and twitchy, and work her way along the fence, sniffing the air, picking up the scents of the other dogs, watching the birds flit in the trees. She can relieve herself. The rash on her skin that had developed where she used to lie in her own urine is starting to clear up.

She also likes the man who carries her out every day. He moves slowly and has a deep, soothing voice. He spends time with her, sitting in her pen talking. He doesn't try to pet her much, he doesn't ask her to do things. He just sits, and he is so relaxed and comfortable that it makes her feel that way, too, at least a little. The words tumble from his mouth, deep and steady and slow, more rea.s.suring than the trickling waterfall in the background.

She has been at this new place for several days, and although the life here is better, the adjustment, the move itself, has so unsettled Sweet Jasmine that she can't even eat. Every day her bowl sits there untouched. This morning the man comes again, as he has every day, and sits in the opposite corner. Unmoving, steady, his voice rumbling with soft noise. Sweet Jasmine begins to relax.

He takes a small brown ball from a plastic bag. He reaches across slowly and holds it up to her nose. She inhales its sweet, meaty aroma. She wants to eat it but hesitates. She pulls back and looks at the man, her head c.o.c.ked, her bent ear asking, eternally asking, Is this okay? He nods, he speaks again, the soft wind of his voice filling the s.p.a.ce. Jasmine sniffs some more. She waits. Time ticks by. The man holds the object out, steady as the sunlight. She licks her snout. She stretches her neck. She opens her mouth and takes the meatball from his hand.

Jasmine was eating-a breakthrough. Her ability to continue on had come into question, and without some sign that she was improving, a discussion of her end may have soon followed. Now, there was something to build on.

Janet Rosen, the vet, had taken an interest in Jasmine, too. She realized that Jasmine simply could not deal with external stimulus. To ease the dog's anxieties, she used a rope and a blanket to construct a small tent in Jasmine's kennel, allowing the dog to hunker down underneath and block out the things that troubled her. This helped Jasmine even more.

In fact, things were improving up and down the row of kennels. The dogs and staff had fallen into a comfortable routine that brought stability and increased happiness for all. The attendants would arrive around 7:00 A.M. and begin by washing out the kennels. This took a little longer than normal because the dogs were so outrageously happy to see them-jumping up and down in their kennels and begging for attention-that moving them in and out inevitably led to a little playtime.

Afterward came quiet time, so the dogs could relax and digest before they received their enrichment visits. Similar to what Nicole Rattay was doing with the dogs left behind in the county shelters, volunteers and attendants went into each WARL kennel and spent time with each dog. What they did in there depended on the dog, and could range from cuddling to playing to some preliminary training.

Later in the morning each dog spent time outside. After the first week, this process became simpler and less frightening for all. For the most part, they were down to one person leading one dog out on one leash. Out in the little yard, the dogs were now allowed to run freely, and some of them even learned to play fetch with the a.s.sortment of chewed-up tennis b.a.l.l.s that lay around the area. A light lunch was followed by an afternoon of medical visits and toys.

The staff was amazed at how far the dogs had come in just one week. The new charges had shaken off some of their kennel stress and already seemed much happier. The most surprising part was how much the dogs deviated from the staff's expectations: Most of them absolutely loved being with people and couldn't do enough to get attention and affection.

The staff thought about the typical life of a dog-sleeping, playing, running around outside, spending time with people. They realized that the eleven creatures in their care had never had any semblance of that life. Limited as it may have been, this was the first time these dogs were allowed to simply be dogs.

Nicole Rattay no longer cried every night. The weeks leading up to and through Thanksgiving had been more encouraging. The dogs were showing progress and so was the case. On November 20 the government had filed paperwork seeking to freeze Vick's a.s.sets until he paid up. The Department of Justice received payment the following day. No money landed in Rattay's pocket, but it at least gave hope that everyone would one day be reimbursed.

She had settled into a routine of her own, traveling each day to the two shelters and spending time with each dog. Afterward, she would drive back to the tiny apartment, nuke a frozen dinner, cook up some chicken livers and turkey meatb.a.l.l.s as treats to bring the dogs, grab a few minutes on the phone with her husband, and then write up her notes. By the time all that was done, she was drifting off to sleep. Early the next morning she'd get up and do it all over again. It was dark when she left in the morning and dark when she got home at night.

It was an exhausting schedule, both physically and emotionally, but the dogs provided the motivation. She could now look at each one and see how they all were progressing. Little Red Hair was a nervous dog with a crosshatch of scars running down her snout and filed-down teeth that led some to theorize that she had been used as a bait dog-essentially a sparring partner for the more skilled and aggressive fighters.

When Rattay visited the shelter where Little Red lived, she wrote this: "Was unwilling to be coaxed up front, but while I was talking to Curly in the next kennel, she would come up and look at me. As soon as I talked to her she skittered to the back of her run." On Rattay's first day on the job, Little Red was curious but far too scared to even take the treats Rattay was offering.

But on the third day there was already a change: 11/9 Little Red Hair-She was mostly hiding in the back of the kennel, but would come to the front to retrieve treats left for her.

The first real breakthrough came on the fourth day: 11/10 Little Red Hair-She was locked in the small front portion of her kennel when I arrived. She initially took chicken from the floor where I dropped it and eventually took it from my hand. She walked out of the kennel and to the outside run. When she left her kennel and walked down the corridor, she ignored the other dogs. Once outside, she would approach me for treats, but would not let me touch her. Over time she started just hanging around me and standing near me for treats. At this point she was letting me touch her head and scratch her ears a little bit. I was sitting cross-legged on the ground and finally she walked behind me and laid down touching my back. I twisted around so that I could stroke her, which she let me do. After a little bit, she stood up and stood next to me, leaning on me a little and letting me rub her. She walked back to her kennel.

By the start of December, the dog seemed downright confident.

12/1 Little Red Hair-pushed to get out of her kennel when I opened the door to retrieve her old Kong. She has never done that before so I took her out. We spent time in the offices, learning to be comfortable inside. She did well inside, she seemed nicely confident and wagged her tail occasionally. We went to the outside run. She did small zoomies today, another first. I kneeled down and she leaned into my lap while I was petting her.

And as much as that trend continues, one of the final entries for Little Red shows that it's not always a straight upward climb, as even after all of Rattay's work and all of the dog's progress, she's suddenly unwilling to trust.

12/3 Little Red Hair-pushed to get out of her kennel again today. She is getting more confident about going outside. I kneeled down and she leaned into my lap while I was petting her. She also followed me around the run and greeted a kennel worker who came outside. Later when I sat in her kennel, she would not come over to me.

This is what drove Rattay on. She knew that there was hope for these dogs, that they could recover and live good lives. It would not be easy, and would require time and patience, but it was possible. She prayed that enough other people out there would see it the same way, that enough rescue groups would ignore the dire warnings and faulty press characterizations and give the dogs a chance.

The deadline for rescue organizations to apply had pa.s.sed. Rattay, like others, had feared that even willing organizations would be unable to meet the rigorous government requirements, which included indemnifying the United States against any future liability, having an insurance policy with at least $1 million of liability coverage, and a proven ability to care for dogs of this nature.

But a reasonable and qualified group of candidates had emerged, and Best Friends, a state-of-the-art sanctuary located on a thirty-three-thousand-acre ranch in Utah had offered to take a number of the dogs, although exactly how many was still uncertain.

In early December, Rattay drove up to WARL, where representatives from Best Friends and a small rescue in Baltimore called Recycled Love were visiting. Rebecca Huss was in town too, giving her and Nicole a chance to catch up face-to-face. Watching as the rescuers interacted with the dogs, they were both struck by one thing. Upon seeing Jasmine cowering under the blanket tent, one woman from Recycled Love entered the kennel and approached the dog. She slid under the blanket and began ma.s.saging the dog, comforting her. Later Rattay took the woman aside for a talk. Her name was Catalina Stirling and Rattay wanted to make sure she knew how desperate a case Jasmine was and how long or ultimately fruitless the road to recovery might be.

Rattay was moved by Stirling's steadfast and unblinking response. She knew. She knew it would be long and hard, but she had done it before and looked forward to doing it again. It would take time, but she had time to offer. Huss, who had figured Jasmine a perfect candidate for Best Friends but was working very hard to find the best situation for each dog, took note.

25.

REBECCA HUSS HAD BEEN working nonstop for nearly two straight months, eight weeks of stress and anxiety. She had been to Virginia twice, and on each trip she'd made the rounds to every shelter to see every dog. She'd also created the application for rescue groups and when groups signed up to take the dogs, she'd checked all their references, doing research on each. She had long conversations with the princ.i.p.als, probing their backgrounds and figuring out exactly how many dogs they could take on and if they had the capacity to deal with special-needs cases. working nonstop for nearly two straight months, eight weeks of stress and anxiety. She had been to Virginia twice, and on each trip she'd made the rounds to every shelter to see every dog. She'd also created the application for rescue groups and when groups signed up to take the dogs, she'd checked all their references, doing research on each. She had long conversations with the princ.i.p.als, probing their backgrounds and figuring out exactly how many dogs they could take on and if they had the capacity to deal with special-needs cases.

She also consulted with the USDA about the final measures of the agreement each group would have to sign. She'd spent hours on the phone with experts learning about the needs of pit bulls in general and about dogs with the sort of checkered background these particular ones had. She pushed for regulations that would a.s.sure the best care for the dogs and safeguard the public against any mishaps.

She persuaded the USDA to soften the requirement that each group must have been in existence for at least three years, as long as the people running the group had spent at least that much time doing rescue work. She also convinced the agriculture department to relax the nondisclosure clause from a lifetime gag order to one that would last only as long as the case was still open.

Throughout she cross-referenced what she learned about each rescue group with what she knew about each dog. Which ones would match up the best?

Finally, in early December, she sat down and wrote it all out. After the two dogs that had been euthanized, one because it was violent and Rose because of her illness, there were forty-seven left. Two months had pa.s.sed since the initial evaluations, enough time for some of the dogs to have changed, and Huss now had feedback from Rattay's and WARL's extended work with the dogs, so she tweaked the original recommendations: Eighteen were deemed Sanctuary 1; seven Sanctuary 2; twenty-two Foster; and none were suggested for Law Enforcement.

Of the twenty-five sanctuary dogs, twenty-one of them were ticketed for Best Friends. Two would go to Recycled Love in Baltimore and one would go to BAD RAP. Of the twenty-two foster dogs, the nine that had gone to BAD RAP would stay there, as would the three that had already been placed with SPCA for Monterey. Four would go to the Richmond Animal League, two to the Georgia SPCA, one to Recycled Love, one to the Animal Rescue of Tidewater, one to Best Friends, and one to Our Pack.

She recommended that groups that took a foster dog receive $5,000 per dog, and groups with sanctuary dogs get $20,000 per dog, all of that money coming from the funds supplied by Vick. Whether that was enough money or too much would depend on how long the dog lived and what sort of care it needed over the course of its life, but everyone involved agreed to the amounts and the money was put in escrow accounts, where it would sit until needed.

The doc.u.ment was submitted to the court on December 4. She waited. Everyone waited. Two days later the motion was approved.

Every one of the remaining forty-seven dogs would get a chance. They would go to places where the mission of the people around them would be to help them recover and rehabilitate, teaching them that despite their previous experiences, the world was not such a bad place.

When Donna Reynolds and Tim Racer got the call, they screamed and danced in their kitchen. They had been working for a moment like this for years. Now they had to make sure the dogs lived up to their part of the deal. If they did, it would be a chance to tell the other side of the pit bull story, the side no one wanted to hear before. But first, Tim Racer had something else to do. He got on the phone with his travel agency and then started packing a bag.

The circus had returned to Richmond. It was December 10 and once again there were people with signs and homemade T-shirts lining the streets around the federal courthouse. Some were Michael Vick supporters, waving posters that said KEEP THE FAITH, but many more were animal lovers and citizens deeply offended by Michael Vick's actions.

Nicole Rattay arrived early, before daylight, and took her place in the line that was already beginning to form. She was sure that just as they had during the summer, courthouse officials would shunt overflow onlookers into auxiliary rooms where they could watch the proceedings on closed-circuit TV. Rattay wanted to make sure she got a seat in the courtroom.

Tim Racer had planned to meet Rattay in the early morning but his flight was delayed and he ended up in one of the overflow rooms. Rattay, however, made it into the courtroom. Many of the seats were taken up by Vick's friends and family, and as Rattay entered, Vick's brother, Marcus, had his arm around their mother, comforting her as she wept. Looking around she saw Jim Knorr and Bill Brinkman. She also saw Gerald Poindexter.

In September, five months after the original raid, Poindexter had in fact brought state charges against the members of Bad Newz Kennels, slapping each of them with two counts of animal cruelty. The trial was scheduled to take place in spring. Vick faced another five years on those charges, but before he even thought about that he had to get through today's federal sentencing.

It would not be easy. The plea deal Vick signed called for a prison term between twelve and eighteen months. Vick's lawyers were asking for the lower end of that, citing Vick's public apology, his partic.i.p.ation in an animal cruelty sensitivity cla.s.s, and his otherwise clean record despite having grown up in a crime-ridden neighborhood.

In the previous weeks two of Vick's co-conspirators had gone before the judge, and the results were not comforting for the Vick team. On November 30 Purnell Peace got an eighteen-month sentence and Quanis Phillips, Vick's childhood friend, got twenty-one months. As the symbolic if not actual leader of the group, Vick was in a worse position than either of them.

Plus, Vick had other problems. In the two months since pleading guilty he had failed a drug test, testing positive for marijuana, which was a violation of his plea agreement. Afterward, Vick claimed he had smoked to deal with emotional pain after his father had given several critical interviews in the media.

About the same time, in interviews with federal agents, Vick had also failed a polygraph, contradicting his original confession. He had maintained from the start that he'd never had a hand in killing any of the dogs, but when he maintained those claims in these latest inquests the lie detector had called him out. He was forced to backtrack and admit that he had partic.i.p.ated, with his own two hands, in eliminating poor-performing fighters.

If all that was weighing on Vick, it wasn't obvious as he entered the courtroom. Wearing the black-and-white-striped prison garb he'd been issued when he turned himself in, Vick smiled and spoke with people in the room. Once the hearing began, he stood between his two attorneys, listening intently as the proceeding advanced and when given a chance to speak he offered another apology. He said that he'd used "poor judgment" and added, "I'm willing to deal with the consequences and accept responsibility for my actions."

Judge Hudson was not impressed. "I'm not convinced you've fully accepted responsibility," he said. Hudson explained that the failed drug test and lying in his original testimony undercut his claims of remorse and his pleas for leniency. "You were instrumental in promoting, funding and facilitating this cruel and inhumane sporting activity."

The judge continued: "You need to apologize to the millions of young people who looked up to you."

"Yes, sir," Vick answered.

Then Hudson handed down the sentence-twenty-three months. The harshest term of the bunch. On the same day, the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution estimated that Vick had incurred about $142 million in monetary losses. Taken together, the jail time and the financial loss represented a tremendous fall for an athlete who had once been viewed as a crossover star and the future of his sport. estimated that Vick had incurred about $142 million in monetary losses. Taken together, the jail time and the financial loss represented a tremendous fall for an athlete who had once been viewed as a crossover star and the future of his sport.

A week later, Tony Taylor, the former Bad Newz member who had provided key evidence to the prosecution, received a two-month sentence. Not everyone was happy. Some felt Vick was punished too severely, some thought the sentence not nearly harsh enough. Mike Gill and Jim Knorr and Bill Brinkman were satisfied.

The result of all their efforts led to the biggest dogfighting conviction ever, one that set new precedents. It was the first time that dogs in a fight bust were looked at not as weapons, as the equivalent of a gun in a shooting, but as victims. It was also the first time that they were looked at individually, instead of being considered as a group. The bad guys were going to jail; the dogs were getting another chance.

Brinkman had been a key figure in the outcome, from his role in the original raid, to his recruitment of the federal government, to his chasing down of a wide range of leads and linking many disparate strains of evidence together. Now, with the work behind him and the verdict in hand, Brinkman received an odd reward. Two weeks after the Vick sentencing, Brinkman was let go by the Surry County Sheriff's Department, which he said told him only that it "was going in a different direction."

Surry County Sheriff Harold Brown told one reporter that Brinkman's part in the Vick investigation had been a factor in his dismissal, although Poindexter later denied that was true. Still, it was hard not to think about what Brinkman had said the first day he stepped on Vick's property: "This investigation is probably going to get me fired."

Brinkman took a philosophical att.i.tude about the way things turned out, trying to keep sight of the greater good. Since the case ended, a few people had left injured dogs in his yard. His truck had started acting up, and when he took it in to be serviced, the mechanic told him the brakes had been tampered with. He had married recently, and he was beginning to feel unsafe in Surry County. It was a good time to get out. Still, he said, knowing how everything turned out, he would do it all again.