This is the first in a two-part series on a day in the life of one of Fairfax County's Animal Control officers. Part II will run Monday, Feb. 18.
The 12-hour day for Fairfax County Animal Control officers starts at the crack of dawn. At around 6:15 a.m., while the vans are warming up outside 4500 West Ox Road in Fairfax County, Admin Sergeant Eric Powell sips coffee and reads the Police Department's latest internal news and messages to five Animal Control officers.
One of them starts to talk about a hoarding case, which sometimes goes hand-in-hand with cases of animal neglect. Or what about Biscuit, someone asks, the wild Shih Tzu who's been eluding capture in the Amberleigh neighborhood of Alexandria for the last two years?
"He (Biscuit) looks like a dirty mop," said Animal Control officer Enna Lugo. "And he's so fast, but I'm worried that he's getting sick."
Animal Control officers respond to dozens of daily calls, from 6 a.m. - 12:30 a.m. Four-to-five officers generally work a shift, and each must cover roughly two police districts worth of activity. The operation is part of the Fairfax County Animal Services Division, which includes the county Animal Shelter and the county Wildlife Biologist position (all of which fall under the Fairfax County Police Department).
"There are 32 officers and we have 14 vans," said Powell. "Our average response time is 45 minutes to an hour depending on the call. And according to the numbers, we're fully staffed. Now, adequately? I would say not."
Just how busy is Fairfax County Animal Control?
2010 2011 2012 Dogs 1,258 1,316 1,195 Cats 474 344 289 Domestic other (rabbits, turtles) 114 116 256 Wildlife 844 848 859 Follow-up Visits 2,541 2,971 3,515 Total Calls for Service 12,258 13,964 13,961
The First Call - A Rabid Raccoon
Officer Lugo watched drivers speed by her Animal Control van on a recent morning as she drove south on the Fairfax County Parkway.
"No respect. People speed by because they see Animal Control on the side of the truck," she said. "I've been cursed at, yelled at and I've been pushed out of lanes. But what people don't realize is that I can punch in their information into the computer to another officer."
Lugo's first call came at around 8:30 a.m. - a report of a sick-looking raccoon hanging out under a large evergreen near a row of townhomes in the 8600 block of Beech Hollow Lane in Springfield.
Lugo, a 47-year-old single mother of two, is a native of Puerto Rico, and has been on the force for eight years. She was a Physical Education teacher for the Department of Defense Schools, and then made a career change when her family moved to Fairfax County. Like other officers, she works 11.5-hour days, 14 days a month (overtime is nearly always available).
"It's a lot of lifting, running and climbing. It's an excellent job for a 21-year-old, but when you get close to your 50s you feel it," Lugo said.
The raccoon looked deceptively harmless. It swayed drunkenly, and there was no alertness in it's eyes. But it could potentially lash out and bite a person, a dog on a leash or another animal, and most likely infect it with rabies. Lugo walked over to the evergreen with a metal trap in one hand and a long snare pole in the other.
"Yep. He looks messed up," Lugo said. "His eyes are cloudy, and he's shaking. I don't think there's much we can do with this one. I think we'll have to put him down."
Lugo deftly looped the end of the snare pole around the raccoons body, hoisted it up and dropped it in the cage. She thanked the neighbor (who waved in appreciation from a distance) and then carried the animal back to the truck.
"This is definitely my least favorite part of the job," she said.
Each Animal Control officer is certified in euthanasia, and the prescribed lethal injection is made with an overdose of sodium pentobarbital. It looks like Windex — its nickname is "the blue juice" — and the effects are immediate when properly applied.
Lugo drove to a nearby abandoned parking lot, parked and opened the van. The raccoon, while his energy was diminished from rabies, instinctively struggled, and hissed and tried to bite and claw through the cage.
Lugo took out a hypodermic needle, filled it with blue juice, and carefully stuck it in the raccoons abdomen. The effect on the animal was instantaneous. His teeth were no longer bared, his breathing slowed and he went to sleep and died within minutes. The raccoon was then put into a plastic bag - to be disposed of later at the shelter.
Part II in this series will run Monday, Feb. 18.