Two weeks ago the Times reported on our dog-centric city’s four-legged citizens. And how snooty co- ops resent these even snootier residents who yap, growl, nip and poop around those who have less breeding than they do. Writer Bob Morris included the name and photo of a trainer.
I’ve sobbed over that trainer. I ended up in the fetal position after my gorgeous, beloved, 3-years-and-11-month-old Yorkie died while in that trainer’s care. August 17, 2003, she handed me Jazzy’s cold blood-caked body.
MY story: My mother and husband passed away within three months of one another. I was all alone. Jazzy then came into my life and became my only family.
One lone weekend my housekeeper Nazalene, who loved him since Day 1, and I both needed to be away. Our first and only time. Never before and never again. So we sent him to this trainer’s upstate camp. He knew her. He’d socialized in her city daycare.
Saturday I called to check on him. This trainer said only, he’s “fine.” Sunday, homecoming day, she told me, “Jazzy’s sick. Very sick. He’s very sick.” Then, “Very very sick. Pray.”
Pray?! Very very sick? The day before he was “fine.” When did he become even a little sick? What the hell happened? His vet had just pronounced him “beautifully healthy.”
She said: “He’s expelling projectile blood. Blood is pouring out of him everywhere.”
I said: “I’m driving right up.”
“No. Don’t. We’re on the highway. I’m giving him intravenous in the car.”
“Car? Isn’t he at the vet?”
“No vet around here.”
No vet on duty near an animal preserve? “We’re heading to the Animal Medical Center in New York.”
“That’s 2½ hours away! You’re in Albany!”
“He’s bleeding from both ends. He’s dying!”
Gone from very very sick to dying, and she’s driving from upstate into Manhattan?!
The story gets worse.
We were both on the road. She then told me: “He’s dead.”
My vet’s hospital took dead bloody Jazzy. It was nighttime. Quiet hours. An empty waiting room in an animal facility. Sterile. Antiseptic. Unwelcoming. He was cold. Stiff. Dead. Two technicians received us. It. Him. Nobody said anything. What was there to say? He was wrapped in white blankets soaked through with blood.
I madly loved this ball of fur. Icy calm, I then went out into the rainy night and drove this trainer back to my home. In the presence of my breeder, lawyer and staff, I fed her and her assistant. We asked what happened. Begged details. She appeared unable to tell us.
NOW, eight years later, this trainer, written about as caring for your beloved dogs, has yet to write a note. Yet to send a flower. Yet to make a phone call to express sympathy. Yet to inquire through friends how I’m doing with Jazzy Jr. and his sister, Juicy. Yet to offer Word 1 to attempt to ease my pain. She said nothing. That night, sitting in my home, eating my food, surrounded by my people, having just deposited my inert 5-pound Yorkshire Terrier, she never once shared her sorrow. Not once! Not even after I reported this in my book “Living a Dog’s Life: Jazzy, Juicy and Me” did I hear from her belatedly.
LEST anyone dare challenge one iota of this story, I hereby state the names to confirm it: The vet who received my bloody dead dog is Dr. Lewis Berman‘s Park East Animal Hospital. My breeder, Paula Segnatelli of Woodbury, Conn.’s Barnhill Kennels, phoning for hours as I drove to reach my adored dog while I thought he was alive. My lawyer, Barry Slotnick, and his wife, Donna, who rushed to my side that night. Howard Safir, whose investigative team I then hired. Joan Rivers, whose own displeasure stopped her from continuing with this trainer. Nazalene Persaud, who’s been with me 14 years. Reggie Ramkissoon, my driver of 30 years.
I have since instituted NYC’s Jazzy’s Law, which now polices kennels.
THERE exist other issues with this trainer. I have in my hands a judgment (index number 10/1584 and 10/402760) — employees suing for unpaid wages — dated Oct. 10, 2010, Supreme Court of the State of New York, County of Greene. Plaintiff, Commissioner of Labor of the State of New York. Defendant? Pat McGregor and Vancouver Dog Training Inc. of West End Avenue and Catskill, NY. For violation of Section(s) 191, 193, 652, 661, she owes $55,024.20 plus $15,188.02 interest plus civil penalty of $112,548.40 pursuant to Section(s)218.1, 219.1 of the Labor Law. Total? $182,760.62.
MY driver, Reggie, bumping into her awhile back, said: “You never even called.” She replied: “I didn’t know what to say.”
I had no knowledge Vancouver Dog Training’s Pat McGregor was still in business until the article two weeks ago. I print this only for the benefit of those with pets they love.