QueenScoopalot
03-19-2005, 07:28 PM
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, 03/13/05
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/northfulton/0305/13vet.html
Forensics: Veterinarian blazes medical trail
Fulton County vet plays crime detective in cases of animal abuse
The kitten was 8 weeks old, and already it had been to hell and back. There
was blood in its lungs, and one side of its head was smashed.
The young couple that brought the little white Persian to the veterinarian
said it was hurt in a fall from a countertop.
No way, Dr. Melinda Merck said to herself.
First of all, cats are nimble and usually land on all fours. But even if it
had fallen, a 2-pound kitten would not generate enough force to cause such
severe injuries.
As she examined the cat, Merck ruled out the possibility of a car having hit
it because it had no abrasions. As soon as the couple left, she called animal
control.
An officer went to interview the couple, and the young man finally admitted
he'd slammed the kitten into a wall.
That was Merck's first experience in medical sleuthing, back in 1990. Fifteen
years later, she's a leading authority in the emerging field of animal
forensics.
Fulton and Cobb counties bring her in regularly to help investigate and treat
abused and neglected animals. She got the call last month when 205 cats were
found inside a house in Alpharetta. All but 26 were dead.
Merck could not have handled a case of that magnitude a decade ago. Back then,
she was teaching herself animal forensics because nobody else was doing it. It
was like fishing off the end of the world.
In those days, even the worst cases of animal abuse could be prosecuted only
as a misdemeanor in Georgia and most other states. As a result, many
prosecutors were uninterested.
Claudine Wilkins, a former Cobb County prosecutor now in private practice,
recalls the time she was visiting a judge in his chambers to discuss an animal
abuse case when he told her: "If I can't sit on it or eat it, an animal is
useless to me."
"That's the mentality we're dealing with," said Wilkins, who does legal
advocacy work for abused animals.
Then, in 2000, the Georgia Legislature passed the state Animal Protection Act,
which turned the worst cases of abuse into felonies. That changed things.
A nonprofit called Georgia Legal Professionals for Animals was formed, mainly
by volunteer lawyers and paralegals willing to help prosecute animal abusers.
They were badly needed because felony convictions are harder to win. They
require proof of abuse that was "knowingly and maliciously" com- mitted.
"To reach that higher standard, you need good science," said Randy Lockwood,
vice president of the Humane Society of the United States and an animal
forensics expert. "Dr. Merck and a couple of other people are on the cutting
edge of trying to move that field along."
It's been a slow process, but animal forensics has advanced significantly
since Merck got started. She had to learn by hanging out with crime scene
investigators (CSIs) at human crime scenes and with coroners during autopsies.
With virtually no animal forensics or legal help back then, it was open season
on animal abuse. When cases were so horrific that charges were filed, Merck
said, "It was just he said/she said."
Now, with forensic specialists involved, it's he said/she presents the
evidence. One reason animal forensics remains in its infancy is that
veterinary schools don't teach it. Merck and Dr. Paige Carmichael, a
pathologist at the University of Georgia Veterinary School, have put together
a proposal to teach a course as an elective at UGA. It would be the first in
the nation.
A growth industry
What has been growing much faster than animal forensics is animal law.
"Eight years ago, when I got out of law school, there weren't any animal
lawyers," Wilkins said. "Now they're all over the place."
A big reason is that more than 20 law schools have courses in animal law,
including Harvard, Lockwood said.
Wilkins predicted that animal forensics will have a similar growth spiral when
vet schools start teaching the course. What the students will learn is that
there are similarities between human and animal forensics. The study of bullet
trajectories and stab wound angles are similar in both, for example.
And there are major differences. Animals have completely different blood types
than humans, and they don't bruise externally like humans do because their
skin is built for life in the wild and for fighting. The biggest difference is
that there's only one human species compared with countless animal species. As
the species change, so do the forensics.
That's fine with Merck.
"I like challenges," she said. "I like puzzles."
She also likes animals, of course, and is not shy about it. The bumper sticker
on the back of her Lexus says "I (heart) cats" and her cellphone ring is the
theme from "The Pink Panther."
Animals, Merck said, "don't give you grief, they return affection, and they
listen well." She gives the love right back by helping the authorities make
cases against people who intentionally hurt animals. She just might be a dog's
best friend.
When she was growing up in Lubbock, Texas, Merck would bring home injured cats
and birds, "much to my parents' dismay."
Now she's a veteran of the animal abuse wars who recalls horrible cases in a
detached clinical monotone, as if she were dictating the list of wounds to a
tape recorder. But suddenly she'll pause in midsentence and become teary-eyed.
She'll turn away reflexively, reach into her purse for a Marlboro Ultra Light,
and fire it up. Then she'll turn back and calmly resume the monotone.
"We deal with very sad cases, very nasty things done by very violent people,"
Lockwood said. "Melinda offers a good blend of the heart and the head. She
gets emotionally involved in the issues but doesn't let that disable her."
Abuse breeds abuse
Since she started working in forensics, Merck has come across animals that had
been shot, beaten, burned, skinned, stabbed and sexually assaulted. What
possesses someone to do that sort of work?
The obvious reason is not the initial one that people like Merck and Lockwood
cite. Yes, they care about animals, but first, they say, they care about
humans.
Study after study has shown that people who abuse animals are much more likely
to later abuse humans. The connection between animal cruelty and child abuse
is especially clear-cut.
"One out of every five cases of animal abuse typically had a domestic abuse or
child abuse case attached to it," said Wilkins, the former Cobb prosecutor.
"Whenever we got a case of animal abuse we asked if there were small children
in the home. If there were, [the Department of Family and Children's Services]
was called in."
Children and pets can't defend themselves, so they're easy marks for abusers,
the wide majority of whom are males. They often hurt a pet to control their
wife or female partner, experts say. A study at a shelter for battered women
in Utah found that more than 70 percent of their partners had threatened, hurt
or killed a family pet.
Serial murderers typically start out as animal abusers, studies have found.
From the Boston Strangler to Jeffrey Dahmer and many of the big-time killers
in between, early animal abuse was a common thread.
The house of dead cats
When Merck was summoned to the house in Alpharetta with 179 dead cats, she
took note of the investigative team on the scene. There were police
investigators, animal control officers, a county prosecutor and police
officers to secure the site.
"It was just like a regular crime scene," Merck said. "It was like 'CSI' and
'Law & Order' and 'Third Watch' all in one. Everyone who should have been
there was there."
To Merck, that spoke volumes about how far the movement to protect animals has
come.
Animal hoarding, as the Alpharetta situation is called, is different from
traditional abuse cases. The devastation comes from neglect instead of
violence. And whereas animal cruelty is almost always done by males, hoarding
is usually done by females. In the Alpharetta case, homeowner Lauri Lockwood,
45, has been charged with aggravated cruelty to animals - a felony punishable
by up to five years in prison and $15,000 in fines. Other charges are possible
after evidence is presented to the grand jury.
Hoarding has become "extremely common," said the Humane Society's Lockwood (no
relation to the suspect). "We see 5,000 to 7,000 new cases each year." The
worst he's seen had more than 1,000 animals at one residence.
Lockwood said he considers animal hoarding a form of mental illness. Merck
thinks it's "too complex to just say, 'They're crazy' " In any case, she does
not think neglect is less of a crime than violence.
"What's more horrific," she said, "someone who shoots a dog or someone who
starves a dog over several months?"
After she completed her CSI work in Alpharetta, Merck took the 26 surviving
cats back to her clinic. All are improving, she said.
Meanwhile, Fulton County Animal Services is busy arranging adoptions -
screening applicants, accepting letters of recommendation, even visiting
prospective homes.
"They're making people who want to adopt them jump through hoops because of
what these cats have been through," Merck said. "They want to make sure
they'll never be traumatized again."
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/northfulton/0305/13vet.html
Forensics: Veterinarian blazes medical trail
Fulton County vet plays crime detective in cases of animal abuse
The kitten was 8 weeks old, and already it had been to hell and back. There
was blood in its lungs, and one side of its head was smashed.
The young couple that brought the little white Persian to the veterinarian
said it was hurt in a fall from a countertop.
No way, Dr. Melinda Merck said to herself.
First of all, cats are nimble and usually land on all fours. But even if it
had fallen, a 2-pound kitten would not generate enough force to cause such
severe injuries.
As she examined the cat, Merck ruled out the possibility of a car having hit
it because it had no abrasions. As soon as the couple left, she called animal
control.
An officer went to interview the couple, and the young man finally admitted
he'd slammed the kitten into a wall.
That was Merck's first experience in medical sleuthing, back in 1990. Fifteen
years later, she's a leading authority in the emerging field of animal
forensics.
Fulton and Cobb counties bring her in regularly to help investigate and treat
abused and neglected animals. She got the call last month when 205 cats were
found inside a house in Alpharetta. All but 26 were dead.
Merck could not have handled a case of that magnitude a decade ago. Back then,
she was teaching herself animal forensics because nobody else was doing it. It
was like fishing off the end of the world.
In those days, even the worst cases of animal abuse could be prosecuted only
as a misdemeanor in Georgia and most other states. As a result, many
prosecutors were uninterested.
Claudine Wilkins, a former Cobb County prosecutor now in private practice,
recalls the time she was visiting a judge in his chambers to discuss an animal
abuse case when he told her: "If I can't sit on it or eat it, an animal is
useless to me."
"That's the mentality we're dealing with," said Wilkins, who does legal
advocacy work for abused animals.
Then, in 2000, the Georgia Legislature passed the state Animal Protection Act,
which turned the worst cases of abuse into felonies. That changed things.
A nonprofit called Georgia Legal Professionals for Animals was formed, mainly
by volunteer lawyers and paralegals willing to help prosecute animal abusers.
They were badly needed because felony convictions are harder to win. They
require proof of abuse that was "knowingly and maliciously" com- mitted.
"To reach that higher standard, you need good science," said Randy Lockwood,
vice president of the Humane Society of the United States and an animal
forensics expert. "Dr. Merck and a couple of other people are on the cutting
edge of trying to move that field along."
It's been a slow process, but animal forensics has advanced significantly
since Merck got started. She had to learn by hanging out with crime scene
investigators (CSIs) at human crime scenes and with coroners during autopsies.
With virtually no animal forensics or legal help back then, it was open season
on animal abuse. When cases were so horrific that charges were filed, Merck
said, "It was just he said/she said."
Now, with forensic specialists involved, it's he said/she presents the
evidence. One reason animal forensics remains in its infancy is that
veterinary schools don't teach it. Merck and Dr. Paige Carmichael, a
pathologist at the University of Georgia Veterinary School, have put together
a proposal to teach a course as an elective at UGA. It would be the first in
the nation.
A growth industry
What has been growing much faster than animal forensics is animal law.
"Eight years ago, when I got out of law school, there weren't any animal
lawyers," Wilkins said. "Now they're all over the place."
A big reason is that more than 20 law schools have courses in animal law,
including Harvard, Lockwood said.
Wilkins predicted that animal forensics will have a similar growth spiral when
vet schools start teaching the course. What the students will learn is that
there are similarities between human and animal forensics. The study of bullet
trajectories and stab wound angles are similar in both, for example.
And there are major differences. Animals have completely different blood types
than humans, and they don't bruise externally like humans do because their
skin is built for life in the wild and for fighting. The biggest difference is
that there's only one human species compared with countless animal species. As
the species change, so do the forensics.
That's fine with Merck.
"I like challenges," she said. "I like puzzles."
She also likes animals, of course, and is not shy about it. The bumper sticker
on the back of her Lexus says "I (heart) cats" and her cellphone ring is the
theme from "The Pink Panther."
Animals, Merck said, "don't give you grief, they return affection, and they
listen well." She gives the love right back by helping the authorities make
cases against people who intentionally hurt animals. She just might be a dog's
best friend.
When she was growing up in Lubbock, Texas, Merck would bring home injured cats
and birds, "much to my parents' dismay."
Now she's a veteran of the animal abuse wars who recalls horrible cases in a
detached clinical monotone, as if she were dictating the list of wounds to a
tape recorder. But suddenly she'll pause in midsentence and become teary-eyed.
She'll turn away reflexively, reach into her purse for a Marlboro Ultra Light,
and fire it up. Then she'll turn back and calmly resume the monotone.
"We deal with very sad cases, very nasty things done by very violent people,"
Lockwood said. "Melinda offers a good blend of the heart and the head. She
gets emotionally involved in the issues but doesn't let that disable her."
Abuse breeds abuse
Since she started working in forensics, Merck has come across animals that had
been shot, beaten, burned, skinned, stabbed and sexually assaulted. What
possesses someone to do that sort of work?
The obvious reason is not the initial one that people like Merck and Lockwood
cite. Yes, they care about animals, but first, they say, they care about
humans.
Study after study has shown that people who abuse animals are much more likely
to later abuse humans. The connection between animal cruelty and child abuse
is especially clear-cut.
"One out of every five cases of animal abuse typically had a domestic abuse or
child abuse case attached to it," said Wilkins, the former Cobb prosecutor.
"Whenever we got a case of animal abuse we asked if there were small children
in the home. If there were, [the Department of Family and Children's Services]
was called in."
Children and pets can't defend themselves, so they're easy marks for abusers,
the wide majority of whom are males. They often hurt a pet to control their
wife or female partner, experts say. A study at a shelter for battered women
in Utah found that more than 70 percent of their partners had threatened, hurt
or killed a family pet.
Serial murderers typically start out as animal abusers, studies have found.
From the Boston Strangler to Jeffrey Dahmer and many of the big-time killers
in between, early animal abuse was a common thread.
The house of dead cats
When Merck was summoned to the house in Alpharetta with 179 dead cats, she
took note of the investigative team on the scene. There were police
investigators, animal control officers, a county prosecutor and police
officers to secure the site.
"It was just like a regular crime scene," Merck said. "It was like 'CSI' and
'Law & Order' and 'Third Watch' all in one. Everyone who should have been
there was there."
To Merck, that spoke volumes about how far the movement to protect animals has
come.
Animal hoarding, as the Alpharetta situation is called, is different from
traditional abuse cases. The devastation comes from neglect instead of
violence. And whereas animal cruelty is almost always done by males, hoarding
is usually done by females. In the Alpharetta case, homeowner Lauri Lockwood,
45, has been charged with aggravated cruelty to animals - a felony punishable
by up to five years in prison and $15,000 in fines. Other charges are possible
after evidence is presented to the grand jury.
Hoarding has become "extremely common," said the Humane Society's Lockwood (no
relation to the suspect). "We see 5,000 to 7,000 new cases each year." The
worst he's seen had more than 1,000 animals at one residence.
Lockwood said he considers animal hoarding a form of mental illness. Merck
thinks it's "too complex to just say, 'They're crazy' " In any case, she does
not think neglect is less of a crime than violence.
"What's more horrific," she said, "someone who shoots a dog or someone who
starves a dog over several months?"
After she completed her CSI work in Alpharetta, Merck took the 26 surviving
cats back to her clinic. All are improving, she said.
Meanwhile, Fulton County Animal Services is busy arranging adoptions -
screening applicants, accepting letters of recommendation, even visiting
prospective homes.
"They're making people who want to adopt them jump through hoops because of
what these cats have been through," Merck said. "They want to make sure
they'll never be traumatized again."