When Activists Act Like Animals

Hooray to those dedicated to animal rights. I’m all for them. But here’s something else I’m for with equal fervor: people’s rights.

On Saturday in Midway City, I saw those two forces--animal rights vs. human rights--in conflict. I left the dispute feeling there had to be another way.

The issue was pretty clear to a number of animal rights activists in Orange County. They were after “Alice.” To them, she was a “buncher,” someone who collects animals to sell for improper uses. Like dogfights, or for experimentation. All of which Alice categorically denies. Furthermore, no law enforcement agency or government entity has accused of her doing anything wrong.

However, people from the Animal Abuse Prevention Agency and the Animal Assistance League, both private groups, say they have been tracking Alice--not her real name--for nearly three years. They say they discovered through follow-up calls to those who place ads that Alice answers many ads in local shoppers in which the owner offers “free pet to good home.”

Shirley Shuster of the Animal Assistance League, which finds homes for dogs and cats, said Alice has answered every ad she’s placed. But how could Alice be keeping dozens of pets, Shuster asked. She’s got a one-bedroom apartment.

These animal activists say the police and the county’s Animal Control office are no help. So Saturday, about 25 of them decided to confront Alice. They marched toward her apartment complex, carrying banners that read “Stop Stolen Pets for Profit” and “Bunchers Get Out of OC.”

Now here came Alice, walking out the security door of her complex. She thought she was about to be given four Rottweiler puppies by their owner, Gigi Byers. Unknown to Alice, Byers is head of the Animal Abuse Prevention Agency.

Right away, she knew she’d been had. These folks had some major questions for her, and they were plenty disturbed.

In no mood for an ambush, Alice started to walk away. Only someone grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“We want answers!” one of them shouted.

Alice did what many of us might have done. She took off running. Ran right out of one of her shoes. But she couldn’t outrun Byers, who grabbed Alice’s pullover top, enough to expose a bra strap.

“What are you doing with these animals?” Byers demanded.

“I give them to my friends,” Alice answered.

By now she was surrounded again. They fired more questions: What friends? Who are they? What are they doing with the animals?

Alice broke free again and ran toward the next block. But Rudy Protrudy of Tujunga, one of the animal rights supporters, overpowered her. He held Alice by her wrists until the rest could catch up.

Alice wasn’t getting away. Not till she coughed up some answers. She finally gave out a phone number. Someone in the group had a cell phone. It was a bum number.

The group tried a new tact: We’re here to help you, Alice. Just tell us that you will stop answering ads for animals.

I will stop, Alice promised.

Do you have any animals now, Alice, someone asked.

Just one, she said; a kitty named Midnight.

Byers asked Alice if she would let her have the kitten.

Alice, still surrounded, agreed. I’ll go get it, she said, spotting her chance to escape.

“A couple of us will go with you,” Byers answered.

Instead, they all went. Along with their banners.

A few, including Protrudy and Byers, went inside Alice’s apartment; the others remained on her second-floor balcony.

One young man found the kitten under a couch. The group took it. Protrudy grabbed a newspaper he found in Alice’s living room. “Look, she’s got the paper turned to the pet section,” he declared, holding it up.

While this was going on, a couple of activists were leaving fliers with all of Alice’s neighbors, accusing Alice of “suspicious” pet fraud activities for “illegal purposes.” Her apartment number and phone number were included.

As you might imagine, all this attention alerted the neighbors. One of them called the police. Two sheriff’s deputies showed up on bicycles.

“We were told that a woman was being harassed; is she all right?” one of the deputies called up to the balcony.

“She’s fine,” several answered.

This was a bit like the Trojans asking the Greeks who sent the big wooden horse, “Got anybody in there?” The officers remained on the ground.

Protrudy told me later: “Don’t say where I’m from. What we’re doing here is not exactly legal.”

No kidding.

Judy Maitlen, the county’s Animal Control director, said on Monday that if Alice is selling the animals, it is not illegal. But if she was defrauding their owners by claiming she wanted the animals for a pet, that might be a police matter, Maitlen said. But, more likely, it could probably be settled with a civil lawsuit.

Who was the wronged party on Saturday? A friend, whose opinion I respect, argued that 98 people out of 100 would take sides with the animal rights activists.

If so, count me among the 2%.

Once Alice’s right to return to her own apartment was interrupted--at least three times--something more than animal rights came into play for me. What about the next group that feels it’s just as right about its cause, and maybe it’s not? I was always taught the legal precept that your right to swing your fist stops where my nose begins. Same with holding someone against her will.

What if those deputies had arrived a little sooner, and saw the much-bigger Protrudy with his hands tightly wound around Alice’s wrists? I doubt the officers would be thinking about animal rights. And they wouldn’t just be asking: “Is she all right?”

Jerry Hicks’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Readers may reach Hicks by call-ing the Times Orange County Edition at (714) 966-7823 or by fax to (714) 966-7711, or e-mail tojerry.hicks@latimes.com