Shelter life, without the bite

The peacock peers down at the alligator; with her calm, canny eyes and headdress of blue feathers, she looks like a flapper waiting for some young man to bring her a highball. The sun is shining, the wall behind her is green and alive with vines, a misty cool breeze blows by, and if the dogs are barking, well, let them. This may not be the Riviera, honey, but it’s as close as you’re going to get if you’re a peacock.

Or an alligator. Or a pit bull. Or a golden retriever, a Siamese cat, a brindle rabbit, a guinea pig, a potbellied pig, a German shepherd, a falcon, a parakeet or a gaggle of Chihuahuas.

This is the Pasadena Humane Society, and if Grove developer Rick Caruso did animal shelters, they would look something like this. Fountains, check; overhead misters, check; ferns and flowering plants, check; inviting walkways, shady benches and plenty of window shopping, check, check, check.

The only thing missing is the cappuccino cart.

“Rescue shelter” isn’t a typical category on anyone’s hip, hot, happening list. Even in L.A., where people have been known to build entire careers on good the -- as in, the bar, the private school, the handbag, the cosmetic surgery procedure -- animal shelters are more often considered noisy, noisome places one visits to procure a pet if one wishes to do a good deed than an “in” spot to hang.

But the Pasadena Humane Society is the local animal shelter; ask five Angelenos who have adopted pets where they got them, and it seems as if three will say Pasadena. Last year, more than 1,500 dogs and almost 1,200 cats were adopted through the organization, which provides rescue services for seven cities, including the recent addition of Glendale.

People come from all over L.A. County to adopt pets in Pasadena, from all over the world to visit what is inevitably referred to as the Ritz of animal shelters. A film crew from Taiwan recently wrapped up filming a documentary here that it hopes will show the folks at home what a humane society really looks like.

Not that many shelters look like this. The original building, designed by Robert Ainsworth, was declared a Pasadena cultural heritage landmark in 1984. With its terra cotta roof and Mediterranean arches, it seems more like a villa resort than a place equipped to rescue and house animals from cats and dogs to cows and deer.

Crepe myrtle trees bloom in the courtyard; jasmine and oleanders push through the gates of the kennels. These are part of the 1994 remodel that created circuitous walkways, “friendship” gardens in which old and new pets get acquainted, aviaries that would be the envy of most zoos and “drop roofs” -- the kennel equivalent of a convertible.

So it isn’t that surprising that people come here just to hang out. “We have a lot of people who stop by even though they aren’t going adopt,” says Sally Law, who has volunteered here for 10 years. They come to talk to the dogs or pet the bunnies, maybe to eat lunch on a bench and watch all the rescued parakeets flutter around their cage in a piping, pastel haze.

“That’s how I wound up with two dogs. And a job,” says Ricky Whitman, who has been director of public relations for five years now. She’s been busy this year promoting the organization’s centenary. The society began at a meeting in the First Methodist Church as the Pasadena Humane Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and Dumb Animals.

Until the 1930s, the society rescued abandoned and abused children as well as animals, and the animals it dealt with, at least in its first few decades, were more often work animals than pets.

Since then, a lot has changed. We don’t refer to them as “dumb animals” anymore, and as the region has diversified and stratified, so have people’s relationships to pets. There are still many feral cats haunting parks and alleyways, and dog packs roam downtown Los Angeles, but not 20 miles away is Hollywood Hounds, which provides, among other things, dog day care, dog couture and “specialized parties,” which include canine bar and bat mitzvahs.

Here in a metropolitan area so close to new that coyotes and raccoons crisscross suburban backyards and the foothill communities have their own bear patrols, we take our animals seriously -- pets of every sort rule backyards and apartments, and our trees are full of parrots on the lam.

Human nature being what it is, this, alas, makes for an odd mix of strays and high-end pampering providers. A city’s treatment of animals often reflects its disparate treatment of humans -- a matted chow attempting to cross the Harbor Freeway could easily have a more fortunate doppelganger frolicking in the bone-shaped pool of Canyon View Training Ranch for Dogs in Topanga Canyon. The gap between rich and poor, in other words, is not confined to the human species.

Straddling both worlds is the Pasadena Humane Society. Elegant enough for a white Persian voiced by Nathan Lane, accessible enough for overburdened mothers looking for an “outdoor dog.”

“Most people find a trip to an animal shelter depressing,” says Whitman. “We want people to come in even if they aren’t looking for a pet. We were able to take advantage of the climate; the animals can be outdoors most days, and we could plant flowering shrubs, sweet-smelling plants. It is a pleasant place to wander.”

A trip to most humane societies inevitably results in guilt -- even if you adopt a pet, your heart is wrung by all those you left behind.

Those leaving the Pasadena Humane Society with a pet may feel guilt as well -- over the fact that they are taking an animal from this fabulous place to their boring old house. Where there may be three squares a day and plenty of love, but no drop roofs, no overhead misters and certainly no peacocks.