By Wendy Thomas Russell
PressTelegram 
Published 02/17/2007

LONG BEACH - The mural painted outside Noah's Ark Animal Rescue on Redondo Avenue depicts an inspiring tale: a happy cluster of dogs and cats being saved, two by two, and sailing the ocean in search of loving homes.

But inside, authorities say, it was as if a boat crammed full of animals had been abandoned at sea.

The darkened warehouse held some 300 dogs and cats - most of them allegedly filthy, sick and breathing in sweltering, fetid air. Two were dying. Nineteen were dead and being stored in a freezer.

Yet the rescue shelter's owner, Alexia Tiraki-Kyrklund, who has been charged with 13 counts of animal cruelty, maintained that the animals were fine. She said her primary passion in life was saving unwanted pets from euthanasia at government-run shelters, and she denied that her Redondo Avenue warehouse was anything less than a sanctuary in the making.

But Tiraki-Kyrklund's unconventional behavior has caused alarm in Los Angeles County's rescue community, where countless so-called "animal hoarders" are being born, taking refuge and - some say - even flourishing.

Animal hoarders are described as people who collect companion animals the way pack rats collect things: They take on more than they're equipped to handle, despite deteriorating conditions, and then deny that a problem exists at all.

Traditionally, animal hoarders tend to gravitate toward care-giving occupations, experts say, and animal rescue groups have become a classic cover.

"It's just an easy defense," said Dr. Gary Patronek, the nation's leading expert on the subject and a clinical assistant professor at Tuft University's Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine in Boston.

When asked about hoarding, Tiraki-Kyrklund dismisses it outright - saying she is simply a dedicated volunteer with a proven track record of placing animals into homes, something hoarders are not known for doing.

"Last year, we placed over 2,400 homeless animals in one year alone," she says. "No animal hoarder places 2,400 animals."

But Patronek and others say that some individuals involved in animal rescue feel intense pressure to turn a blind eye toward potential hoarding situations.

Rescuers and residents can count on hoarders to take in homeless animals when everyone else is running at maximum capacity. As a result, rescuers often feel they owe a debt of gratitude to hoarders and may even see them as heroes in the cause, says Marie Atake, a rescuer who also sits on the Los Angeles Animal Services Commission.

What's more, she says, the last thing rescuers want to do is send animals to their death by alerting authorities who will be forced to impound, and often euthanize, the seized dogs and cats.

"Should we report (hoarding)?" Atake asks. "If we are to report, then we have to be responsible for what happens to the animals."

But without oversight, code enforcement and self-regulation in the rescue community, experts say, the problem is left to fester and grow. Hoarders often aren't shut down until they're out of control, and then the courts are left to sort out the mess.

"It's horrible to be in that situation," says Madeline Bernstein, president of the Los Angeles Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. "It's horrible for the animals. But it's also a nightmare for the system because there is no real way to deal with it."

Up for debate

Whether Tiraki-Kyrklund is a hoarder, in the strictest sense of the word, is a matter of considerable debate.

Prosecutors have described the 39-year-old as a well-intentioned woman who took on more than she could handle. Long Beach Animal Control Lt. Michelle Quigley calls her "a criminal with hoarding tendencies."

Tiraki-Kyrklund and her supporters say neither is true. Rescuers interviewed say both are true.

Shane and Sia Barbi, celebrity model twins and founders of the Kitty Liberation Front rescue group, posted a letter on an animal Web site in October, calling Tiraki-Kyrklund "a lovely girl with wonderful intentions" who has fallen victim to a disease.

"Alex is no longer healthy enough to run a rescue," the letter said. "She first needs recovery, which I will reach out and do with her, in a fellowship way. If not, like all diseases, this will regress, even if she initially appears like a 'functional hoarder."'

Tiraki-Kyrklund says she knows some people suspect she is a hoarder but that they have misread the situation.

But Quigley says the facts suggest otherwise.

Between August 2005 and August 2006, Tiraki-Kyrklund slowly filled the warehouse she operated as Noah's Ark, at 1330 Redondo Ave., with 152 dogs and 147 cats - far more than her business license allowed.

According to city officials, she was licensed to run a retail pet store and dog grooming service but was prohibited from kenneling animals.

Tiraki-Kyrklund claimed to be providing excellent care to all the dogs and cats, including many special-needs pets, but hundreds of the animals were displaying obvious signs of illness and neglect, says Quigley, who led the investigation.

On the day of the raid - Aug. 23, 2006 - the heat in the building was oppressive, and the stench horrible, Quigley recalls. Many animals appeared to have been neglected for weeks, even months. Urine saturated their feet, Quigley says. Their skin was burning, their eyes were watering, and both skin and respiratory infections were widespread, she says.

What's more, Quigley says, her investigation found that only a limited number of Noah's Ark dogs were placed in homes over the previous year, and rescuers and residents who dropped off animals at Noah's Ark were generally met outside on the sidewalk, instead of being invited to enter the facility, she says.

It also was not the first time Tiraki-Kyrklund had been caught with too many animals.

In 2004, a year after establishing her nonprofit organization, she opened a rescue in a Signal Hill duplex. Roughly a year later, after neighbors in the 2600 block of Gardena Avenue complained about the smell, authorities shut her down.

They seized 31 animals and cited her for failing to comply with zoning regulations, among other things.

That case was pending when Tiraki-Kyrklund opened Noah's Ark in the spring of 2005, Quigley says.

Patronek, of Tufts University, is not familiar with the Noah's Ark case specifically, but he says the facts outlined by authorities so far are consistent with hoarding - a disorder that afflicts an estimated 3,000 people and about 250,000 animals a year.

"It's certainly a familiar story," Patronek says, adding that the last five years has seen an upsurge in "institutional hoarding" involving people who set up nonprofit organizations, create attractive Web sites and even open quasi-legitimate kennels.

"That's a very common theme," Patronek says. "These individuals have been operating not very far under the radar screen."

To Tiraki-Kyrklund, however, any similarities are meaningless.

She says the only sick animals at Noah's Ark were sick when she acquired them, and that authorities cast her shelter in the worst possible light by raiding it just before the cleaning crew was set to begin working that day.

Tiraki-Kyrklund says that she placed more than 2,400 animals last year.

If true, that number would mean Noah's Ark found permanent homes for an average of about 50 dogs and cats every week - a stunning feat for most rescue organizations, which work hard to place a handful of dogs in a month.

Tiraki-Kyrklund says she placed all 2,400 animals straight out of the Noah's Ark facility or at weekend adoptions in front of PetSmart and PETCO stores. But she says she kept no records tracking how many animals were adopted at each site and when.

"We weren't looking to separate the numbers," she says. adding that the important thing was just to find them homes.

Quigley contends that the figure is grossly exaggerated.

"Do the math," she says. Noah's Ark "would have to have animals pouring out the door, every day, 365 days a year. It's not possible."

'Unsung heroes'

For the most part, Los Angeles County's rescue community - a vast, informal network of volunteer-based organizations and individuals - has been a literal life saver.

An unprecedented number of animals scheduled for euthanasia has been saved and adopted out in recent years because rescuers have stepped up to offer foster care and pay for kenneling while permanent homes could be found. The network works so well that government shelters have come to rely on them and applaud their work.

"We are the unsung heroes," says Jennifer Pryor, a well-known Los Angeles rescuer and activist who is also the widow of comedian Richard Pryor. "We are doing the work that the government should be doing. And if we weren't doing it, it would be Slaughterhouse Five. It would be horrible."

Rescuers work in various way. Most are individuals who pull animals out of government shelters and provide foster homes pending permanent placement. Others incorporate as nonprofit organizations, creating Web sites and taking donations so they can afford to kennel animals, either at their own properties or through short-term boarding facilities.

Rescuers rely heavily on public adoption sites, Pryor says, and on the Internet - particularly a well-known Web site called petfinder.com.

And they network constantly. One might pull a dog from a shelter and shop it around to rescuers who have space for one more. The last - and most unacceptable - resort is to take the animal to a public shelter where it's sure to be killed when space runs out.

Even now, many rescues - such as Pryor's organization, Pryor's Planet - have stepped up to find homes for the Noah's Ark animals.

The city has exempted the animals seized in the Noah's Ark raid from euthanasia and many are still available for adoption.

The animal rescue community is a godsend, Pryor says, but it is not without its flaws.

Animal lovers hate to turn dogs or cats away, she says, and many have a hard time knowing where to draw the line. They can become addicted to the sense of well-being that comes with pulling an animal from a shelter and saving its life. As a result, she says, those already preconditioned to hoarding can easily lose control.

"What's necessary to have in rescue is restraint," she says.

Gini Barrett, an associate professor in biomedical ethics and public policy at Western University College of Veterinary Medicine in Pomona, agrees.

"There has always been this very fine line between a rescuer and a hoarder," Barrett says.

Pryor and others say Tiraki-Kyrklund's lack of restraint was no secret in the rescue community. They also allege that her many supporters have, intentionally or not, enabled her behavior and endangered animals.

"Everyone knew Alexia was out of control," Pryor says. "It's more complex than simply enabling. They were also enabling for the purpose of their own rescue endeavors. ... People would dump dogs on her and look the other way."

Atake, too, says hoarders aren't the only ones culpable in rescue-related hoarding situations. The Los Angeles Animal Services Commission member says there are people she calls "rescue wannabes" who contribute to the problem in their quest to make themselves feel good.

"They go to the pound, pull the animal and dump them on somebody else," she says, "so they can feel they saved the animal."

Atake, who founded Forte Animal Rescue in Marina del Rey, says she heard about Tiraki-Kyrklund being a potential hoarder at least two years ago. She recalls that a friend once pulled a dog that was set to be euthanized at a Los Angeles city shelter and took it to Tiraki-Kyrklund. But when the friend got there, she got a "bad vibe" and left with the dog in tow.

"Years later," Atake says, "when I heard about this situation, I wasn't surprised."

Atake is sympathetic to rescuers, like her friend, who chose not to report their concerns to authorities. The last thing many rescuers want to do, she says, is send an animal to its death.

Noah's Ark supporters

It's unclear how many supporters Tiraki-Kyrklund has amassed, but she certainly has more than a few. A group calling itself the Noah's Ark Justice Committee is collecting donations to pay for her legal fees, and the rancor caused by her arrest has reached fever pitch.

After someone allegedly slashed a tire on Lt. Quigley's personal vehicle outside Animal Control two months ago, a judge hearing the Noah's Ark case sealed all identifying information about any potential witnesses for the prosecution. The judge stressed that Tiraki-Kyrklund and her co-defendant, Gloria Ramos, were not responsible, but said he believed one of their supporters may have been involved.

Tiraki-Kyrklund says she had nothing to do with any tire slashing and maintains, as she always has, that she is a victim of false accusations.

"There is not one single animal at that facility that was neglected - ever," she says. "We're very, very anxious for the truth to come out."

Her attorney, Todd Krauss, says the assumptions people are making - that his client is a criminal and a hoarder - are based on a lack of information. But engaging in debate, he says, is both pointless and endless.

"I'm not going to go out there and discredit what all these people say because these people don't know the facts of the case," Krauss says.

Two Noah's Ark supporters, Jean Salyer and Mary Morris, characterize Tiraki-Kyrklund as a tireless advocate with a good heart who would never neglect an animal.

Salyer says she got to know Tiraki-Kyrklund only after the raid but believes the 2005-2006 adoption figures provided by Noah's Ark are accurate.

"She had a phenomenal adoption rate," Salyer says, "and that's not a symptom of a hoarder. ... My belief is that Alex is truly a rescuer."

Morris, who adopted a dog from Noah's Ark in early 2006, said Tiraki-Kyrklund is more devoted to animal welfare than Long Beach Animal Control. And she says any problems at Noah's Ark grew out of a genuine desire to help animals, not a hoarding intent.

"Maybe she did have too many animals, I don't know," Morris says. "But that doesn't mean she was a hoarder."

Many from L.A.

Despite increasing awareness about hoarding conditions nationwide, thousands of hoarders - who are either attracted to or born out of the rescue community - continue to operate unchecked, Barrett says.

"This vast network of rescuers has no standard, is not regulated by anyone, and does not have to answer to anyone about the animals that they take," she says.

Residents, rescuers, city shelter employees and veterinarians need to help prevent the problem by reporting cases when they see them developing, many say. Therapy needs to be an integral part of any prosecution. And city agencies need to enforce the laws already on the books.

In addition, Atake says, more screening may be needed.

The highly touted New Hope program in Los Angeles, which has facilitated the rescue of thousands of dogs and cats that could not be placed by Los Angeles-area shelters, entices potential pet owners with its low price tags: $5.50 per animal.

According to Quigley, at least 50 of the 152 dogs found at Noah's Ark were traced back to Los Angeles shelters, either through microchips or other documentation.

"I really think that the city (of Los Angeles) needs to screen the rescue groups better than they are doing now," Atake says. "Just because a group has a 501(c)3 (status as a nonprofit organization) - that does not guarantee anything."

She encouraged shelters and individual rescue operators to physically inspect the homes and facilities they are supporting, and to constantly update their "Do Not Adopt" lists, which help keep track of problem individuals.

And lastly, experts agree, it takes action on the part of citizens: If everyone would simply spay and neuter their pets, they say, there would be no more unwanted animals left for people to hoard.

Wendy Thomas Russell can be reached at wendy.russell@presstelegram.com or (562) 499-1272.