Somewhere in West Las Vegas: A continent away from Richmond, Virginia, where the justice system is weighing the fates of four men indicted on federal dog-fighting charges, the most famous of whom is Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick, a handful of men have gathered in the backyard of a home. They arrived at different times so as to keep foot traffic to a minimum and not to draw attention to the house, or to their companions—ornery pit bulls of various breeds brought here on a mission.
Once inside, the men pull money from their pockets; either $500 for the right to fight baby dogs or $1,000 to enter their fighting pets into the big leagues. Terms of this illicit blood sport are laid down. Much like boxers preening for the crowd during a weigh-in, the dogs are then grouped by size, weight and physical characteristics—head size, neck width. The formalities taken care of, it’s time to rumble.
The snarling begins once the dogs see each other, saliva and froth seeping from their mouths. It’s really the only time you hear barking, Drac Down (not his real name) says. When one dog’s mouth is wrapped around the neck of the other, he says, “you don’t hear no barking.” Sick but true, he says. Because the neighbors know the homeowner has dogs, the noises don’t hint at anything untoward.
Leashes gripped tight, the men who brought the dogs—juiced by the possibility of going home four times richer than they came—lock eyes. Any moment now, they’ll give the attack command. That done, animalistic fury, primordial and savage, will fill the atmosphere, accompanied by violent cheers—“break his f--king neck”; “get that motherf--ker.”
There’ll be a winner and a loser, though the degrees of each will vary. In boxing, you could lose on points or get knocked out. Same deal here: Some dogs will heal from their wounds; others will be maimed for life or, worse, could die. The baddest of the bad—champs, they’re called—fight another day, against other champs in gladiatorial bouts throughout West Las Vegas and North Las Vegas. Drac says a careless quarterback’s legal troubles won’t stop his hustle.
“Unless you know it’s going on,” he says, “you wouldn’t know it’s going on. And it goes on every other week.”
If so, then it’s under law enforcement’s radar. The occasional calls to North Las Vegas police are generally the result of kids seeing other kids walking their dogs and challenging them, police spokesman Tim Bedwell says. The department cracked down on dog-fighting five years ago, focusing on inner-city neighborhoods where it was most popular. “One of the indicators that it is happening is that you pick up carcasses of dogs that have been killed or dumped. We haven’t seen that,” he says. “If they’re doing it in our jurisdiction, they’re keeping it awful dang quiet.”
Animal-control officials aren’t much help, says Heaven Can Wait Sanctuary co-owner Harold Vosko, because dog-fighting is a felony and they’re not cops, and police would rather deploy resources to human criminals.
The men (and it’s generally men, Drac Down says, Hispanic and black men) who engage in dog-fighting are drawn to its rawness. There’s also some transference going on; that somehow your dog’s traits are yours—since he’s a warrior, so are you. Which is why Drac equates dog-fighting to boxing. Drac says preparation is key. Leading up to a fight, he might put his dog on a treadmill to drop his weight and build his endurance. Considerable time is expended on fight strategy. Certain dogs match well with others.
“You have neck, nut and leg dogs. If I have a nut dog, I’d match them with a leg dog because the nut dog gets under other dogs while the leg dogs bite the first thing they see. A neck dog will go for the neck area,” he says.
He cautions against stereotyping and demonizing the people who fight dogs. They are folks with real jobs, who pay taxes. “People beat each other up and no one finds fault with that. It’s a black man’s dog, that’s why they’re hating.”
It’s a hollow defense, at best, blasphemous at worst: racism as cover for illegality, racism as an alibi for using animals to feed man’s primordial need to be, pardon the expression, top dog. This isn’t about race or class warfare; it’s about morally reprehensible behavior, about turning pets into predators.
The fight is over. The fury has subsided. Debts are paid. The dogs removed from battle. Winners and losers both talk smack. Arrangements are made for the next battle. The men retreat to their vehicles. Some celebrate, others mourn. Contrary to popular opinion, Drac says losing dogs are rarely killed. “You can always use the pit that lost for a stud.”