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NewsFebruary 16, 2010

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) -- Driving a truck packed with dog food, bowls, squeaky toys and ready-to-assemble doghouses, among other items, Kate Quigley recently went in search of dogs suffering from abuse or neglect. "All right," she says, "Let's go save some dogs."...

Lee Hill Kavanaugh

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) -- Driving a truck packed with dog food, bowls, squeaky toys and ready-to-assemble doghouses, among other items, Kate Quigley recently went in search of dogs suffering from abuse or neglect.

"All right," she says, "Let's go save some dogs."

Quigley -- known widely as "the dog lady" and "Miss Kate" -- works six days a week, driving into high-poverty neighborhoods to look for animal abuse and neglect. Knocking on doors, talking to owners, leaving supplies.

By borrowing pets to have them spayed and neutered, she stops the misery of neglect from repeating itself litter after litter.

Inside the truck, a copy of the Serenity Prayer hangs a little cockeyed on the glove compartment, stuck there to remind her: Most of the animals she meets will continue living in squalid conditions. Outdoor dogs, they will never know the softness of a living room rug.

Quigley brings armloads of straw to cover muck and chew toys for dogs to gnaw away their boredom.

"You have to make allowances for what you can and cannot do. At the end of the day, if we can change the life of even one dog, it matters."

Quigley has worked for both Spay & Neuter Kansas City and No More Homeless Pets KC as the outreach person canvassing neighborhoods. She works with city animal control officers.

Last year she brought in 1,000 pets -- 438 cats and 562 dogs -- to be spayed and neutered, said Gail Longstaff, president of No More Homeless Pets KC. Quigley gave away 95 doghouses and 14,700 pounds of dog food. She talked to people in 3,030 households.

Some are owners who care but can't afford a vet, but Quigley also has found ignorance.

After years of working for other groups, Quigley started her own nonprofit, Chain of Hope, a few weeks ago.

Chain of Hope's mission, she says, is to break the chain of ignorance for pet owners who neglect their outside dogs, to break the chain of unwanted litters, to literally break chains and padlocks off dogs, encouraging owners instead to use cable tie-outs that won't embed themselves in a dog's neck.

Quigley is not by herself in this venture. Hardworking volunteers have already switched affiliations from other groups to join her.

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Quigley is a recently divorced mom to three children, two of whom still live with her, and she owns two dogs herself. She was 16 the first time she rescued a dog.

Three years ago, she started earning a small paycheck for her efforts. On her first day, she says, one of her daughters told her, "Don't get shot, Mom."

Quigley laughs. She's never had a close encounter with man or beast. She is respectful to both.

When Quigley sees a dog without food or water, or on a chain wrapped so tightly that the dog can't move, she knocks on the owner's door.

"Word gets out what I'm doing and people are glad to see me. I try to help them with bags of free pet food. When I help one pet owner, 10 more will hear about me."

Driving through neighborhoods, Quigley scans for a spot of fur curled like a rug, or a blur of movement near a bush. She turns off 39th Street into an alley. She sees a thick chain disappearing under a woodpile.

Quigley calls and whistles until finally a dog peeks out. It looks like a white pit bull, but it's difficult to tell because its fur is covered in brackish gray mud. With a growl and a few feeble barks, it hoists itself out about a foot, the length that the chain will allow it to move.

Still, it looks stocky. No ribs poke against its skin.

Yet the dog has no food or water. Quigley senses that this dog would bite, so she tosses a treat and climbs into her truck. She needs to knock on the door, talk with the owner.

Sometimes owners have medical issues that make it difficult for them to care for their pets. Sometimes Quigley finds them drunk or high.

"This case is definitely neglect, especially in this weather," she says. No one comes to the door. She calls animal control about the dog. "This one needs to be taken."

Hours later, as daylight drifts away, Quigley heads back to her office.

The truck's bed is empty. But Bacca and Chaos and Man-Man and Fluffy and Blackie and T-Bone and Snoop and Sammy and Scrappy and a host of other dogs received bones, food and fresh water. Two dogs are now warm in a shelter because of animal control.

It was a good day, Quigley says.

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