***image1***Pit bull's disappearance raises specter of illegal dogfighting.
The caller ID was blocked. The voice on the other end didn't leave a name. Just an address and an ominous message: "Bring the money to 421 Hillside or we'll kill your dog."
Laila Ionescu had been frantically searching for Pancho-her 14-month-old male pit bull-since the dog escaped through an open gate at her Artist Road home on June 11. Ionescu papered Santa Fe with 400 flyers offering a $300 reward for Pancho's safe return. She pasted photos of the dog on her car. She called every animal shelter in a 60-mile radius. She spoke with City of Santa Fe Animal Control daily. Then, on the night of June 30, she received three messages from someone who purported to have her dog. The person threatened to kill Pancho if Ionescu didn't come immediately to 421 Hillside Avenue with money.
Ionescu-a painter who has lived in Santa Fe for seven years-didn't check her messages until the following morning. When she did, she went directly to the address only to make a grim discovery: There is no 421 Hillside Avenue.
"I went there and there were no street numbers," Ionescu says. I talked to all the neighbors and they all told me the same thing. They said they didn't know anything."
Since then, Pancho's trail has grown cold. "I'm considering everything," Ionescu says.
"Anything is possible. He could be in Texas right now. I just don't know. It's just frustrating to me that in a supposedly animal-friendly community like this he can't be found. Something is up with this dog."
Dognapping is uncommon in Santa Fe but not unprecedented. Last December a Chihuahua named Harley was stolen from a van parked outside Big Lots on Cerrillos Road. The dog belonged to none other than Santa Fe County Sheriff Greg Solano. But after speaking with Animal Control, Ionescu was confronted with a disturbing possibility.
"They told me someone could have taken him as a 'bait' animal," Ionescu says. "A dog they could use to fight an aspiring champion."
New Mexico passed legislation in 1981 that made dogfighting, owning dogs for the purpose of fighting and being a spectator at a dogfight all fourth-degree felonies. But in a state where cockfighting is still legal, dogfighting still flourishes-albeit underground.
"There is no doubt in my mind that there is underground fighting going on in Santa Fe County," Kate Rindy, executive director of the Santa Fe Humane Society, says. "It's very frustrating that there aren't more arrests."
That's because those in the dogfighting world know they're on a short leash.
Pat Alano-the city's animal services supervisor-says most reports come from surrounding areas due to Santa Fe's strict pet laws. But even when calls come in about dogfighting within city limits, the perpetrators often prove elusive.
"Every now and again we get a call," Alano says. "But these guys must have scanners…[because] we'll get to the location right away and when we arrive, nobody's there."
When the fights are in progress, pit bulls-which Rindy says is the most commonly stolen breed of dog-comprise a majority of canine combatants. But Ionescu says Pancho doesn't fit the profile.
"He's not a fighter," Ionescu says. "He's a sweetheart, a pillow dog. He sleeps in bed with us at night."
Unfortunately, Pancho's relatively calm demeanor could make him an ideal candidate for a bait animal. According to Animal Protection of New Mexico's Web site, extraneous animals-often pets that are stolen or obtained through "free to good home" advertisements-are commonly used as training fodder by those who coach dogs to fight.
Ionescu says she was advised to post flyers in areas like Chimayó and La Cienega-considered havens for illicit dogfighting.
Politicians have tried to chip away at the armor of underground dogfighting statewide by pushing laws intended to curb the breeding of aggressive animals, such as this year's Dangerous Dog Act.
Ionescu bristles at the suggestion Pancho-and pit bulls in general-are inherently vicious animals. She also owns a female pit bull named Pepa and says her dogs wouldn't turn on her "in a million years."
Ionescu bought Pancho last August for $50 from a man in an Allsup's parking lot. She says Pancho was "half-dead" when she found him and he spent the first night in her custody with a veterinarian. Ionescu nursed Pancho back to health, though she acknowledges his bulky, fit frame could make him an attractive dogfighting specimen.
If Pancho was lured into that underworld, his prospects of survival aren't good. The career of even a trained fighting dog is brutally short.
"It's a serious concern for us that animals are stolen for any purpose," Rindy says, "but especially for animals used as bait. Most of those animals will no doubt die a miserable death."
Ionescu refuses to consider the worst-case scenario.
"The dog is not dead," she says flatly. "I check every day with the shelters and with Animal Control and they haven't found Pancho dead or alive."
Ionescu is determined to see the latter become a reality. She continues to search shelters and post flyers. She has upped the reward to $1,000. She has even consulted psychics.
"I'm at the end of my rope," Ionescu says, choking back tears. "I'm not a crazy person, I just love my dogs. Every day I go to the shelter and see all of those dogs asking me to help them and it just breaks my heart. I'd like to help them all but I can't. I just want my baby back."
