Dog control a necessity; given will, there's a way

The earliest recorded use of the expression, “It’s a dog’s life,” dates back to the 1500s when it meant short, brutish, subservient and miserable. But times have changed.

These days, two-thirds of all American households include at least one pet, amounting to almost 87 million households. Some 65 million of which include at least one dog, and a growing percentage of those dogs are being pampered on a level rivaling that traditionally reserved for treasured housecats.

It’s becoming increasingly common for dogs to have a groomer, health insurance policy, doggie door, dog-sitting service and human-style diet; to tag along on airline flights, shopping trips and motel stays; to don coats, raincoats and booties when the weather warrants; and perhaps to hold a job performing comfort, support, guard, tracking, protection, retrieval, rescue or drug-detection duties. In fact, entire industries have arisen to provide pet custody, cremation, vaccination, microchipping, legal protection and health insurance services.

Driven by the scourge of rabies, governmental dog control got its start in the U.S. in the 1700s.

The principal aim was corralling and exterminating potentially hostile or rabid strays, which had come to roam the streets in significant numbers in teeming cities like New York. It wasn’t reuniting housed pets with loving owners or adopting out unhoused pets to loving households.

And that brings us to the Yamhill County Dog Control dilemma of 2024. As generally proves the case with essential governmental services, the root issue is money, or more particularly, the lack thereof.

Like most Oregon counties, ours has a dog control operation tucked into the sheriff’s office, where its status mirrors that of a cantankerous stepchild or irritable aunt. In cities and counties alike, the nitty gritty of dog control tends to fall to law enforcement officers highly trained in lots of other things, but not dog control.

The functions of licensing, vaccinating, corralling, sheltering, reuniting and adopting out are foreign, onerous and expensive. The enforcement function is more familiar, but tends to rank near the bottom of the priority list.

Yamhill County used to operate its own impound shelter at the fairgrounds, but the facility gradually aged out and replacement seemed to be out of realistic reach. It is now forced to rely on contracts with independent providers.

Along the way, it has failed to adjust licensing fees for inflation, to publicly press for licensing compliance, or to mount any meaningful measure of licensing enforcement. And since licensing serves as the principal means of monitoring and enforcing rabies vaccination, we face a worrisome risk of lagging compliance there.

Though the level of service and staffing has diminished greatly over the years, the gap between need and funding has grown to $185,000 a year. That’s much too large to be met solely through increased licensing revenue, though that must most certainly play a part.

Commissioner Kit Johnston said, “This is ridiculous that this has been going on this long and we haven’t even raised the rates.” He termed that “the most obvious thing right now,” though acknowledging it won’t prove either an easy sell or total answer.

Commissioner Lindsay Berschauer concurred, calling it the “low-hanging fruit to look at.”

We feel the county’s pain. However, any entity with a nine-figure annual budget can find a way to squeeze a quarter-million from somewhere.

Like it or not, dog control is a basic governmental function the public has every right to expect. When we elect leaders to set priorities and solve problems, we don’t promise it will always be easy.