Nathan Winograd

By Jim Davis

PART ONE

Nathan Winograd has been fighting to save animals all his life.

His story is one of evolution, from a teenager rescuing a stranded kitten, to a law student battling to save feral cats, to a position at the forefront of the humane movement.

Richard Avanzino, director of Maddie's Fund, puts it simply. Winograd is "the outstanding animal welfare leader of the country," he says.

"He's not conventional," says Avanzino, whose organization has contributed millions of dollars to communities attempting to become no-kill. "He's a revolutionary. He basically challenges the status quo in a very entertaining and articulate way."

That unconventional style has brought with it great accomplishments. For Winograd, a Stanford Law School graduate, has proven that the no-kill philosophy works, in both urban and rural environments.

And now, he is attempting to get the word out to as many people as possible through his new company, No-Kill Solutions.

The path which led Winograd to this place, at the head of a grassroots movement trying to save the lives of millions of dogs and cats, can be traced to his childhood in Los Angeles.

"Mom was the cat lady in our neighborhood," he says. "I grew up with a lot of cats."

But it was one cat-- Guido -- whose story foreshadowed the life that Winograd would choose.

Walking home from junior high school one day, accompanied by his sisters, Winograd heard a kitten meowing in a subterranean garage. They traced the forlorn sounds to a locked storage space.

"We took a rock, smashed the lock and there was a six-week-old kitten," he recalls.

They named the kitten Guido -- even though "he" turned out to be a "she" -- and the cat was to spend more than 20 years at Winograd's side. Guido was with Winograd when he studied political science at the University of California at San Diego, when he studied law at Stanford, and during his tenure with the San Francisco SPCA.

At the time of her death in Tompkins County, New York, Guido was 23 years old.

The passion that led Winograd to rescue Guido came into focus during a one-year "break" between college and law school when Winograd backpacked through Central America, Europe and the United States.

"All I did was visit, drink a lot of beer and read a lot of books," he says.

Two authors had profound effects -- John Robbins, an expert on dietary links to the environment and health, and Hans Ruesch, who authored the classic "Slaughter of the Innocents."

"That really transformed me," Winograd says. "I knew then, although I was going to law school, I knew I wanted to dedicate myself to helping animals."

Stanford served as a launch pad for Winograd's full-scale entry into the humane movement.

It was there that he joined forces with a group of women fighting to keep the administration from killing feral cats on campus. The university had agreed to try Trap/Neuter/Release (TNR) when Winograd joined the fray, and eventually the Stanford Cat Network was permitted to set up feeding stations on campus.

As additional threats to the cats' welfare arose, Winograd used his growing legal knowledge to write position papers opposing any changes that would adversely affect them.

It was during this time that Winograd met Avanzino, then head of the San Francisco SPCA. Avanzino soon hired the third-year law student to be his "director of ethical studies," and it was from Avanzino, Winograd says, that he learned about animal shelters. He fondly recalls "long hours in (Avanzino's) office learning the philosophy of no-kill."

Avanzino remembers those days, too.

"While he was with us, he did a wonderful job," Avanzino recalls. "He's a very articulate thinker. We did spend a lot of time together. I think we're kindred spirits."

One of their major accomplishments involved protecting feral cats in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area from a federal government plan that would have eliminated them.

"(Nathan) wrote volumes of material that we used in our advocacy to change the law, change the practices ... so these critters who were deserving of protection were not eliminated," Avanzino says.

Winograd's legal and academic background, combined with his persuasive skills, made him "an advocate you don't want to ignore, because if you do, it will be at your own peril," Avanzino says.

In the end, the pair forced the government to redirect its policy. "We stopped them in their tracks," Avanzino recalls.

But despite periodic victories, all was not always well.

"We were vilified by groups that opposed no-kill, that were misleading their members about our achievements. They were inflating our numbers to make it appear that we weren't doing as well as we were doing," Winograd remembers.

And Winograd didn't back away from any fights. He joined forces with a small group of feral cat caretakers on North Carolina's Outer Banks to take on the Outer Banks SPCA, and ultimately the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS), over a proposed TNR program.

The SPCA and HSUS opined that TNR was inhumane, with HSUS going so far as to urge the local prosecutor to take action against the cat caretakers, claiming they were breaking anti-cruelty laws.

"These were ... men and women who are doing the kind of work other people aren't willing to do," Winograd says, and suddenly they faced fines and jail time for helping cats.

Winograd wrote a brief, and ultimately the prosecutor agreed that TNR was not only legal, but humane. No charges were filed.

"That really, really kind of crystallized for me what we were dealing with," Winograd says. "At the time, I felt that the biggest threat to dogs and cats was not bad people, irresponsible pet owners, but in large part, especially when it came to feral cats, was a lot of these organizations that were founded for their protection."

"I dedicated myself to fighting not only the mentality, but the attack. It's what I've been doing since then, trying to change the landscape. When it comes to no-kill, I'm like the preacher. I believe it to my core."

Following graduation from Stanford, Winograd worked as a prosecutor in San Francisco, often honing in on animal cruelty cases.

When Avanzino left the SPCA to head up Maddie's Fund, Winograd was asked to return to run the law and advocacy department. Eventually he became director of operations.

Since 1994, San Francisco had been saving every healthy animal who came its way. By the time he left, Winograd says, the city was "a whisper away" from saving every treatable animal.

That, he says, is the next great challenge for the humane movement -- "cradle to the grave guarantees for dogs and cats," regardless of whether they are healthy.

"If they are treatable," he says, "shelters should be able to patch them together and find them homes."

Eventually Winograd left San Francisco for rural Tompkins County, New York (See part two of this three-part series).

And, after a successful, three-year run there, he returned to California to found No-Kill Solutions, a business designed to help communities adapt the no-kill model to fit their needs.

No-Kill Solutions launched an industry trade publication that addresses shelter issues from a no-kill perspective in January, and does regular workshops, but the big service it provides is what Winograd calls his "no-kill blueprint."

To develop a no-kill blueprint, Winograd provides an on-site assessment, and makes recommendations for improving operations, covering everything from landscaping to creating a foster adoption program.

At the moment, he is developing just such a plan for Philadelphia (See part three of this series).

And in his "spare" time, Winograd is writing a book detailing the history of the no-kill revolution in America, starting with the founding of the first SPCA and following animal shelters for 150 years until the rise of the no-kill movement.

"I hope it inspires and rallies the larger community who love dogs and cats, who have no idea that the 60,000 or so animal shelters in the U.S. are no more than warehouses at best," he says.

Thus far he has written 200 pages of what he jokingly calls the "never-ending project." In truth, he hopes to have it published by the end of the year.

"Hopefully it will mobilize all to hasten the day when we inevitably live in a no-kill nation," he says.

PART TWO

When Nathan Winograd was considering a move from San Francisco to rural Tompkins County, New York, there were plenty of naysayers.

"What I kept hearing," he says now, "was that while no-kill might be possible in an urban community, it could never be achieved in rural America."

But Winograd felt strongly that the same components that had turned San Francisco into a no-kill city could be implemented anywhere, and he relished the chance to prove it.

So, in June of 2001, he headed east.

"I packed my bags, my wife, my kids, our two dogs and 20 cats," he laughs.

He remembers his first day well. He hadn't even entered the building when a trucker approached him with a box of kittens.

"My first reaction was, "What did I get myself into?'"

It didn't take him long to find out.

As he began the job, Winograd admits, he thought that going no-kill would take a while, that it would be necessary to "sacrifice a certain number of dogs and cats for the greater good." But when he came face to face with that reality, he couldn't do it.

"We started lining them up on the counters," he says. "I simply would not hear of the option that we were just going to kill our way out of this. We were going to make it work, and I never wavered from that."

And during his three-year stay, Tompkins County never killed a healthy or treatable animal. Overall, the rate of shelter killing dropped by 75 percent, to 1.8 animals for every 1,000 human residents -- eight times less than the national average, and the lowest in the country.

Winograd wrote about those early days in "Diary of a No-Kill Shelter." In that article, he tells of placing puppies in horse troughs near the front counter to attract attention; of employees who left rather than buy into the no-kill philosophy; and of the never-ending search for new ways to save lives.

Jim Tantillo, interim executive director of the Tompkins County humane society, was a member of the board of directors when Winograd arrived.

"He built a program that is nationally recognized," Tantillo says. "The board set this organization on a course in 1999 and for a year or two struggled to figure out how to implement it... He's a remarkable individual, very talented. He single-handedly accomplished what we told him to accomplish. That's a terrific thing."

But there were difficult decisions along the way.

When Winograd arrived, the shelter operated at a $150,000 annual deficit. He set out on a line-by-line inspection of the budget to eliminate anything that didn't show a direct connection to saving animals.

The humane education program was a controversial cut.

"I couldn't find a single study that showed measurably that if you invest X dollars in humane education, that is what you get back," Winograd says. "Humane education once or twice a year doesn't get the message ingrained."

The result was that the $30,000 allotted to humane education was transferred to medical care.

Not everyone was happy with the changes, but the organization finished with a $23,000 operational surplus one year, and broke even the next.

Another change was to make the shelter more accessible to the public. That meant expanding hours beyond the 9-to-5, Monday-to-Friday format.

The tendency, Winograd says, is to blame the public for not adopting enough animals.

"As a movement, we shield ourselves from accountability -- It's the public's fault' -- then we punish the public.

"If we reform the shelter, we create an opportunity for people to do the right thing," he says.

As an example, he cites the pet owner who takes a cat to the shelter because of litter box issues. Instead of lambasting the owner, shelter workers should try to solve the problem, Winograd says, finding a solution that will keep the animal in the home.

He says the movement also must recognize there are many wonderful pet owners who can't bring themselves to enter a shelter. Off-site adoption events are critical if those people are to come into contact with shelter animals.

"We created this fiction that there are too many animals and not enough homes. That is the fiction, the lie, which animal shelters have been using to insulate themselves," Winograd says. "It wasn't orchestrated, it stemmed from a genuine belief."

In fact, people who simply looked at shelter numbers could easily reach that conclusion. But, he adds, numbers don't tell the full story.

"The reason is that (the people who are) our best hopes refuse to walk into a facility that kills," he says. "Nobody who loves animals wants to look into the eyes of the animals they don't adopt, knowing those animals will be slaughtered."

So, adoption outreach is a critical component of the no-kill solution. And in Tompkins County, mobile adoptions became routine.

Accommodations were also made for people visiting the shelter.

By tackling budget issues and aggressively pursuing a capital campaign, Winograd was able to erect a new shelter that made life easier for animals and visitors alike.

The facility, Winograd says, was the country's first green-certified shelter, combining environmental and humane concerns.

"It was good for the animals, good for people and good for the planet," he says.

Particularly for the animals.

Animals who had been at the shelter for two or three months were adopted within minutes of the opening of the new adoption center.

"What was the most exciting part was to watch these cats who would normally cower in cages," Winograd says. "You put them in this home-like environment and they blossom."

The dogs also benefited from new surroundings. Winograd says visitors were astounded that dogs who had barked almost non-stop while in three-by-six-foot cages hardly barked at all in their new, homey surroundings.

One of the prime beneficiaries was Jewel, an eight-year-old cocker spaniel who had spent her life chained outside.

By the time her owner surrendered her -- after "growing tired of her whining" -- Jewel's nails had curled and burrowed into the pads of her feet, making it extremely painful to walk. She was very fearful, and had to be sedated so the nails and a plethora of mats could be removed.

Jewel then received intense socialization from staff members before finally finding a home.

A year later, Winograd encountered Jewel's new owner. When he asked about Jewel, the woman said, "Oh, no, no, no. She's Princess Juliette, and she's probably sleeping on my bed right now!"

After adopting "Princess Juliette," the couple purchased a king-size bed to share with her.  At night she would lie like a person, blanket up to her head, fully enjoying her new life.

"That type of thing exists in San Francisco, it exists in Newfield, New York, and I think and believe it exists in cities and towns and hamlets across the country," Winograd says.

Winograd left Tompkins County after three years (fulfilling a commitment he had made to his family) to launch No-Kill Solutions, but his achievements there proved lasting.

"Good things are still happening here," Tantillo says. "We're no-kill' for the fourth straight year. We don't kill for space."

In fact, Tompkins County saved nearly 2,500 animals last year.

"We're proud of that, and Nathan is the reason," Tantillo says.

As for Winograd, he was changed by his three years there.

"I used to say that no-kill wasn't hard," he says. "What I believe now is that no-kill is hard, but it's not complicated. It saves lives in San Francisco, in Tompkins County, New York, and it can be duplicated in any community."

"I really believe we could have a no-kill nation sooner rather than later."

PART THREE

Nathan Winograd was a close observer when San Francisco became the first major city in the United States to go "no-kill."

The experience inspired him to go to Tompkins County, New York, where he proved that the same can happen in a rural community.

Now he has set his sights on Philadelphia, a city with a less-than-stellar record when it comes to humane treatment of animals.

It appears that he faces a daunting task. Of the 44,000-plus animals under the umbrella of Philadelphia Animal Care and Control Association (PACCA) in 2003, two-thirds were euthanized.

Several months ago, the Philadelphia Daily News ran a searing report on the state of PACCA's shelters, questioning the care animals receive there. That report turned the tide of public opinion and prompted officials to hire Winograd to prepare a "no-kill blueprint" for the city.

Despite the seemingly overwhelming task in front of him, Winograd is undaunted.

"We won't allow anybody to stand in the way of lifesaving," he says. "It's a clear mandate -- from the city down to the caretakers -- they are tired of the killing."

As head of No-Kill Solutions, a company designed to help cities become "no-kill," Winograd offers more than the needs assessment done by many cities.

And that excited many people in Philadelphia, according to Tara Derby-Perrin, new director of PACCA, and former president of the Alliance for Philadelphia's Animals.

She met Winograd at a Best Friends Animal Society conference in Philadelphia, and was impressed.

Referring to his stirring speeches, she says, "It's very important to understand the need for inspiring people and giving them stories and anecdotal information to get them excited."

Frank O'Donnell, former interim director of PACCA, agrees.

O'Donnell had the misfortune to start at PACCA the same day the Daily News launched its series about the shelters. But he says that as the city and the Alliance started to work together in response to the articles, there was agreement that outside help was needed. O'Donnell quickly realized that Winograd was the man for the job.

"We had a one-hour conversation that seemed like five minutes," he recalls. "It was very exciting."

Several people submitted proposals, but O'Donnell says Winograd was the obvious choice. He promised to do everything the others proposed, but went one step further. He would develop a no-kill plan.

"It wasn't a difficult decision," O'Donnell remembers.

That decision may have been easy, but the process of making Philadelphia no-kill won't be.

Winograd sent out a 19-page list of documents he wanted to review before he visited Philadelphia. According to O'Donnell, it covered budgetary items, shelter procedures, a breakdown of PACCA's relationships with rescue groups, and a summary of vendors used by the city.

Information culled from those thousands of pages will be used to eliminate ineffectiveness and waste. Winograd says he will attempt to set up Philadelphia animal control to run like a corporation.

"My bottom line is saving lives. Every program has to impact the bottom line" he says.

For Philadelphia to become no-kill, a wide range of people must be involved, Winograd says. Cooperative partnerships already in place, developed by such groups as the People Pet Partnership, will be built upon, and hopefully even skeptics will be drawn to the table.

Shortly after he arrived in Philadelphia for a three-week stay, a town meeting was held to discuss animal care in the city.

The event was scheduled at 5 p.m. on a wintry Friday, and much of the city's focus was on that weekend's Super Bowl -- featuring the hometown Eagles. Winograd didn't know what to expect.

He needn't have worried.

The hall where the meeting was held seats 150 people -- and more than 180 attended. Some had to be turned away because there was no more space. Others watched via closed-circuit television nearby. It was, Winograd says, a testament to the strength of the no-kill cause.

City council members attended, as did representatives of the health department, animal control, assorted shelters, the SPCA, and rescue groups.

"It was a signal that people are hungry for change," Winograd says. "It really just set the tone for my assessment here."

Overall, Winograd says he has been well received, and that he has "really high hopes for the city."

In fact, he admits he is so optimistic about Philadelphia that he is already worrying about other cities with high death rates.

"In a year or two, Philadelphia will have made tremendous headway. My fear is that other cities will not," he says. "The city is hungry and I believe that can be a tremendous thing."

While Winograd's blueprint is being prepared, change is already in the works. More animals are going to rescues, policies are changing, and previous critics are joining discussions of how to turn the city around.

Comparing Philadelphia to his previous experiences, Winograd says "I'm seeing the same thing over and over again. There is a tremendous amount of support within each community. The only limit for saving lives is how much the shelter taps into that support."

To reach full potential, he says, shelters must learn to utilize rescue groups and foster homes, develop creative sources of revenue, and use their political influence -- he notes that people who love dogs and cats come from all political and socio-economic levels.

"In Philadelphia -- summertime might be a different story -- but I have yet to see a reason why this community has to kill for space, at least during the winter time," he says.

Citing the public support in the city, he says "It's all there for the shelter director's taking."

And he has every reason to believe that by following his "blueprint," Philadelphia will be a no-kill city in the next decade.

"The only true limitation to how many or how few lives are saved is the shelter leadership ... The biggest stumbling blocks to no-kill are the dinosaurs who have been in this movement for a long time," he says.