Part I

        Every morning about 7, Gloria DiMicco lights the logs in her fireplace, inside an 800-square foot two-story A-frame chalet on 1.6 acres of rugged woodland near Newfoundland, Pa. She likes the warmth of the fireplace, but that isn't why she makes it one of her first morning duties.
        "Duke and Damien like it,"she says. Duke and Damien are twin eight-year-old german shepherds, abandoned on a farm road when they were about three months old.
"I first lit the fireplace last December,"DiMicco says, and is now resigned to the reality that the dogs won't let her do anything else "unless I get that fire started."
        There's Sheba, a seven-year-old all-white lab mix, who DiMicco rescued six years ago. A veterinarian had forced the owner, who had kicked the dog, shattering her right front leg, to surrender her, then called DiMicco to help care for the dog.
        Out back is Sandy, a seven-year-old terrier whom DiMicco found tied to a deck in Gouldsboro, his mouth taped shut with duct tape. DiMicco asked the owner to give up the eight-month-old puppy. "Get him out of here, I don't need him,"DiMicco recalls the owner telling her.
         Then there's Marmaduke, a nine-year-old reddish setter- spaniel mix, who was emaciated when he was abandoned about eight years ago. Traumatized by neighbors who took out a vendetta against DiMicco by racing past her house in an isolated section of the Pocono Ranchettes, yelling, screaming, and occasionally throwing lighted firecrackers, Marmaduke had seizures at least once a week for more than seven years after his rescue.
        "But since we moved here a year ago,"says the 63-year-old woman who operates Tender Loving Care, an animal rescue shelter, "the seizures have stopped."
         The vendetta against DiMicco had begun in the Pocono Ranchettes, a 330-lot private development primarily of unpaved roads, and mobile homes and trailers on quarter-acre lots in a wooded area near Gouldsboro. Many of the residents stay only a few months during the Spring and Summer.
        DiMicco and her husband had bought an acre of land in an isolated section of the newly-developed Ranchettes in 1979, then put a 14-foot by 70-foot mobile home and small garage on it. Two years later, her husband died; a few years after that, a chronic illness forced her to leave her job as a bookkeeper.
        "My pets were the only thing that kept me together,"she says, "so I dedicated all my time and energy to them."
        Drenched in sweat and love, Gloria and her sister, Mary, now 72, built kennels, surrounded part of their property with an eight-foot stockade fence, and later opened the Tender Loving Care shelter for abused and abandoned dogs in 1993.
        "I couldn't let them die from lack of care,"says DiMicco who with her sister live a frugal, almost impoverished life together with their dogs and several rescued cats, spending about $800-$900 a month for their animals' medicine, food, and other needs. Their only income is from pooling their disability and social security checks, about $1,650 a month, and donations to her non-profit charity that seldom exceed $300 a month. Neither receives food stamps or welfare assistance. Neither has a state- issued medical card. For more than a decade, the DiMiccos rescued hundreds of dogs and cats, usually meeting prospective families away from her home so there was very little disturbance in the neighborhood.
        She seldom has more than 20 dogs at her home at any one time, but there are a few who are unadoptable, the sick, the older dogs, some with psychological trauma of abuse. These she has kept as her special pets, 26 of them over more than a decade. She knows every quirk of every one of them, especially the seven who have died. She doesn't talk much about them, but she remembers.
        In 1996, the development's board of directors decided no one in the development could have more than four animals. Although the Commonwealth Court had previously ruled that municipalities may prosecute persons whose animals have become a "public nuisance,"they may not impose limits upon the number of pets a homeowner has. However, the ruling doesn't apply to private developments. Neither of the adjacent private developments passed animal limit regulations.
        DiMicco and a few residents were convinced the board's action, while possibly well-intentioned to stop excessive barking and the problem of loose dogs in the neighborhood--there had been no complaints against DiMicco in the 15 years she had lived in the development—was tainted by what they believe was a vendetta. DiMicco had resigned as board vice-president in 1987 after charging that the majority of the board were not working in the interests of the homeowners, and later questioned how the board was spending $70,000-$80,000 in member dues and other income. She was also outspoken in her condemnation of one of the board officers, a gun-wielding tough-talker whom DiMicco says has several times threatened to shoot strays in the development.
         During the late 1990s, DiMicco was harassed and threatened, mostly at night or on weekends, by persons she can't yet identify. Her rear car window was broken; persons threw beer cans, liquor bottles, and trash onto her property; someone threw a plastic bag containing bullets. Some, in golf carts during the summer and snowmobiles in winter, drove past her house, screaming and whistling; others in cars and pick-up trucks raced their engines, whooping and yelling, apparently with the purpose to excite and enrage the dogs. A few threw firecrackers over the eight-foot stockade fence; one firecracker landed in front of Bandit, a 14-year-old husky-shepherd, causing him to have a stroke. "No Trespassing"and "Posted"signs"were torn down; during hunting season, she heard "a lot of gunshots in the development,"and someone killed a deer on her property. She left her home only to shop and run routine errands, fearing "people who want to harm my animals."Mary DiMicco became "so stressed"she moved away for a few weeks.
        In board meetings and subsequent court hearings, board members claimed they knew nothing about the attacks, but did claim there were extensive urine odors coming from the DiMicco property, and that the dogs barked constantly. Testifying for DiMicco were a state dog warden supervisor, two township supervisors, a veterinarian, and several neighbors, all of whom said that on unannounced visits they found the home and property were clean, all animals were properly cared for, there were no noticeable odors, and only minimal barking.
        Seeming to disregard the evidence, and rejecting any kind of a "grandfather"clause argument, Common Pleas Judge Robert J. Conway ordered DiMicco to get rid of her pets. In October 1999, about 18 months after Conway issued his final decree, the state Supreme Court refused to hear DiMicco's appeal.
        After four years of fighting, with a $10,000 fine imposed by the board—$10 a day for almost three years—Gloria DiMicco had no choice. She had to collect every resource she had, develop a tougher attitude than ever, find another place, and start over.

Part II

        Gloria DiMicco, forced by a private residential development and a court order either to give up her shelter for abused dogs or to move within 15 days, chose to move, hoping to find a place where she and her animals would be safe from the harassment that had become part of their lives for more than five years.
         With the help of a Realtor friend, DiMicco found an A-frame house on 1.6 acres of isolated woodland near Newfoundland, about six miles from her current home. Another friend donated a $4,200 down payment on the $45,000 house and property in an isolated section of Newfoundland. A newspaper series about her problems brought in more than $3,000 in donations; other donations added about $2,000. "I can't tell you how overwhelmed I was that so many people cared about the dogs,"she says, her voice breaking.
        But, before the mortgage was approved, with its $502.89 monthly payments, there were other expenses the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) required before DiMicco and her animals could move in. The deck leading into the house was rotted out; she paid $4,500 for repairs. The attic needed insulation and siding; she paid another $1,800. Repairs to the 0.3 mile private road leading to the house needed to be repaired; she paid $1,500.
         With the help of Nancy Brock, a 70-year-old retired nurse, DiMicco cleared the land, put stone on the ground, bought 12 two- dog kennels for $4,000, built A-frame roofs for additional warmth and to keep the snow off the roofs, put up 300 feet of four- and six-foot high chain link kennel fencing and gates, and 320 feet of six-foot high stockade fence.
         By the time the DiMiccos and their dogs were ready to move into their new home, they had already spent more than $10,000, draining what was left of their savings, all of the donations, a nd charged the rest of the expenses.
         DiMicco figured she'd sell the Ranchettes property, and put any profit into her new shelter. It'd all be OK, she figured. She figured wrong.
         Unable to sell the property and mobile home in the Pocono Ranchettes, and unable to afford the $196.97 mortgage payments on the Pocono Ranchettes property, DiMicco signed it over to the Dime Bank of Newfoundland in July 2000. There was only a $9,000 balance on the mortgage. At the time, Wayne County had taxed the land, mobile home, and small garage at $5,140. However, by the county's procedures, the appraisal represents 35 percent of the value of the land and property in 1972. Thus, the appraisal represented a fair market value of about $14,700 in 1972. There have been no county-wide reappraisals since. The bank sold the land and property about two months after DiMicco signed the parcels over to the bank for $14,300 to a relative of one of the board members of the Pocono Ranchettes, and paid $2,500 to the Pocono Ranchettes board to settle what DiMicco still believes to be an illegal lien. The new owner tore down the remaining kennels a nd fence, then shortly after taking possession of the property placed it again for sale with an asking price of $49,900, more in line with current property values.
         Every now and then, DiMicco says she feels "a bitterness,"but says resigned to what has happened, "it passes."
        Her new neighbors "are much friendlier,"she says, noting because she doesn't "live in fear anymore,"she goes into town more frequently.
"I'm not able to help a lot of animals right now,"she says, upset she can't do more. It still costs about $800-900 a month to take care of her rescued dogs. Even with a local veterinarian donating much of his time, she still spends about $200 a month for veterinarian care.
         The housing costs are also "overwhelming."Bell Atlantic, now Verizon, charged $250 to put telephone lines to the house. Taxes are about $1,350 a year, about $500 more than originally planned. Garbage pick-up is $174 a year. Last Spring, heavy winds tore the shingles from her roof, one that HUD said would last two years. "We'll just have to put up a new roof,"says DiMicco. "It's just another expense. Somehow, we'll just take care of it."
        She's almost three months behind on the electric bill. "It's killing us,"she says. Last year, she paid $168 a month on a budget plan; with increased electric rates, and higher usage, she is now paying PPL $279 a month.
        The snow has also been a problem, with more than a foot of it lying on the ground at the 2,125 foot elevation. Every major snow storm requires the DiMiccos to hire a private contractor to plow their driveway/road. Already this winter they have paid $300 for six plowings. Overall, figuring in mortgage payments, taxes, electricity, and road maintenance, DiMicco is paying about $450 a month more than in her previous home.
        Last summer, DiMicco rebuilt the kennels. "The work was overwhelming at times,"says, "but the dogs are more comfortable."She won't give the dogs she has rescued, which no one else wants, to the humane shelter. She knows most of them, abused, abandoned, many in frail health, mostly unadoptable, would be killed.
        She can't stop rescuing dogs. A couple of weeks before Christmas, she took in two 10-year-olds--Rusty, a springer spaniel mix, and Duey, a yellow labrador mix--who had stood guard over their owner who died in his travel trailer. "Joe adored these dogs,"says DiMicco, "but Joe's family wants nothing to do with them; they want to put them to sleep."So, Gloria DiMicco took the dogs, and is now trying to find a family that is as devoted to animals as Joe was.
        That month, she also saved a six-month-old terrier whose owner kicked him, collapsing one of his lungs. She took the puppy to the emergency room, then home for three weeks of recuperation, then found a home for the puppy. In the past year, she rescued four dogs, and found homes for eight more.
        "This is what I do,"she says. "I can't quit. Not as long as people hurt animals."Her eyes began to redden, but she didn't shed a tear. For more than two decades, the tears stayed within her. She had too much work to do. It's "every day, all day long,"she says. "It's just constant work, but the rewards are so much."
         Gloria DiMicco puts a small log into her fireplace, lights it, and takes a few moments to relax. "I don't have any regrets giving up the other place,"she says of the home and land she and her husband once thought they would live on forever. "I never considered that I lost anything. Only that I regained a better quality of life for me and my pets."

Copyright 2001 Walter M. Brasch