Kelly Hart, animal control officer in Health and Human Services, examines a dead bat she picked up while on routine patrol through her route, which covers the inner loop area.

Story and photos by Dave Schafer

A flash of fur, teeth and slobber bolted from under a parked van. Growling, the stray pit bull started chewing its way up Animal Control Officer Kelly Hart’s metal restraining pole.

Its co-conspirator, a mixed breed, latched onto the back of her ankle.

Hart kicked the mixed breed off, but the dog was coming in for another bite when the homeowner who’d called for help swatted the dog back with a broom.

Adrenaline surged through Hart’s body and she was shaking as a standoff ensued.

Forcing herself to appear calm, she called on the walkie-talkie for help.

But she wasn’t calm. If she tripped, the pit bull would maul her. That thought ran through her head for the 10 minutes it took for another ACO to drive by and shoot the dogs with tranquilizer darts.

Hart nearly quit that night. But on a cold morning two months later, she’s still on patrol.

“I don’t usually run away from things that scare me,” Hart said. After she calmed down, she realized the situation hadn’t been as dangerous as she’d imagined.

10-6 to 10-8
“213 336955 10-6,” Hart says into the walkie-talkie. That’s ACO shorthand for “Officer number 213 has arrived on the scene of incident A05-336955-2.” The walkie-talkie conversations and the notes on her activity log are a jumble of numbers and letters.

Yesterday, Hart had been unable to find a dog who had bit a walker. So she’s still looking for it.

Animals that bite someone are quarantined for 10 days. If they have rabies, they’ll die in that time. It takes 45 days for rabies to kill a human.

Strays that haven’t bit anyone are at the kennel for three days. If no one claims the animals, those deemed adoptable are put up for adoption.

Hart doesn’t think about what happens to those not adopted.

“It’s easier for me to think I put them into a good home,” she says. “Because I really do love animals.”

A furry white dog butt is spotted rounding a corner, but by the time Hart gets there, the dog is gone.

“213 336955 10-8,” she reports after 10 minutes of driving around, meaning she’s leaving the scene.

Story of a dead bat
Each morning, the 21 ACOs get a list of incidents to be investigated. This morning, there are 17 incidents on Hart’s sheet, all but one involving dogs. That’s normal, she says.

The odd incident involves a bat that had been beaten to death with a broom at a Harris County Juvenile Detention Center. No center worker touched the bat, but there’s no way to know what the bat might have bitten, and animal control, like all Health divisions, is charged with preventing an outbreak of disease.

So Hart picks up the bat – which is wrapped in four plastic trash bags – and, using metal tongs, drops it into a Folders coffee tin that goes into the cooler in the the back of her truck. It’ll be tested for rabies.

“What kind of bat is that?” a center employee asks.

“That is a brown, furry bat,” Hart answers with a smile.

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