Canine bloodsport

Dogfights.

They’re held in secret, out-of-the-way places: old barns, sheds, storage buildings, sometimes just a clearing in the woods. But always discreet.

The paying spectators who plunk down $50 or more to watch often don’t find out exactly where the fight will be until an hour beforehand.

The fights are always bloody, and frequently deadly. And very much against the law. It is a crime in Louisiana to promote, engage, stage or otherwise directly participate in a dogfight. Violators can get up to 10 years in prison. Spectators can land behind bars for up to six months.

But for some, it’s worth the risk. Prize money for winning dogs can be in the thousands—in one case he’s seen, says Louisiana State Police Lt. Rhett Trahan, the prize was a staggering $100,000.

Trahan has worked plenty of dogfighting investigations, and he’s seen first hand its ugly, violent results.

Some 70% of fighting dogs eventually die from their wounds. In the seedy world of dogfighting, there are no fight doctors for these animals—no honest veterinarian would ever participate. Instead, the “doctor” is a breeder or dogfighter himself, who staples wounds shut and then smears on some disinfectant.

“The dogs are usually bleeding,” says Trahan, who has raided many dogfighting arenas. “Some of them may have broken bones. There’s blood on the walls.”

The dogs fight within a square arena, usually about 20 feet by 20 feet, formed with rough plywood walls. It’s known as the pit, which is appropriate because the dogs are almost always pit bulls.

The dogs square off on opposite sides behind what are known as scratch lines. A referee stands inside the ring and signals to the dog handlers to release their fighters.

Spectators, who have placed bets on the dogs, encourage their dog with shouts of “Kill him, kill him,” Trahan says.

In recent years, State Police have cracked down hard on these illegal canine bloodbaths. In March 2005, troopers arrested a well-known Lafayette-area dog breeder and his son, charging them with 64 counts of dogfighting and 64 counts of cruelty to animals. Troopers seized 60 dogs. A month later, State Police investigators raided a dogfight in St. Landry Parish. They arrested 21 people and seized 12 pit bulls.

The month after that, in St. Tammany Parish, troopers arrested 18 people and seized 140 pit bulls as part of a three-state drug dealing, money laundering and dogfighting ring—Trahan says dogfighting is frequently associated with narcotics.

In June 2005, troopers arrested a dogfight organizer in St. Mary Parish and seized 21 dogs.

All the attention from the cops has forced some dogfighters out of the sport and pushed others to take even more precautions.

“It definitely went more underground,” Trahan says. “They’re watching out for the police. It’s getting harder to infiltrate.”

John Baillio, a 23-year-old former methamphetamine dealer, originally from Tangipahoa Parish, has been around pit bulls most of his life, having raised them, trained them and fought them—he even has a pit bull tattooed on his leg. It’s a violent world, he says. Even creating fighting dogs requires cunning manipulation of the breeding. For example, the toughest fighters are inbred females, the offspring of either a mother bred with her son, or a father bred with its daughter.

“They call them double breeds,” Baillio says, “and them mother——s are psycho.”