Prudence Baxter is a rescuer of abandoned chows, for whom she tries to find homes. At the moment, she is fostering 15 chows at her Auburn home. "I feel badly that they don't have a better chance," she says of a breed that's often called "standoffish."
Renée C. Byer / rbeyer@sacbee.com

Down a quiet street on the outskirts of Auburn lives a woman who in her college days set out to be a spy, became a ski bum instead and raced cars on the side, all the while remaining loyal to her archconservative political views.

"I'm a very competitive person," said Prudence Baxter. "I swam competitively in high school. I skied competitively after college. I drove competitively, and I showed dogs competitively."

These days, Baxter's a leader in what's known as dog rescue. She gathers up all the discarded and lost dogs she can handle and then sets out to find them homes.

Baxter is just a small strand in a massive animal rescue web that stretches across North America. Petfinder.com, the online leader in adopting dogs, cats and other pets, lists 11,806 animal shelters and rescue groups. This week, its Web site featured 252,033 adoptable pets.

Given Baxter's competitive mien, it seems only natural she rescues one of the most challenging breeds to place in new homes – the mysterious, aloof and sometimes fearsome chow, best known for its lion's mane and a curly tail that rarely wags.

Baxter's stylish home in the country is really a halfway house for chows. There are chows out front, chows in the backyard, chows in the kennel to the side, chows in the kitchen. There's a blind chow, a blond chow, a mean chow, a warm and fuzzy chow. There's a chow that barks at the six donkeys and the sheep, which she rescued.

The only unwanted animal on Baxter's 6 acres is a feisty egret that raids her pond next to the driveway. "Get out of here," she shouted, moments after greeting a visitor. "He steals my fish."

Baxter, who spent much of her life in the Bay Area, got into dog rescue the old-fashioned way.

She got a chow as a pet in the early 1970s, then began going to dog shows. Soon, she was breeding chows. By the mid-1970s, she had the top chow in the nation.

Along the way, she volunteered once a week at the Marin Humane Society. Eventually, Baxter wanted to give back to the breed that gave her so much joy.

"After you get the No. 1 dog in the United States, where do you go from there?" she said.

She slowed down the breeding and focused on the saving.

It's proved to be an endless task. People get pets for the wrong reason – or no reason at all. When the cute factor wears thin, they give up, dumping them in shelters.

"It can be very challenging," said Kim Saunders, vice president of shelter outreach for Petfinder.com. "We encourage our members not to burn out. You have to focus on your triumphs and know that you've made a difference."

Chows, or chow chows, as they are known officially, are among the most challenging breeds, Baxter said. She realized chows that landed in shelters were not getting adopted. The crime? They acted like chows.

"I feel badly that they don't have a better chance. The breed standard says a chow shall be standoffish," said Baxter with a shrug. "I told the people who worked at the shelter, 'You're judging all the dogs by the standard of golden retrievers. Chows are not like that.' "

Last year, Baxter's Norcal Chow Rescue took in 38 chows and placed 26. None was euthanized.

To succeed in chow rescue, Baxter often finds herself driving all over Northern California, spending her own money.

In a recent interview, she was twice interrupted by phone calls about chows in dire predicaments. She vowed to retrieve one dog tied up in a yard in Napa – once there was room at her house.

Baxter, who declines to give her age, never set out to do this kind of work. She grew up in Piedmont, a city of tree-lined streets in the East Bay hills, and enrolled at the University of California, Berkeley, to study political science. "I was a political junkie. I wanted to be a spy," she said. "I became a ski bum instead. My mother used to say, 'Why did I send you to college? So you could ski?' "

Politically, she has always been conservative or, as she puts it with a chuckle, "somewhere to the right of Taft." In her kitchen, the small TV is always on the Fox News Channel.

Rush Limbaugh? "He's my man. He's my idol," she said.

As the years passed and Baxter became immersed in chow rescue, she found herself taking in more dogs than the law allows at her Bay Area home. Seven years ago, she relocated to the acreage between Auburn and Grass Valley.

Dog rescue, despite the frequent happy stories, is never over and the adoptions never add up to victory for the ultra-competitive Baxter. Irresponsible pet owners drive her crazy. She gets miffed when veterinarians don't give rescuers a break on bills.

She supports breeding only for those who want to show their dog or who desire a specialized working dog. "There's no other reason to get a dog with papers," she said.

She knows better than most. Out back, in front and in the kennels off to the side, she's got 15 chows looking for homes.

If you approach one of the chows, even if your heart's in the right place, don't expect them to act thrilled about it.

There's also a certain egret she'd like to relocate.

Anyone seeking more information about Baxter and her rescue operation can e-mail norcalchowrescue@sbcglobal.net.