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The movie based on the story of a dog whose mistreatment led to changes in North Carolina’s animal cruelty laws had its world premiere in Winston-Salem over the weekend.

“Susie’s Hope” kicked off the RiverRun International Film Festival Saturday, and if you missed that showing there are two more — Tuesday at 3 p.m. at Hanesbrands Theatre, and Saturday at 4 p.m. in the Main Theatre at UNC School of the Arts.

Susie, a pit bull mix, became a poster puppy for fighting animal abuse when she was found burned, beaten and close to death in Greensboro’s Greenfield Park in 2009.

The woman who adopted her, Donna Lawrence, was once a pit bull victim.

Lawrence began feeding a dog near her home in High Point whose owners had moved away. After several days, the dog attacked her, latching on to her left leg and going for her throat before she was able to push it away and seek help. The wound left her bone exposed, and she’d receive 45 stitches.

She didn’t blame the animal: “I blame the owners who turned their dog into what it was,” she writes on the movie’s website. “Their neglect and abuse made their dog fearful and territorial.”

The attack left Lawrence, a long-time dog lover, with a fear of dogs and nightmares, even after her physical recovery.

“Then one day I met Susie, and she changed my life forever,” Lawrence writes. “So now you can see Susie and I shared something in common: she was a pit bull mix that had been had been tortured by a human and I was viciously attacked by a pit bull just a few months before we met. Our similar experiences allowed us to go from being victims to living victorious lives. I forgave the dog for my wrongful attack, and Susie forgave the human for hers.”

Susie’s previous owner had beaten the dog, and set her on fire, because she licked his baby’s face.

She was found with second- and third-degree burns on 60 percent of her body, a broken jaw, her teeth knocked out and her ears all but burned away. Her wounds were infested with maggots and she’d been surviving by eating sticks and drinking from mud puddles.

Lawrence and Susie would go on to foster awareness of animal abuse and push for increased penalties for the crime.  Susie would become a therapy dog and a Canine Good Citizen.

In 2010, the state legislature passed Susie’s Law, which increased the penalty for anyone who “maliciously” kills an animal by “intentional deprivation of necessary sustenance, and raised the offense from a misdemeanor to a felony. Susie’s abuser received a sentence of 4-6 months in jail for burning personal property and a 4-5 month suspended sentence for animal cruelty.

Susie — though a puppy portrays her in her younger years — plays herself in the movie.

Filmed locally, the movie has some actors you might recognize – Emmanuelle Vaugier, best known as Charlie’s ex-fiance Mia on the CBS comedy “Two and a Half Men,” plays Lawrence; Burgess Jenkins (“Remember the Titans”) plays Roy Lawrence; and, in our favorite bit of casting,  Jon Provost (Timmy from the TV show “Lassie”) plays state Sen. Don Vaughan, who sponsored the bill that became Susie’s Law.

(Photo: Courtesy of Susieshope.com)

Most of those who venture onto this website know the lingering pain of losing a pet, how hard it is to let go of their memory — and how, often, we never do.

Some even know that the author of this website wrote a rather bizarre book about it, looking at the ways we try to hold onto a piece, or more, of our departed pets after they’re gone — in particular the newest and perhaps most outlandish of those, dog cloning.

Catering to, and capitalizing on, the grief of bereaved pet owners is a burgeoning industry — one with a dark side, I’d argue, and one that has received little real scrutiny.

Instead, most recent portrayals — of services ranging from cloning to freeze-drying –  have been formulaic and superficial reality TV-type programs that fail to dig at all, or at least not as deep as the grief they’re focusing on.

So I’m eagerly awaiting, and have high hopes for, a new documentary called “Furever,” scheduled to premier next month as part of the Cleveland International Film Festival.

Director Amy Finkel traveled the country to look at the assorted — some might say sordid – routes we take to memorialize our dogs, or recapture a semblance of the life that once ran through them.

Her stops included a taxidermist in rural Pennsylvania, a religious group in Utah that mummifies pets, and various other parts of the country where entrepreneurs offer everything from jewelry to tattoos, made from the ashes of our dead pets.

She even popped in on Ace and me (though I’m told we don’t appear until the end of the film).

Endings are what the documentary is about, and our refusal, sometimes, to accept them — at least not without a freeze dried statue of our pet, a genetic twin created in a South Korean laboratory, or a trinket or shrine to remember them by.

Sixty-two percent of Americans own pets, spending nearly 53 billion dollars on them annually — most of that, fortunately, while their dog is still alive, but a lot of it, sometimes, after they’re gone. 

The avenues they take, while they seem sane and fitting to the pet owners, sometimes strike others as bizarre.

Finkel’s examination, judging from time I spent with her, promises to be a non-judgmental one, and one that I expect , unlike other recent looks at pet preservation, doesn’t feel the need to inject additional melodrama. Often, there’s enough there already — so much that we don’t look beyond the outrageousness to see what we might learn.  

“FUREVER is a documentary about the people looking to hang onto the memories of their four-legged loved ones, and the booming trade that is providing services that are an equal amount of creativity, empathy, and opportunity,” Finkel writes on the film’s website.

“FUREVER isn’t just about an industry that provides methods of pet preservation; it is also a study of how the relationship between owner and pet has grown throughout the centuries into a full-fledged family unit. Whether you’re a pet parent yourself, or friends with some, FUREVER gives you an intimate look into the gratitude and grief that goes with loving your pet.”

Amy Finkel earned her B.A. in Theater from Connecticut College and her M.F.A. in Design and Technology from Parsons School of Design. She lives in Brooklyn and works as a designer, photographer, documentary filmmaker, and writer.

Finkel’s project began almost five years ago, when she read a newspaper article about Mac’s Taxidermy and Freeze-Dry in Loudon, Pa., whose services included freeze-drying and preserving deceased pets — sometimes in part, sometimes in whole. One potential client wanted the ears of a Dalmatian to be preserved, and another brought an amputated dog leg.

From there she moved on to visiting the Summum, a religious group in Utah that mummifies pets, and people.

The film also looks at cloning — now available, for $100,000, in South Korea, at technology being used to turn animals’ ashes into diamonds, and at pet owners who get tattoos with ink that’s mixed with their animals cremated remains. Her brother has gotten several of those, made from the ashes of his pit bull, according to a New York Times article about Finkel’s movie.

“This is about the human-pet bond, and it’s also about mortality,” Finkel said. “We shy away from discourse on death. It’s uncomfortable and stigmatized, but maybe through talking about pets, we can open up the dialogue.”

The documentary will have its premier at Cleveland International Film Festival, with screenings on Thursday, April 11, at 7:20 p.m.; Saturday, April 13, at 3:40 p.m. and Sunday, April 14, at 11:45 a.m.

You can learn more about it at www.fureverfilm.com, or by visiting its Facebook page

(Photos by, and courtesy of, Amy Finkel)

Technically, maybe it’s correct to say no animals were harmed during the filming of “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.”

But away from the set, when the cameras weren’t rolling, 27 animals signed up to take part in the production died, and more were injured – mostly at a New Zealand farm where they were being kept.

Animal wranglers involved in the making of “The Hobbit” movie trilogy say the production company is responsible for the deaths because it kept the animals at a farm filled with bluffs, sinkholes and other “death traps,” according to an Associated Press report.

Despite that, the movie’s credits do carry the American Humane Association’s “No animals were harmed” stamp of approval — the exact wording of which is “No animals were harmed in the making of this film.”

The AHA says its monitoring of animals is limited to the actual filming of a movie or television show, and that it lacks the manpower, funding and authority to police animals when they are away from the set.

But others, PETA included, think that’s splitting hairs.

“How can something like this happen when the unit production manager was warned and the production was monitored by the AHA,” asks PETA, which has been critical of AHA in the past, and which was involved in breaking the story.

PETA also wonders why — given the state of the art of computer graphics — live animals had to be used at all:

“This movie was directed by Peter Jackson, a master at computer-generated imagery (CGI). In a movie that features CGI dragons, ogres, and hobbits, CGI animals would have fit in perfectly. Jackson could have made The Hobbit without using a single animal—and he should have.”

AHA called the deaths “needless and unacceptable,” and said they show that there are shortcomings in the oversight system, which monitors film sets but not the facilities where the animals are housed and trained. Read more »

Leave it to director Tim Burton to get across the point — in his characteristically gothic manner –  that I’ve been trying to make for two years now:

You can’t bring your dead dog back to life, at least not without running into some trouble.

At least that’s a point I selfishly hope his new full-length, 3-D animated movie, “Frankenweenie,” will make when it comes out in October.

As the author of a book on the brave new world of dog cloning, and being generally opposed to the practice, I’ve got some confused feelings about Burton’s new movie, which comes out — unlike his 1984 short film of the same name –  at a time when dogs, deceased and otherwise, are being “re-created” in South Korea.

Science has caught up with science fiction, it  seems, and sometimes brings equally scary results.

In the movie, a boy named Victor, grieving the death of his beloved dog, Sparky, conducts a science experiment to bring him back to life “only to face unintended, sometimes monstrous, consequences.”

Based on that summary, Burton’s new movie, like the classic work of literature upon which it is based, could have a few things in common with today’s reality, in which the cells of dead dogs are merged with egg cells from donor dogs, zapped with electricity and, after being implanted in surrogates, come to life. The going price is $100,000.

Do bereaved pet owners get the same dog — a reanimated version of their deceased one? Of course not. Do they think they are? Sometimes.

When I started researching “DOG, INC.: How a Collection of Visionaries, Rebels, Eccentrics and Their Pets Launched the Commercial Dog Cloning Industry,” the first book I read, or re-read, was “Frankenstein” — given all the parallels between that classic story and cloning.

Both featured grief, selfishness and laboratories, borrowing parts from one being to assemble another, and plenty of mistakes and deformities along the way. Both relied on a zap of electricity to spur things on. Both related to the stubborn refusal of humans to accept death, and the powerful drive, among some, to bring a being, or at least a semblance of it, back to life.

Burton’s new movie itself is a reanimation. “Frankenweenie” was originally a 30- minute short film. Now he’s done what he originally wanted to do — make it a full-length feature. Here’s the official synopsis:

From creative genius Tim Burton comes “Frankenweenie,” a heartwarming tale about a boy and his dog. After unexpectedly losing his beloved dog Sparky, young Victor harnesses the power of science to bring his best friend back to life—with just a few minor adjustments. He tries to hide his home-sewn creation, but when Sparky gets out, Victor’s fellow students, teachers and the entire town all learn that getting a new “leash on life” can be monstrous.

While much has been written about the making of the movie, and about the stars providing the voices — Winona Ryder, Martin Short, Catherine O’Hara, Martin Landau, among others — what message it delivers hasn’t been written about much. (Not that it must have one, or that it must be the one I’d like to see.)

The original short film — we’ve posted it here — was fantastical and charming. In it, the reanimated dog, though humans outside of his immediate family fear and misunderstand him, goes on to save Victor’s life and become beloved by all. 

“The reason I originally wanted to make ‘Frankenweenie’ was based on growing up and loving horror movies,” Burton explains in the new movie’s press materials. “But it was also the relationship I had when I was a child with a certain dog that I had.”

“It’s a special relationship that you have in your life and very emotional,” he adds. “Dogs obviously don’t usually live as long as people, so therefore you experience the end of that relationship. So that, in combination with the Frankenstein story, just seemed to be a very powerful thing to me -— a very personal kind of remembrance.”

The original short film didn’t go into the folly and dangers of attempting to bring the dead back to life, and — being fictional, being fanciful, being art — it, and it’s lengthier animated 3-D remake, shouldn’t be required to.

It should need no “don’t try this at home” warning.

It should be allowed to just be fun, and not be subjected to hand-wringing reminders that resurrecting dead dogs, or at least what’s portrayed as such, is actually going on, or the moral and ethical issues surrounding it, or the sometimes horrific results.

And, or course, not being my movie, it shouldn’t have to make my point — one that wasn’t even necessary to make in 1984:

A dog’s death is final, and cherishing a dog’s memory (not to mention the dog while it is still alive) is a far more meaningful pursuit than trying to artificially recapture its essence in a laboratory.

How far would you go to have your dog proclaimed the world’s ugliest?

For some people the answer would be not very far at all.

For others, it’s all the way to Petaluma, California.

There, every year, dogs and their owners (emphasis on their owners) compete to be crowned the “Ugliest Dog in the World.”

If that’s not worth a documentary, then what is?

“Worst in Show“ takes viewers into the world of the ugly dog circuit, and behind the scenes of the 2010 “World’s Ugliest Dog” contest, showing both its sweet side and its highly competitive one.

Filmmakers John Beck and Don R. Lewis document not just the “ugliness” of the dogs, but the sometimes obsessive nature of the people behind them.

The movie features Pabst, 2009′s winner, who has a 2-inch underbite; Rascal, an African Sand Dog who has been on several television shows; Icky, a nearly hairless 6-month old rescued Chinese Crested whose owner shaved his head into a matching mohawk for the event; and Winston, who bears a scar across his head from Hurricane Katrina. His owner, Ashley, hopes winning the contest will spread the word about rescue dogs,  particularly those who, because of their unconventional looks, have trouble being adopted.

‘Worst in Show’ provides some insight into what we call ugliness, what we call beauty, what we call fame and how far we’ll go to get it. All in all, the classiest participants are the dogs. But look hard enough and you can find some of the more redeeming qualities of our species as well.

Among the honors the documentary “100,000” has received is an Emmy award. Director Juan Agustin Marquez is shown here accepting it, and asking Puerto Ricans to take a pledge.

“We set out to change the world with this film, starting with our island, Puerto Rico,” he said.

“100,000 represents the specific number of dogs who live in the streets of our island nation. But the .. title of the film is more complex than that. What I truly wanted was to reach 100,000 people, humans, with the message of the film. I wanted 100,000 people to sign a pledge at the endof the film to learn about humane treatment for animals, especially dogs — to pledge that they will take care of their pets for as long as they live.

“We have a long way to reach our goal, but I will not rest until I get my 100,000 people to pledge to Puerto Rico’s dogs.”

Here is the pledge.

“100,000,” unfortunately, isn’t available for purchase, and it has yet to appear on American television.

But there is a way to see it, with English subtitles. The director says on the documentary’s website that he will provide a private link to watch it to those who email him. The email address is: perro@100000movie.com.

This clip from the documentary “100,000” provides a glimpse into the life of street dogs in Puerto Rico who — sometimes sick, sometimes starving, nearly always unwanted — have become part of the urban landscape.

Like those who call Los Machos Beach home, these dogs in Guayama survive mostly by scavenging, and sometimes with a little help from humans, like Anibal.

Anibal Rosario, though he seems to have little himself — living in an abadoned home, with abandoned dogs, after being abandoned himself, he says, by his own parents — does what he can to see that the dogs get food and stay out of trouble.

He doesn”t view the spurned, mistreated and abused dogs as his own, just as a group that he ”manages.”

“People hit them also,” he says. “They throw rocks and bottles at them so the dogs get aggressive,” he says.

While some of his neighbors are critical of him, others see him as filling a need and taking responsibility for what  noone else seems willing to.

“Anibal is someone that you really have to admire,” one neighbor says. “Believe me, he will look for at least a piece of meat for each one of them.”

(Our coverage of the documentary “100,000,” a probing look at dog overpopulation in Puerto Rico, continues tomorrow)

This excerpt from the award-winning documentary ”100,000″ focuses on the work of Island Dog, an animal welfare organization in Puerto Rico founded by Baltimore native Katie Block.

Block left Baltimore in 1999, looking for paradise, she admits. On her first day in Puerto Rico she came across a homeless dog and brought it home. When she  took it to a vet and explained how she had found it, he laughed at her.

She quickly learned the stray she’d found was just one of thousands — and that many of them spent their lives at a particular beach, called Los Machos, where they’d either been abandoned, or, sometimes, born from those previously abandoned.

She tried to do what she could. At her bartending job at a resort, she persuaded guests to take dogs home to the states. She enlisted her parents help in getting dogs shipped to new homes. Making a small dent in a very big problem, and swamped by veterinary bills, she, after three years, threw in the towel — but only temporarily, as it turned out.

In 2002, Block returned to Baltimore. She finished college and ended up in Puerto Rico again, where in 2006, she established Island Dog.

Today, as the founder and director of the organization, she works full-time to rescue dogs, find them homes in the states, and supply strays with food and medical attention — all while focused on longer term goals.

Those include teaching responsible pet ownership, expanding the practice of spaying and neutering, and increasing awareness around the world about  the cruelties animal face in U.S. territories in the Caribbean. Her hope is to make Puerto Rico more animal friendly, and get an animal education program started at every school in the territory.

Island Dog estimates that 98 percent of the dogs that end up in Puerto Rico’s few under-equipped and under-funded shelters are euthanized; and that about 500 dogs and cats die a day.

Only about 10 percent of Puerto Rico’s pet population ever visit a veterinarian, it’s estimated.

In the documentary “100,000,” which we’re featuring all week on ohmidog!, director Juan Agustin Marquez captured the scene at Los Machos beach, and a lot of the work Island Dog does — feeding and medicating homeless animals, rescuing and rehabilitating strays, and finding them homes in the states.

The organization also offer clinics for free or low cost spay/neuter services and vaccinations, provides a humane education program for children that encourages kindness to animals and responsible pet ownership, and supplies medication and food to other animal welfare organizations working in the U.S. Caribbean.

You can find Island Dog listed with our other animal welfare friends on our rightside column, and you can visit its website and learn how to donate to the cause here.

(Photos courtesy of Island Dog)

This week, we’ll be bringing you clips from the Emmy-winning documentary “100,000,” an investigation into dog overpopulation in Puerto Rico.

It’s a stunning look at what has led to the problem, the staggering heights it has reached, and what’s being done about it. (In three words, not nearly enough.)

The movie’s title, “100,000” refers to estimates of the number of strays roaming the streets and beaches of Puerto Rico. (Some others suspect the actual number may be twice as high.)

The video above is a trailer for the documentary, but in each of the next three days we’ll bring you substantial clips from it, including a look at a villager who tries to help street dogs; an organization (our friends at Island Dog) that patrols the beaches, frequently used as a dumping ground for unwanted dogs; and at how the handful of shelters on the island rely heavily on euthanasia.

Directed by Juan Agustin Marquez, the documentary has been broadcast in over 17 countries and has won numerous honors at film festivals.

With as many millions as the Harry Potter movies raked in, you’d think  Berry, a black German shepherd who played the role of Padfoot, would be sitting pretty now.

Instead he’s homeless.

Stuntman and trainer Paul Thompson, saying he can no long look after Berry because of the demands of his job, turned Berry and a second dog actor, named Porridge, over to German Shepherd Dog Rescue in the United Kingdom.

Outrageous, we say.

Rather than being responsible, rather than showing some gratitude to the dogs that served as his meal ticket, the dogs’ owner casts them aside as if they were aging Hollywood actresses, deemed too old and wrinkly to have any box office pull.

Maybe it’s even more atrocious than that — for movie dogs don’t get paid in the first place; their trainers do. At least the actors have a union. Maybe dog movie stars should have one, too — or at least some sort of fund to assure they are taken care of in old age, as opposed to tossed on the street.

Berry, no youngster anymore at age 10, and Porridge, who’s 13, are now in foster care, together, while the rescue organization seeks to find them a permanent home.

Berry — full name Shadowberry — played the role of Padfoot, who was the animal form of wizard Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather in Harry Potter And The Prisoner of Azkaban. The human form of the role was played by Gary Oldman.

Porridge, a German shepherd-Labrador mix, had parts in “The Bill” and the TV adaptation of “White Teeth.”

“I found myself spending a lot of time away from home,” Thompson explained, according to the Daily Express. “The dogs needed more attention than I could give. It was a difficult decision to make but one I had to accept was best for the dogs.”

Lizzy Brown, one of the rescue organization’s  coordinators, estimates at least 100 people have offered to take the dogs so far. Many of those offers came from the U.S., ABC News reports, but Brown says, given the age and condition of the dogs, they won’t consider shipping them overseas.

Both pooches have chronic degenerative radiculomyelopathy, or CDRM, which makes it difficult for them to walk, but “Berry’s not nearly as bad,” said Brown.

Berry offers an explanation of his abandonment — if that’s not too strong a word – on the website of German Shepherd Dog Rescue, which apparently composed the remarks:

“My Dad contacted German Shepherd Dog Rescue because he realised he didn’t have the time to look after us properly anymore. His work takes him away from home an awful lot and whilst his friends and family tried to help look after us, we weren’t getting the walks or brushes we were used to.

“This lovely lady came round to visit us one day. She asked Dad a lot of questions about us and then we got in the car with her (I love the car) and went to her house to live. Apparently she is what they call a Foster Mum but we called her Mum. We loved our Mum because she had these lovely soft beds to lie our wobbly old legs on, a nice big garden for us to explore, and she spent lots of time with us making sure we were fed, brushed and loved.

“Apparently there were a lot of people on the film I was in, something to do with a Harry Potter, who became very rich and very famous from it and they all live in lovely houses of their own. If it wasn’t for German Shepherd Dog Rescue and my Mums and Dad I would not be as happy and cared for now as I am, but I am still waiting for a home to call my own. If only I had become rich and famous as well then maybe I could have helped these wonderful people help more dogs like me and Porridge.”

Berry’s account seems to let Thompson off pretty easy, and quite possibly there are extenuating circumstances to which we are not privy. Nevertheless, once one profits off a dog, as I see it, they have even more of an obligation than that which comes with being a regular pet owner.

That “no animals were harmed” in the making of The Prisoner of Azkabanthe, or any other movie, is one thing. What happens to them afterwards is important, too. Treating them as disposable, especially after they’ve fattened up your pocketbook, is reprehensible.

I don’t know if Thompson is helping to pay for the future care of the dogs from whom he profited, or whether he’s leaving that up to the rescue and any adoptive parents that come along.

But given he can no longer make the “time” for them, it’s the least — truly the least — he could do.

(Photos: GermanShepherdRescue.co.uk)