Pet Project

It says volumes about the man who three years ago took over as executive director of The Humane Society Naples. With master’s degrees in environmental policy and financial administration, he refers to himself as "the puppy fosterer" and clearly enjoys his job.

Simonik was chosen over other applicants because directors wanted change, and Simonik had a history of changing institutions for the better, says Lindy D’Amico, now vice president of the society’s board of directors.

"He is a shameless promoter, which is exactly what we needed," she says. "He is personable and understands the value of networking. He was able to establish new and re-establish former relationships with other local animal-welfare agencies. We now combine resources and efforts to better serve our community."

Simonik spent his first three months observing the staff and how they interacted with prospective adopters. What he saw was disheartening. The staff "angered almost everyone who walked in the door," Simonik says. "I was in shock."

"Many of the people who worked in the adoption center were not friendly to the public," says Pat Murphy, a veteran volunteer and current board member.

"And there were too many rules," Simonik says. "The restrictions put on adoptions were unrealistic."

The result? Too few happy endings, and too many could-be pets facing death after doing their time in a cage.

Simonik changed the rules. Employees who didn’t like the changes left, and were replaced with people-friendly staff members. "When I first came here, I heard cursing every day," he says. "You’d hear people leaving, shouting, ‘Well, to hell with you, I’ll just go somewhere else.’ You don’t hear that anymore."

The name changed, too, from the Humane Society of Collier County, but Simonik’s biggest move was making it a no-kill shelter. Before he became director, 50 to 70 animals were being killed each month. Today, only terminally ill and suffering animals are put down. "That only happened 11 times last year," Simonik says.

Sick animals have an isolation ward, and all receive regular attention from a veterinarian in a clinic at the Humane Society’s headquarters.

"The topic of euthanasia was always hush-hush under the prior management," Murphy says. "[Volunteers] knew it went on but were never allowed to ask about an animal that was there one day and gone the next. Our hope was that it had been adopted, but that was not always the case."

The kill rate not only made volunteers unhappy and caused them to quit, it was also a problem for prospective adopters, who would see a pet they liked, go home to discuss it and discover when they returned that it was no longer alive.

Before his arrival, half the available animals were killed on site. This past February, 113 were adopted and none was killed at the shelter. At any given time now, the shelter has 80 cats and 40 dogs on site and about 50 more in foster homes. Dogs stay only about 20 days on average; cats stay 30 days. Nearly all find a home eventually.

"We have had record adoptions in the past two years," Murphy notes.

With no-kill as a policy, the cost to care for animals rose from about $2,500 a month four years ago to nearly $30,000 a month today. Asked how they afford it, Simonik smiles. "We have great donors," he says.

It also has a more sophisticated approach to raising funds that it used to, says Director of Development Andy Reed, whom Simonik brought in four months after he took the reins. Adoptions are up, but they don’t make any money for the organization. Revenue has improved through the vet clinic, but the primary source of funding for the independent, local nonprofit is private donations.

From 2005 to 2006, the society saw a 90 percent increase in private contributions. Before Simonik’s arrival, it had relied on "membership" donations, starting at $25, but "there was nothing solid that encouraged somebody to be a member," says Reed. They set to work streamlining the database of potential donors, focusing less on mailing requests to those who had patronized the discount vet clinic, for example, and more on prospects who might contribute larger amounts more consistently. "We were wasting money entering contacts who aren’t necessarily donor prospects," Reed says.

It now carefully targets fundraising efforts and has gone to an annual-fund model with a base request of $100 (although vehicles for smaller contributions are available), recognition of different donor levels, promoting options for larger gifts and providing more accountability.

"We believe in the concept of ‘venture philanthropy,’ where donors want to see a concrete business plan for their charitable investment and want to make sure that their gift is being stewarded appropriately," says Reed.

A capital campaign also is under way for a $3.5 million facility expansion and upgrade. The intent had been to renovate the old building, to the tune of about $1 million. Hurricane Wilma rendered the building uninhabitable for animals and changed those plans.

Instead, the newer building will be renovated and a new wing added. About $1.5 million has been raised, and Reed is confident that naming opportunities will bring in more donations—"from $2.5 million for naming rights for the entire shelter all the way down to individualized brick pavers."

"I can’t tell you how [the organization] has changed 180 degrees from what it was," says Joan Hedderick. A board member six years ago, she quit in frustration. About a year ago, a current board member encouraged her to visit, and she returned a volunteer. The shelter now has 21 employees and about 300 volunteers, up from 17 and 190 in 2004.

"Michael is very open to suggestions and ideas, which has transformed the shelter to a wonderful, friendly place to volunteer and, above all, adopt a pet," Hedderick says. "The staff is always friendly and helpful, and they love those shelter animals as if they were their own. A friendly, positive environment starts from the top."

Conditions for the animals have improved, as well. A few years ago, cats were each kept in a small cage. Today they have an open-run aisle and easy access to an outdoor area.

In the dog kennel, there are no jumping, barking, snarling dogs. A yellow baffle of insulation hangs from the ceiling above two rows of clean, spacious kennels. Soft music plays constantly. The dogs, Simonik explains, have been trained not to bark, jump or paw frantically as visitors approach. Many are graduates of the society’s "Cider House."

"We call them ‘Cider House dogs,’" Simonik says. At the Cider House, which opened Jan. 1, problem pups are taught what not to do in social settings, so the dogs become more adoptable. All receive basic obedience and leash training.

"They’re taught to come to the front gate, sit down and wag their tails," Simonik says. "If they hide in the back and are scared, then they can’t sell themselves."

Simonik doesn’t want to board an animal forever, he says, so he lowered adoption fees, which range from $35 for an older cat to $250 for a small or purebred dog. He also provides counselors to match a pet with a human companion.

Returns are few.

"We did have a very wealthy lady come back with an orange cat she’d had for 12 years," Simonik relates. "She said she had changed her furniture, and the cat doesn’t match any more. Can you imagine that? Turning in a pet of 12 years because your furniture changed?"

In the shelter, says Murphy, "Michael is everywhere. He does not spend all of his time in his office. He is in the adoption center, intake, clinic, kennels—and he knows what is going on everywhere. He does adoptions when the adoption counselors are busy and answers the phone on busy afternoons when everyone else is attending to visitors and potential adopters."

According to Simonik, it’s a job that suits him. "I love Naples. I love it here. I mean, who gets to go to work and play with dogs and kittens all day?"