On the night of April 12, Jennifer Raymond crawled through a tunnel she’d cut in the thick hedge wound with blackberry vines that separated her property from Miranda’s Rescue and clipped the wire fencing. She found the fresh mound of dirt she’d been watching and started digging with her hands. “I dug and got 2 feet until I hit fur,” she says, describing the coat as long, wavy and silky, white with brown spots. Then she uncovered a foreleg, then a pointed profile like a springer spaniel, its mouth bloody and its fur stained burgundy from snout to ear.
Two weeks later, Raymond and Jenna Moore, both animal welfare advocates, snuck back onto the property and dug up eight more dogs. The women shared documents with the sheriff’s office detailing Miranda’s Rescue having taken in more than 600 dogs from shelters alone in 2025, alleging founder and president Shannon Miranda was accepting fees and killing dogs he’d promised to care for to make room for more. Raymond and Moore handed the bodies, which had been kept in a freezer, to Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office deputies on May 1. That same day, deputies arrived at the rescue with a search warrant to seize records, firearms, ammunition, a laptop, phone, iPad and flash drive, seeking possible evidence of fraud and animal cruelty.
While the law enforcement investigation remains ongoing, Miranda’s Rescue continues to operate with 62 dogs as well as cats and kittens on site, but the cities of Ferndale, Fortuna and Rio Dell have rescinded their contracts to take animals there. While the sheriff’s office request for court-ordered monitoring was denied, according to Sheriff William Honsal, Miranda has agreed to walk-through inspections of the sprawling property by Animal Control officers three times a week, including one of those with an attending veterinarian.
Amid wide news coverage and social media criticism, Miranda denies the allegations of fraud and has asked supporters of the rescue to wait for the evidence to come to light. He insists in a recent interview with the Journal that he has never put down an adoptable animal and only shot dogs as a humane final option due to suffering or a safety risk, which is not illegal for a private rescue in California. He’s also says the accusations by Moore and Raymond are founded in personal vendetta rather than fact.
Raymond and Moore’s mission to bring down Miranda and his organization is a years-long one with tangled personal histories. They have gone to extreme lengths, including breaking the law and, in Raymond’s case, buying the property next door to Miranda’s Rescue. But the two have not been alone in their suspicions about the operation, and questions swarm around the number of animals Miranda took in and what became of them.
Over the phone, Raymond apologizes for the dogs barking in background. After 25 years of teaching vegetarian cooking, she threw herself into the cause of reducing the number of healthy animals killed, founding the nonprofit Humboldt Spay and Neuter Network as a one-woman operation in 2003. “For the first 12 years or so, it was basically me and a telephone,” she says. Raymond retired in 2022 but remains proud of the organization and its Myrtle Avenue clinic.
She says she first came into contact with Miranda in 2001, when she found a stray cat her other eight didn’t want in the family. She met Miranda at the rescue, handed over the cat and made a donation. She says the next day she called to follow up and he told her he’d already found the cat a home but couldn’t tell her who’d adopted her. “And I knew she was either dumped or euthanized,” Raymond says. As an experienced shelter volunteer, she found it suspiciously fast.
“I heard rumors that he killed dogs,” she says, adding she didn’t know how to look into it. She was frustrated, she says, by how his charm seemed to sway people. When retirement didn’t stick, she opened Humboldt Humane’s Critters Without Litters on Fernbridge Drive, bringing her closer to Miranda’s Rescue. She’d called the sheriff’s office or Animal Control with complaints about Miranda’s Rescue a couple times — once about releasing cats and once about seeing pigs killed there. But the turning point came July 9, 2024, when a Miranda’s Rescue staffer brought in a dog named Bruno.
Spooked by fireworks, Bruno, they said, chewed his way out of his crate and hadn’t been eating. “His gums were totally flayed” on his upper jaw and “you could actually see bone,” says Raymond.
The vet on duty that day, who has since left the clinic and asked that their name not be used, recalls it was an adult male shepherd mix around 50 pounds and nervous. “We sedated him and when we went to intubate him and raise his lips up,” they found “a number of his teeth were broken and his gumline was ripped away to where the maxillary bone was exposed … all the bone you feel holding your upper teeth.” They were told staff put Bruno, now dehydrated, in a horse stall for the last five days. The vet didn’t have right equipment to remove fractured teeth, but they did what they could to “make gingival flaps” to cover the bone to keep it from going necrotic.
Raymond called Animal Control. Days later, she recalls, she stopped by Miranda’s Rescue to see puppies and Miranda “started screaming at me” about her complaint. She says he told her they’d laughed about her call and asked when they ought to come by and do an inspection. She says she “complained bitterly” about the lack of anonymity and never called Animal Control again.
Asked about Bruno during the interview at the rescue, an exasperated Miranda says, “I know where the dog is. It has a great home.” He says he was aware of its chewing the wire and called to tell the vet Bruno’s “mouth was a bit swollen. … We agreed to wait until I took him in for the neuter.” He also says he wasn’t aware Raymond was involved or that she’d contacted Animal Control.
In his garage turned Western-themed saloon, Miranda sits across a bar top inlaid with horseshoes. He wears a white Miranda’s Rescue T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Raised in Ferndale, he started the rescue in 1998, after recovering from a debilitating accident at the lumber mill where he worked. The rescue relocated to Fortuna’s Sandy Prairie Road in 2001 and now sits on roughly 30 acres of a 50-acre property that includes river bar. The 501c3 nonprofit also operates thrift shops to raise funds for animal care.
Despite knowing Raymond had lodged complaints about him over the years, he says, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Drama and conflict in the animal rescue world isn’t unusual, he says, and he dismissed her as a little crazy, possibly competitive about their work in a small community. He claims he did not realize there was genuine bad blood. “I never thought she would ever do this,” Miranda says. “Obviously disturbing that you buy a $400,000 piece of property just to watch somebody.”
In contrast, his relationship with Moore was once friendly and even close, but has been openly contentious for years, eventually leading to her obtaining a restraining order against his husband Jim Oxboro. “I don’t know what happened with our friendship,” Miranda says, noting she came to his and Oxboro’s wedding. He says Moore, who runs her own rescue, has brought more than 30 dogs to him over the years and even sold him her camel Tonka in 2015. He does admit the camel’s death was the final blow between them, though he’s quick to point out that occurred while under a veterinarian’s care.
Moore says she’s been rescuing animals since she was a kid, fostering cats and finding them homes along with her babysitting and housesitting gigs. Later, she worked at Myrtle Avenue Veterinary Hospital. “I’m a fixer,” she says, “That was my undiagnosed ADHD — it was my super-power and it still is.”
Her Moore Love Animal Rescue (formerly Kilby Country) is a small-scale rescue, typically taking animals that need medical treatment. It’s a passion project she funds with some donations and the income from her company Connections Living Services, which offers supportive living for special needs adults.
She says she first met Miranda at Myrtle Avenue Veterinary Hospital and felt he chose euthanasia too easily. But she cultivated a relationship because she “wanted the scoop.” “I got to a place with Shannon where he felt comfortable enough to share things that I can’t say that really made me uncomfortable and sometimes it made me cry and a couple times I wanted to strangle him.” Still, Moore admits, “Shannon is a likeable guy. When I had to fake it to make it, it was hard not to fall into that trap.”
Despite her suspicions about Miranda, Moore sold her camel to him because, she says, she knew Tonka would have more room, and she could still keep an eye on him. She also says she and Miranda agreed she would be involved if Tonka fell ill. When Tonka became sick and was euthanized in 2016, Moore blamed Miranda for not taking the camel to University of California at Davis for treatment. “That was where I could no longer fake being his friend.” A Lost Coast Outpost story interviewing Miranda said Tonka went to the rescue because Moore was unable to keep him. This added insult to injury as far as she was concerned, saying the story “really opened my eyes to what a con man he was.”
In the aftermath of Tonka’s death, Moore says, “I was devastated. I had so much guilt. I think that guilt fueled me to where we are today.”
The rescue world is a small one. Moore was still a high schooler feeding feral cats in the ’90s when she and Raymond met. In later years, says Raymond, “She and I fought like two cats,” including over how Moore ran her rescue. “We had some real knock-down, drag-out fights.” But they were still able to work together, she says, noting, “It was not warm and fuzzy, but it was business-like, and we were OK.” Raymond continues, “Animal rescue is so emotional because lives are at stake so it’s not unusual for there to be … conflict among rescues. We all operate differently, we have opinions.” A couple years ago, someone told them they each had suspicions about Miranda’s in common, prompting an hours-long talk and the start of a partnership.
“She’s just a straight shooter,” says Moore. “Nothing is sugarcoated or fuzzy — it’s just straightforward. You might even think she’s being the B-word.” Moore says she has grown to appreciate Raymond’s intelligence. “She’s a wonderful lady. Definitely a person I wouldn’t want to be on the yucky side with. She’s calm and collected, and when you think she’s not doing anything she’s doing something.”
For example, Moore said she and Raymond talked in early February of 2025 about the property next door to Miranda’s. By the end of the month, Raymond called to say she had the keys.
“I am a real estate junkie,” says Raymond, who scrolls MLS.com daily to virtually “tour” houses. When she saw the $425,000, 5-acre property beside Miranda’s Rescue on the site, “There was no question in my mind that I had to get it,” she says, adding she feels “blessed” to be able to afford it. Escrow closed Feb. 28, 2025, and she was the owner of an 1868 Victorian that had been submerged during 1964 flood. There were overgrown eucalyptus trees, fruit trees and, most importantly, a view of the kennels from upstairs. “I bought the property — it happens to be a very nice property — so I could spy.”
Every day, Raymond says, “I just watched. I watched to see what was going on, how they were cared for. I just watched to see how it worked.” She noted animal deliveries and turnover of dogs in the back kennels, and she looked at animals the rescue posted as finding homes, thinking, “How on Earth are those dogs being adopted?”
In March of 2025, Raymond sent out more than 90 Public Records Act requests to shelters around the state to see how many dogs they transferred to Miranda’s Rescue. When a Contra Costa County Animal Services staffer responded, they mentioned someone else was asking for the same data. Raymond asked them to pass her contact information to the person.
That’s how Raymond met Sabrina Woods. Woods is a volunteer at Solano County Animal Shelter who started having doubts after a visit to Miranda’s Rescue. Not seeing any familiar dogs and learning Miranda was the only one training aggressive ones made her question whether the rescue could be adopting out all the animals it claimed. She and Raymond compared notes and consolidated their spreadsheets, adding up how many hundreds of dogs were collectively transferred to the rescue from shelters annually since 2020.
Raymond estimates the blackberry-bound hedge along her side of the property line is about 12-feet thick and took about five hours to cut through alone one evening. “So that I could look at a pile of dirt,” she chuckles. At first it was just big enough to crawl through and photograph Miranda’s property through the fence with an old trail camera.
“We’d stay out there at night and camp out,” setting up chairs by the hedge, says Moore. “I brought snacks.” After Raymond said a crew was digging and piling dirt, Moore says, “I wanted to know what was going in these holes.” In mid-April, she set up three new trail cams that sent footage to her phone. Grass moving in a breeze sometimes set them off.
Miranda explains that some of the dirt piles and holes Raymond and Moore have speculated are mass graves were dug to bury horses, including his grandmother’s, and that he also buries animals for other people who live in cities. The large mounds visible from U.S. Highway 101, he says, were left over from a Caltrans project. He intended to use it to grade a section of his property for a planned “canine castle” before he learned he’d need a permit.
On April 12, Raymond came to a decision. “I just knew there were dogs being buried in that hole,” she says of the one she watched being dug through her hedge tunnel. “I thought, you know, other people have gone to jail because the law was wrong or because there was a cause,” Raymond says. “And I thought, ‘You’d better get up your courage and do it.’”
After darkness fell, she donned a headlamp, crawled through tunnel and started digging barehanded. “I was terribly unprepared,” she says. “I look back and I think, ‘How could I be so stupid?’ But I really thought I’d just see six or seven bodies.” Raymond took a few photographs of the white and brown dog she uncovered. “My first thought was, ‘This is a dog somebody would have adopted.’ It wasn’t a pit bull,” she recalls. She took photos, believing they would be enough to convince law enforcement to take action.
The following day, she contacted PETA, a pair of lawyers, the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and the Animal Legal Defense Fund looking for guidance. “Everybody told me, ‘You can’t. It’s his property you’d be [charged with] trespassing,’” and to keep her mouth shut, she says.
“She was a mess,” recalls Moore, and digging up the dog left Raymond “frantic.” For her part, Moore says, “I just knew every dog over there was in danger. I was in panic mode.” The two went into the sheriff’s office the next day and shared the story with Undersheriff Justin Braud and Detective Brandon Head, as well as Animal Control Facilities Manager Andre Hale on speakerphone.
When she called Braud to follow up April 26, she says he told her there was nothing legally preventing a rescue from shooting a dog and burying it. Hours later, one of the trail cameras went off again.
Crying over the phone, Moore says she remembers reviewing the trail cam footage. “I had so much anxiety because I knew. And I threw up. And I called Jennifer and said, ‘He did it.’”
“He’s dumping dogs,” Raymond recalls Moore saying. This time, she says with a grim laugh, “We went loaded: shovels, headlamps, pruning shears.” A couple of lookouts, too.
At nightfall, Moore and Raymond went through the fence. “When you’re down there the ground is so squishy and you can feel,” Moore hesitates. “Just the thought of hitting a dog with a shovel — so we started digging with our hands.”
“We started digging where there was obvious fresh dirt that had been clumped and we dug down probably about a foot before a muzzle started to show,” says Raymond. “And then another showed up and then another and another.” She felt sick, “Sick and so sad. Two of the ones we dug up were still puppies that still had their baby teeth, only about 3 months old. And they had bullet holes.” Her voice grows smaller on the phone as she continues. “The bodies were all still warm. No rigor yet, and they all had bullet holes.” (Bullet wounds have not yet been confirmed in every dog by the sheriff’s office.)
Gasping as she talks, Moore says, “It was like this endless pit of dog feet. You’d hit one body — and we had gloves and you’d try to scrape the dirt to get under and move the body and it would be another leg.” Raymond went to get a chip scanner, leaving Moore to wait in the hole. When Raymond says when returned, “I just looked at her and started crying, and I said to her, ‘We can’t leave ’em. I’m not leaving ’em.’ She said, ‘What are you talking about?”
Instead of four or five dogs, they’d uncovered eight and didn’t know where they could store them. After dragging them into the grass on Raymond’s property, they started scanning the dogs, finding six tracking chips. Only a black and white cattle breed mix and a small pit bull didn’t have them, says Moore, and every dog had blood coming from its mouth, ears and nose.
After calling Braud and learning the sheriff’s office didn’t have a place for the dogs, Moore says, “I knew I needed to take them home.” Her family helped her bag them in contractor bags and Moore tagged them with pink sticky notes inscribed with their descriptions and chip numbers. In the morning, she bought a $1,000 chest freezer.
“As weird as it sounds, I got a little possessive with these dogs, like they were my own. And I still feel that way a little,” says Moore. She’s requested to have the dogs’ cremated remains so they can be “in a home with love.”
The delay, she feels, cost the dogs their lives, to say nothing of what she sees as years of inaction by law enforcement. She says she started staying up nights looking for the dogs on shelter websites, crying and vomiting. “I don’t know how many times I threw up.”
The sheriff’s office affidavit from the search warrant states that upon seeing a photo of the dogs piled onto a truck bed, a crying Miranda “advised that he did not own those dogs and they were not housed at his rescue.” Talking with the Journal more than a month after law enforcement came to his property, Miranda claims the investigator lied about his response, which he recalls as, “Those do not look like the dogs I put down,” adding that he did admit to the shooting and “never denied putting down dogs.”
“I could not get a vet to come out,” Miranda says, “I had a sick family member that I had to leave and go see. This didn’t just happen all in one day.” Shooting dogs, he insists, is not a regular practice at the rescue.
Asked to account for the eight dogs, he says he shot five of them: Zora from Oakland Animal Services, Charmaine from Berkeley Animal Services, Farkle and Felicia from Palm Springs Animal Shelter, and Lieutenant. The remaining three, he says, were victims of attacks by Lieutenant, Farkle and Felicia that were wrapped and set aside in his barn before burial. The attacks, deaths and shooting, he says, all took place over two weeks.
According to Miranda, Zora fell out of the van from Oakland heavily drugged, “and she was trying to kill every dog that she got near.” Staff, he says, took her to the barn for safety. He maintains people eventually adopted Zora but never made it home with her because while taking her for a walk on the premises, she killed a cat and attacked another dog. The new owners said they couldn’t keep her after that, he says, and she had to be put down.
In the search warrant’s statement of probable cause, lead investigator Detective Julian Aguilera writes that Miranda admitted to lying to a shelter employee about Zora’s death when he texted a photo of the dog with the message “Zora adopted,” and that “Shannon told Andra [sic] that he was guilty of lying.”
However, Miranda says he told the truth. “The photo I sent, she was adopted. She was brought back for killing a cat and attacking a neighbor’s dog. I did not call the shelter back and say she had to be put down,” he says. “Because every time I called Oakland Animal Services before, they never took a dog back. So, the misconception is I sent a photo saying a dog was adopted and I lied. It was not a lie. She was adopted. When she was brought back, I didn’t say that I had to put her down.” This, Miranda clarifies, all took place within hours and “the dog didn’t even leave the property” and was still at the rescue during the two attacks. After that, he says, the people who planned to adopt her changed their minds. While the Journal offered to speak with the people who planned to adopt Zora under condition of anonymity, Miranda says the aren’t willing because of the harsh comments on Facebook and are no longer responding to him.
According to Oakland Animal Services’ file, Zora was an 84-pound Cane Corso mix. Over the phone, Director Joe De Vries reads from the dog’s evaluation, which notes Zora is “calm, nonreactive,” learning dog skills, ready for a playgroup, recommended to be placed with dog friends, nonreactive to a barking dog in a passing in car, allows all-over touch and even teeth check, and “climbed into handlers’ laps.” She is rated “yellow” for some caution for pulling at the leash and her size. “At 84 pounds,” says De Vries, “you kind of have to be ready for it.” There are no negative notes from playgroup. Any notes about her behavior, De Vries says, would be in this file.
When told Miranda says Zora was “dog aggressive,” De Vries responds, “That does not sound right at all.”
The trio of buried pit bull puppies were from Palm Springs Animal Shelter. Miranda contends they were 6 to 7 months old, not the 2 months he’s heard Moore has claimed. He says he didn’t know they were aggressive but that someone at Palm Springs later told him they had aggression issues with the one female and that they needed to be separated. “I didn’t know that. They just said, ‘do three and one’” when the dogs arrived.
On a Monday shortly after Zora’s incident with the cat and dog, Miranda says two of the puppies, Farkle and Felicia, attacked their sister. “They were ripping on her, and we had to jump in there.” He says they were “guarding” her body, forcing staff to use a hose to subdue them so they could be quarantined in the barn. The fourth puppy from the litter, which was kept separate from its siblings, was adopted out. Calls to Palm Springs Animal Shelter were not returned by press time.
Charmaine, a dog from Berkeley Animal Care Services, was also adopted, Miranda says, but her aggressive behavior forced him to bring her back and put her down. Three days after the adoption, he says, Charmaine jumped out a car window to chase a child on a bicycle who was walking another dog. Again, Miranda says he sent a photo letting his contact at the shelter, whom he declines to name, know Charmaine was adopted before she was put down, and he did not update them.
The fifth dog, Lieutenant, Miranda says, staff accidentally placed in the wrong kennel. When Lieutenant escaped, he attacked a pair of dogs whose breeds he could not identify. Miranda says he had no choice but to quarantine Lieutenant in the barn as well, and put him down quickly. “He killed two other dogs. He ripped the throat out of a dog. He tore the stomach out of a dog.”
On June 26, needing to leave town but knowing Lieutenant had to be put down for the safety of other dogs, Miranda says, “I was in panic mode.” He tears up and chokes on his words, explaining, “I was gonna have somebody come help me and I couldn’t.”
Finally, Miranda says, he shot the five dogs in the head with a .22 caliber handgun. “But I just gave them wet food, so they didn’t know. And it was quick. It was awful,” he says. “It’s not something that I would say is the best. It’s quick. It’s fucking horrible but it’s done.”
Shooting the dogs in the manner Miranda describes it is not illegal. Asked about the legality of rescues shooting dogs, Hale, who runs the county’s animal shelter, explains, “In the state of California, you can shoot your own dog, as long as it’s humane. … as long as the bullet goes into the brain and kills the dog immediately so it’s not suffering.” Also, unlike publicly run shelters and animal clinics, rescues are not required to have a licensed veterinarian carry out euthanasia by injection. In an email responding on behalf of the California Veterinary Medical Board, Public Information Officer Peter Fournier writes, “As rescue groups own the animals, they are exempt from the Veterinary Medicine Practice Act, and the board has no jurisdiction.”
In the affidavit for the search warrant, Detective Aguilera states, “Based on Shannon’s not being truthful with HCSO or the Oakland Animal Shelter, it is my belief that Shannon intentionally killed Zora in order to receive more dogs and the funds that came with the dogs.” Evidence to that effect would indicate violation of California Penal Code 597a regarding animal cruelty. Aguilera continues, “Based on Shannon killing the dogs for financial gain and failing to provide the exact services guaranteed to his associate, I believe that a search of his records, statements and electronics will yield evidence such as communications, documentation and negligence that led to fraud.” Beyond the eight dogs discussed thus far, he writes, “It is believed that there may be more victims of potential abuse or fraud that occurred while Shannon was involved with Miranda’s Rescue.”
Miranda is adamant he has not put down adoptable animals. “At the end of the day, there’s no win in this. … Because an animal has lost its life and you’re judged for what you do,” he says. Placing the dogs in homes, he says, would have been a greater risk in terms of both safety and liability.
Given the danger posed by aggressive dogs, Miranda feels the public backlash is unfair, and Moore’s stance is hypocritical. “Jenna’s told me she’s shot dogs because they killed her goats, bit her kids. I’ve never said a word,” he says. “She’s put dogs down the exact same way and I know where she’s buried them.”
Asked if she’d ever shot a dog, Moore replies, “I couldn’t,” despite having hunted in the past, with bucks and a pair of taxidermied bears to show for it. She says she can’t hunt anymore. “I always cried after, and everyone would make fun of me because I always said ‘sorry’ before I pulled the trigger.” She says the only animals buried in her yard are a kitten and a baby skunk, and that she uses cremation services at $400 an animal.
When one of his animals dies, Miranda says, “I will not throw them in a garbage bag and put them in a Dumpster because they go to the landfill. I bury them in my field. To this day I do the same thing. I will not put an animal in a garbage bag and dump it in the landfill. I honor them by burying them.” Asked how many dogs he’s buried on the property, he is unable to estimate beyond stating it’s his standard practice. He is appalled at accusations of a mass grave at the rescue. “There’s no mass grave.”
After shooting all five dogs, Miranda says he spoke with Animal Control Officer Robert Patton because Miranda was wary of burying them under the watchful eye of Raymond next door. “I said, crazy lady’s watching me,” recalls Miranda. “And I was told, ‘Who cares, you’ve done nothing illegal.’” (The Journal reached out to Patton but was unable to confirm this by press time.) “I buried them, covered ’em up, patched it up with the tractor, drove off, didn’t give it any other concern because everything I was told I was doing was legal.”
Miranda says he plans to press trespassing charges against Raymond and Moore, but the women seem undaunted.
Raymond is not letting up and has since complained about Miranda’s Rescue’s sewage disposal systems at a June Planning Commission meeting. She says many people have contacted her to thank her for exposing what they believe are Miranda’s crimes. While she appreciates the response, she says it’s also been heartbreaking. “There are so many people who pour themselves into caring for dogs,” like the shelter workers and volunteers “who worked with the animals every day, taught them commands,” and others who fear the animals they paid to have brought to Miranda’s Rescue are dead. “And what does that do to a person?”
Striking a more defiant attitude regarding trespassing charges, Moore says, “We’re ready for it. Bring it. Bring it. … If I ever have to explain why I have a record, I think people will understand.” She has created a Facebook page titled “Where are the Dogs Sent to Miranda’s Rescue in Fortuna, California?” on which people have posted nearly 800 dogs in hope of tracking down adoptions. She has also spoken at a county supervisors’ meeting and organized the rally that followed at the Humboldt County Courthouse, with supporters waving gloves and socks marked with paw prints and signs with AI images of the buried dogs she calls the “Special 8.”
“I dug up dead dogs to stop a serial dog slaughterhouse and that had been happening for years. I’ll take that one for the team,” Moore says of the potential legal consequences. “No one else was doing it, not even law enforcement. Why did we have to be the ones to do it?”
Editor’s note: The second of this two-part story will appear in the June 25 issue of the North Coast Journal.
This story has been updated to correct the date of Jenna Moore’s call to Undersheriff Justin Braud on April 26.
Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the managing editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400 ext. 106, or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Bluesky @jfumikocahill.bsky.social.
This article appears in Miranda’s Rescue Under Scrutiny, Part 1.
