'A One-Woman Show': Fosters, Adopters Tell How Rescue Founder Hid Brick Animal Hoarding

BRICK, NJ — How did 180 animals come to be kept in a Brick Township home in conditions so bad that the house has been condemned?

And how did a person who seemed so committed to animal rescue become someone accused of animal cruelty?

Those are among the issues still being sorted out, both by law enforcement and by people who knew Aimee J. Lonczak and Michele Nycz, the two women who have been charged with animal cruelty and child endangerment in connection with the conditions at the Arrowhead Park Drive home.

Lonczak, 49, and Nycz, 58, have been held at the Ocean County Jail in Toms River since they were arrested Friday night, after the discovery of what witnesses have described as horrific, uninhabitable conditions at the home.

They are scheduled for a detention hearing at 1:30 p.m. Thursday before Superior Court Judge Guy P. Ryan, said Brian Huntenburg, spokesman for the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office. He said the prosecutor’s office will be seeking to have Lonczak and Nycz held until trial.

Neither woman has an attorney designated as of Monday afternoon, he said.

‘A one-woman show’

Lonczak is the president and director of Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc., and she and Nycz, who owns the Arrowhead Park Drive home, were operating the rescue from the home, according to records filed with the New Jersey Division of Consumer Affairs and the Florida Division of Corporations.

The rescue, however, was not a puppy mill. Multiple witnesses who helped remove the animals from the home on Friday and Saturday said nearly all of the 135 dogs in the home were adults. Read more: 180 Dogs, Cats Removed From Brick Home, 2 Arrested: Police

Interviews with a dozen people, including former volunteers for the rescue and animal rescuers who provided dogs to Crazy Rescue Ladies, said Lonczak obtained the dogs from Southern states and some from New Jersey. The dogs coming from states including South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Texas and Tennessee were primarily ones that had been listed as set to be euthanized, the former volunteers said. They were pulled from kill shelters and housed with foster volunteers in the South until Lonczak could arrange for them to be transported to New Jersey.

How many of the animals were actually adopted out?

“We don’t know,” one former volunteer said, who asked not to be identified because of attacks that have been directed at anyone thought to be associated with Lonczak. “We never really knew how many dogs she had, how many had been adopted.”

“We would see Aimee post (on Facebook) welcoming a new dog, and we’d tell her she had to stop taking in dogs,” another said, “and then pretty soon we’d see 10 or 11 posts of dogs that had been adopted.”

The former volunteers who spoke with Patch said they have been under siege from people on social media who are angry about the neglect and abuse the 135 dogs and 45 cats suffered in the house.

“Everyone seems to think we had to know what was happening, but we didn’t,” one of the volunteers said. “Aimee was a one-woman show.”

Hiding the horrors

By all accounts, Lonczak went to great lengths to present an image of a reputable animal rescue. She obtained a 501(c)(3) nonprofit charitable designation from the IRS and was up-to-date on all the required tax and report filings, not only with the IRS but with New Jersey and in Florida, where Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc. is incorporated.

She held adoption events at Petsmart in Brick and listed dogs for adoption on Petfinder. She enlisted foster volunteers to care for and socialize the animals, primarily dogs, to get them adopted. She shared photos of available dogs on social media, and — until recently — paid for the animals to be neutered or spayed, as part of the contract with adopters.

But former volunteers who had fostered animals for Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc. said there was another side to her: one who would berate and blame everyone else when things went wrong. If an adoption fell through, she blamed the foster. If an animal was sick, she brushed it off.

Lonczak didn’t just berate volunteers; she would threaten adopters as well, according to those who shared their stories with Patch.

Tracey DeCesare said Lonczak threatened to go to her mother’s home and take the Yorkie her mother had adopted after a veterinarian found the Silky mix had a collapsed trachea and needed to have nearly all of his teeth pulled.

“Aimee did not want my mom to get Fergus,” DeCesare said, but the volunteer who was fostering him said it would be a great fit and the dog would be well-cared for. When he arrived, he had what appeared to be kennel cough — until the vet examined him.

Fergus’s ailments led to $1,500 in vet bills, on top of the $500 adoption fee her mother had paid, DeCesare said. When they contacted Lonczak about a refund of some of the adoption fee, things went south.

“She threatened my mom; ‘I will come to you with my lawyer and the police and take the dog back,’ “ DeCesare said. “We were just nicely asking if we could get a little bit back on the adoption fee.”

They eventually blocked Lonczak on Facebook.

Another adopter, who asked that her name not be published, said she adopted two dogs from the rescue. The first time, Lonczak “was very professional.” There was a meet-and-greet with the dog a visit to the adopter’s home where the dog stayed overnight, and copies of the dog’s veterinary records. “Aimee texted me every day for a week to check in. Our own vet gave the dog clean bill. I saw no red flags!”

This summer, the adopter said, was a different story.

“Something seemed off. Aimee seemed stressed, was vague about the dog’s origin, the dog’s health.” The adopter had planned to just foster the puppy, but Lonczak provided no food and no veterinary care. When the adopter decided to keep the puppy, Lonczak charged a full adoption fee, with the provision that the rescue would pay for it to be neutered. That never happened.

“At this point in time I have not spoken to Aimee and planned on paying for any more vet services myself,” the adopter said.

The former volunteers said Lonczak conducted most of the business of the rescue away from the Arrowhead Park Drive home. If a foster needed food or blankets, Lonczak would drop them off, or meet up with fosters at Petsmart or even the Dunkin parking lot.

“She would bring the dogs to you,” one said. “They were clean, they were healthy, they would come right off of transport.”

“She didn’t want people to know where she lived,” one volunteer said. “If you did go to her house, she would be waiting for you at the bottom of the driveway, and load the stuff in and send you on your way.

“She never let anyone in the house,” another said. The front of the house with the exception of the driveway was well cared for – flowers were planted, nothing was in disrepair.

“You were there just long enough to pick up supplies,” the former volunteer said.

The descriptions of the interior of the house have been heartbreaking, they said.

“I have been physically sick and crying for two days,” one said.

‘It smelled like Hell’

People who worked to rescue the animals from the Arrowhead Park Drive home said the scene inside defied description.

In the living room, the television was on and tuned to “Friends.” There were photos on the walls — walls that were splattered with feces.

“I can’t even put into words how bad it was,” said Dave Gallo, a volunteer who helped pull cages out on Saturday morning. “The TV was playing like nothing was happening, but there was crap on the walls, crap on the ceiling. Every room was more of the same.”

“Every animal we brought out was covered in their own feces,” said Maria Grandi, another volunteer. “Some were stuck to their crates.”

Every room reeked of urine and feces, and Grandi said they had to be hosed off — in their hazmat suits — after every trip into the house.

Nicole Wowchuck said the only bedroom with a bed was the master bedroom, “but it was covered with crates and feces. That must have been the last room they used” to house animals.

“There was no way you could sit on that bed or even breathe,” she said. “My eyes were burning.” That bedroom had a TV on as well.

“We sat there listening to ‘Friends’ while we were taking the animals out,” she said. “It was definitely strange.”

The basement was pitch black except for a little light coming in through the tiny windows at the top. It too was filled with crates, which were ziptied together, Wowchuck said.

Gallo said he and his wife had fostered a dog for Lonczak a couple of years ago. As he was helping to remove animals on Saturday, he noticed a photo on the wall — and realized it was the same woman they had fostered for.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he said.

“People described it as smelling like death,” Gallo said. “It smelled like Hell.”

Read the account of a volunteer from the Associated Humane Societies Popcorn Park Zoo, which also helped remove animals: 'Nightmare': Popcorn Park Officer Shares Hoarder House Experience

There was a large SUV — a Chevy Suburban or a GMC Yukon — in the driveway where it appeared Lonczak and her 16-year-old child and Nycz may have been living. Law enforcement has not confirmed that detail, but did say they had been living at the home, which Nycz owns.

Authorities have not released information on where Lonczak's child has been placed because of privacy protections for minors.

The animals are being cared for at the Ocean County Animal Shelter's three facilities. Read more: Dogs, Cats From Brick 'Puppy Mill' Under Ocean County's Care

A board no one knew existed

Lonczak didn’t tell any of the former volunteers what she was doing much of the time, they said. When word of the hoarding situation started flying on social media, several of the former volunteers got a shock: Lonczak had named them as “board members” of Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc.

“We had no idea she had done that,” the former volunteers said. “We never had any board meetings, not even Zoom meetings.”

One said Lonczak threw out the idea in a group chat on Facebook, even jokingly asking what titles they wanted. No one knew she was serious, they said, until the social media onslaught began because a document naming all the "officers" of the rescue had been posted online.

“She didn’t even use my proper name,” one said after seeing the document. “We never signed any paperwork” agreeing to serve as officers.

The Internal Revenue Service, along with Florida and New Jersey, requires charitable nonprofit organizations to list the names of board members. The IRS at one time required signatures of the officers of 501(c)(3)s. Florida and New Jersey require a “local agent” to be designated to represent the organization. Lonczak was the designated local agent in both states.

The former volunteers said they had resigned and walked away from the rescue in the last two years and hadn't been associated with it several months.

"I sent her a written resignation," one said. The IRS requires updates when officers change, but Lonczak had not updated the records to reflect any of the departures.

"I don't understand how that's legal," one of the former volunteers said.

Lonczak, on her personal Facebook page and on the rescue’s Facebook and Instagram accounts, had posted seeking fosters on several occasions in recent months. In late May, she posted on Instagram that the rescue was full and not taking any more dogs.

"Sadly so many shelters are in a critical state and code red," the post said. "If you'd like to foster and help save a life, please send us a message. We would love to have your help. WE NEED YOUR HELP TO HELP THE INNOCENTS."

Six weeks later, she was welcoming a litter of puppies into the rescue while still begging for people to foster.

It’s unclear if any other volunteers had joined to assist with the care of the animals.

Money troubles?

The former volunteers said they had no involvement in any of the financial aspects of the rescue. Adoption fees were paid directly to the rescue, and bills were paid by Lonczak.

Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc. took in more than $19,600 in 2021, and had expenses of $25,278 according to the report filed with New Jersey’s Division of Consumer Affairs. But the report does not go into detail on the breakdown of the expenses. The revenues included about $8,900 in donations, and more than $10,000 in adoption fees, according to the record.

The rescue also owes about $10,000 to a veterinary clinic in South Carolina, where animals that had been picked up — some of them “street dogs,” others pulled from shelters — received care before coming to New Jersey.

Lonczak had posted on Facebook about a property she was planning to lease with more space, but none of those who spoke with Patch had any idea where the property was located. She was requesting donations to get the property set up for the rescue.

Manuela Schafer, a rescuer from South Carolina, contacted Patch trying to find out if one of the dogs she had sent to Lonczak was among those pulled from the house on Friday or if it had been adopted.

She said the discussions about animals needing to be pulled from kill shelters and rescued from the streets happened through Facebook groups, and Lonczak did not pay for the animals.

“No monies exchanged hands,” Schafer said. She regretted having handed off the dogs she had sent north, however.

“Ultimately rescues need to be inspected. Sadly for some rescues, rescuing dogs keeps their light on,” she said.

Animal passion gone wrong?

Lonczak formed Crazy Rescue Ladies Inc. in 2015, according to her Facebook page. Its primary address is Cooper City, Florida, where she lived for several years. By 2020, when the coronavirus pandemic hit, Lonczak was living in New Jersey, though it’s not clear when she moved north.

Darcy Butkus, who operates the private investigation agency Inspector Bark, has been focusing on scam animal rescues for 15 years. She said she had known Lonczak for several years while Lonczak lived in Florida.

“Her daughters were in elementary school,” Butkus said. Lonczak appeared to be doing things the right way — filing paperwork with the proper authorities, making sure animals received their shots, placing them in good homes. She would send tips to Butkus about animal rescues that needed to be investigated.

Butkus said scam animal rescues are common — she estimates about 80 percent of the ones she's seen have been scams in some fashion — and called South Florida the hub of them. Butkus, who is licensed as a private investigator in Georgia and Florida, said she thinks Lonczak sent the tips to keep Butkus from investigating Crazy Rescue Ladies.

“Aimee had me fooled,” Butkus said, adding she had choice words for her, sent via text message that Lonczak likely has not seen.

Lonczak had others fooled too. She required background checks on adopters, from checking with veterinarians and ensuring the animals were vaccinated to requiring home inspections, former volunteers said.

“If you’re being asked to do home inspections for adopters, why would you think the dogs are not being cared for” within the rescue, one volunteer said.

Kathy Terry, a Florida woman who was associated with the rescue but walked away more than five years ago, said Lonczak is “the polar opposite” of the person she was when Terry first knew her.

“Aimee would go the distance to help a dog in distress. I am stunned at how completely she has turned into that which she so despised,” Terry wrote in a public Facebook post. “Not much shocks me anymore but this has left me stunned. … I am furious with how she has perverted the very concept of rescue.”

“Aimee made it seem like she really, really cared about the animals,” one of the former volunteers said. “She put on an incredible show and she had so many people bamboozled.”

Have a comment, a question or a news tip? Email karen.wall@patch.com.