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The Winnipeg Sun
© Copyright 2005, Sun Media Corporation
A RARITY IN 'REPO' INDUSTRY
GRANNY THE 'JUNKYARD DOG' OF COLLECTIONS
Sunday, August 21, 2005 
BY DEAN PRITCHARD, STAFF REPORTER
You've seen Dog, the bounty hunter on TV.
Say hello to Sandie MacCoy, Winnipeg's own "Junkyard Dog."
"The reason I get called that is I don't let go," said MacCoy, a 53-year-old grandmother and owner of City Collection and Bailiff Service.
But unlike the shaggy-maned Duane "Dog" Chapman, MacCoy isn't snatching people, she's scooping their rides.
In an industry dominated by men, MacCoy is a rarity, a "repo woman."
MacCoy's company does commercial property seizures and collection work as well, but it's vehicle repossessions which keep her bouncing across the province, seven days a week.
Haven't paid your car bills? Don't be surprised if you see MacCoy in your rearview mirror. City Collection & Bailiff averages 50 to 60 automobile repossessions a month.
"I live in my car and at chiropractors. That's what happens when you are in and out of your car all the time. My grandchildren complain because they don't see enough of me, that's the hard part. I've left the house at 4:30 in the morning doing surveillance and I sometimes don't get home until 10:30 at night."
Dressed for a recent interview in jeans, hiking boots, a crisp white cotton shirt, and funky specs, MacCoy looks like a hip suburban mom ready for a stroll at The Forks -- not a grizzled veteran of the repo wars. But looks can be deceiving. Spend a short time with MacCoy and it becomes clear she's nobody's baby.
"I think I'm a fair person but I'm a person you don't want to piss off," she said.
In 24 years on the job, MacCoy has been slugged, threatened, and had dogs let loose on her.
'NOT A NICE THING'
"It's not a nice thing being a bailiff. I've been in this industry a long time and I don't know why I picked it," said MacCoy who, before she started shadowing deadbeats and sad sacks, worked in sales at the Thunder Bay Chronicle Times Journal.
When faced with a target reluctant to relinquish their wheels, MacCoy isn't afraid to get physical, if pushed first. And she has the scars and lumps to prove it.
"Me and my tow truck operator went over to (repossess a truck) and he wouldn't turn over the keys," MacCoy said, recalling a recent job that quickly went from bad to worse.
"I went to take them from him and he grabbed my hand and we were on the ground. He drew first blood but I got my keys," she said proudly.
"Usually you walk away when that happens or you phone police for backup. This guy was just out of control."
Despite a few tough scrapes, MacCoy said she's found being a woman in her business is an asset.
"People aren't as quick to jump on you," she said. "They are expecting a man bailiff to come to the door. When they see a female they go 'Oooh, it can't be that bad, maybe we can work with her.'
"Well, no, you can't, I tell them. I'm here to do my job. But you do have rights, let me walk you through it ... I have a way of calming people down."
No matter how many cars MacCoy seizes there's always dozens more waiting to be found. That's why she hasn't had two days off in a row in eight years.
"I find that when people slow down, that's when they die," said MacCoy, "It's what I know best, it's what I do best. I wouldn't have it any other way."