So it's a bit of a paradox that, before the meeting is over, close to half of them will be in tears.

"Animal cruelty is obviously a very emotional issue; the emotion is not always properly directed," says Dale Bartlett, a lobbyist for the national Humane Society who has come to Utah to help re-branch what has become a perennial campaign for tougher animal torture laws.

For the fourth year in a row, an initiative to make animal torture a felony is making its way before state lawmakers. The bill, known as "Henry's Law" for the Murray dog whose eye was poked out before he was shoved into a 200-degree oven, raises the same concerns time and time again.

Detractors claim the law could threaten ranchers and farmers and ask whether a felony designation is too severe for the crime. Supporters point to recent examples of animal suffering and to research that shows a strong link between cruelty to animals and cruelty to humans.

This time, however, proponents are addressing a new issue: image.

Political operatives have been dispatched from Washington to coach local animal welfare groups in effective lobbying as they try to steer away from the stereotype of the prickly, self-righteous animal rights activist.

A tip: "Do-o-o-on't say 'animal rights,' " Jake Oster tells the crowd of at least 50 gathered Thursday at the state Humane Society office in Murray. Oster, a grass-roots advocacy coordinator for the national Humane Society, instructs them instead to say "animal protection."

The advice is old news to Cathy King. The coordinator of Friends of Animals in Wasatch and Summit counties is trying to rally support for Henry's Law among its most suspicious audience: the agricultural communities of rural Utah.

''It's taken [Friends of Animals] a long time to get the trust of the ranchers'' just to find homes for their unwanted herding dogs, she says.

Interfere with the cattle, she says, "and all of a sudden, we're the Gestapo."

Agriculture remains the chief sticking point in the debate over Henry's Law; opponents say they will agree to raising animal torture to a felony if the existing statute for misdemeanor animal cruelty - a lesser offense - is revised to more clearly exempt farm and ranch animals.

"Animal rights activists have targeted agriculture to a large extent," says Rep. Kerry Gibson, R-Ogden, a dairy farmer who has sponsored a counter-bill that would make torture a felony on second offense. ''Many [groups] have said it's their intent to put agriculture out of business. They think it's inherently wrong to exploit animals for human consumption.''

Even outside the agriculture question, King says, supporters of Henry's Law are learning to dance delicately around the reputation of what they're not supposed to refer to as the animal rights community.

''The whole word 'animal rights,' I think, scares people who aren't pet people,'' she says.

When King's group first began advocating Henry's Law, she warned them not to descend upon legislative meetings en masse, lest they come off as ''a bunch of crazy animal people.''

Humane Society representatives say the new training initiative springs largely from complaints from Utah legislators annoyed by what they saw as threats and personal attacks from some fringe supporters of Henry's Law during the most recent session.

''Their message was rather caustic and offensive,'' says state Senate Majority Leader Curtis S. Bramble, R-Provo. ''These weren't my constituents; they were from militant extremists. . . . That simply is nonpersuasive.''

Oster tells his audience at the Humane Society instead to approach Henry's Law as individual animal lovers, not as affiliated activists or experts with an agenda. He recounts testimony from a Colorado hearing on animal slaughter, where a woman described her own pet horse for lawmakers and tearfully asked them to imagine him ''dangling from his feet at a slaughter.''

Soon the Humane Society auditorium in Murray fills with sniffles.

That is the kind of emotional appeal that might persuade, Oster says.

ealberty@sltrib.com