Right now, I am embracing my inner redneck: sitting on the couch with a busted collarbone, watching a documentary about Lynryd Skynyrd and watching three pit bulls reenact the Battle of Bitey Mouth on the living room floor. What makes it even more damning is that I have pushed the coffee table out of the way so they would have a better arena to display their utter foolishness; why is it that dogs always wait to display their innate dooficity when there is a suitable audience?
Charlie Bravo and Claire Bear are pit mixes, but there is no denying that Titus Pullo is full on putty, er, patty, uh, potty, oh, screw it, let’s not beat around the bush; he’s a dang pit bull. In the few short weeks that he’s set up housekeeping at the Casa del Whackos, I have not seen him even once exhibit any undue aggression, despite having been “chastised” for his exuberance by both Ajax the Terminally Bossy and Micro Polo of the Napoleon Complex . This is also despite the fact the he and Charlie “fight” for literally hours on end and have yet to escalate their hostilities to defcon three.
I have to be honest; I once drank the kool aid. I bought the rhetoric about pits being aggressive, basically an assault weapon you can pet. Even when we first found Charlie in the crate with her starved, hound-like features. When her face began to fill out and it became evident that this was no “lab mix”, that ubiquitous description that many in Arkansas are forced to put on their veterinarian’s paperwork to vain attempt to escape “BSL”; Breed Soecific Legislation. I was concerned: I now had a PIT BULL! OH NO!
Then came Stevie Mae, another pit mix, and then Claire, and now Titus, all abandoned, all with issues, but all dogs. I have come to believe that “BSL”, Breed Specific Legislation, is simply another term for politically correct racial profiling, just in the world of canines.
We all are what we are; many would look at my white, middle-aged manliness and put me into a certain crate, judging me by the color of my skin and not the content of my character, and that would make me defensive. The same is true of all of us; we want to be known as valuable individuals, regardless of our race, gender, political or religious beliefs or where we come down on the subject of “is cottage cheese really a food?”
Pit bulls are dogs, nothing more but nothing less, and all dogs are basically domesticated wolves; wild animals that forsook their own packs to come into the caves and tents of our ancestors to join the pack of men. But they are still a pack animal, and as such, there must be an alpha male or female involved, a system of interaction with the rest of the pack, a social hierarchy if you will.
So what do people expect when they chain or pen ANY dog away from social interaction, let alone a large, boisterous breed such as a pittie? As humans, if we can’t turn outward, we begin to turn inward, and the baser emotions of fear and anger begin to surface instead of the positive traits we all carry in equal abundance to the negative. I don’t know about you, but I would be plenty pissy myself if confined to a chain, crate or kennel; I’m getting grouchy enough just being confined to the recliner by this broken collarbone… just ask mom.
How about we judge the product by the contents, not just the packaging?
We be of one blood, ye and I; and that includes pit bulls, whether that fits your own personal agenda or not. I don’t make the rules, I leave that to Charlie, I just exist to drive her around on the motorcycle.
Dad out.
