The Journey Begins...

When I decided to get a dog, I did some research.  I always knew I was going to be adopting from a shelter or rescue, so I used a few preferences for guidelines:

Female:  I still don’t understand this preference, but if I were looking for a cat I’d want a male.  *shrug*

Short Coat:  I don’t go to the salon for myself and don’t want to be bothered having to keep up with a lot of bathing and brushing hair on my dog.

Young:  I was living at my mother’s house at the time and my then-one year old niece was over every day.  We had to be sure the dog was young enough to be good with a toddler.  My mother’s only stipulation was: no pit bulls.

As I researched and visited shelters and adoption fairs, I realized that the vast majority of available dogs were of the “pit bull” variety.  And I liked the way “pit bull” dogs look.  I love a mooshy face, blocky head, and muscular line on a dog.  Boxers, Bulldogs of every variety, Boston Terriers, Pugs…all have a place in my heart.  Back then the place in my heart they had was built on liking the way they look.  Now it’s built on that and having to advocate for them because of the way they look.

More on that later.  For now, I’m still looking for the “perfect- not-a-pit-bull” puppy…

So, because I liked the way pit bulls looked, I dipped a toe in the waters of pit bull research.  Ten years ago, pit bulls were feared, banned in many places, and the media sensationalized them negatively in story after story.  That was ten years ago.  Today, pit bulls are feared, banned in many place, and the media sensationalizes them negatively in story after story.   

But believe it or not, some things have changed.  The educational outreach that began all over the internet fifteen years ago grew as the internet grew.  The sources I had bookmarked ten years ago are mostly still there, only now they have been joined by many other educational resources throughout the world.  There are more positive pit bull stories in the media (though the number of sensationalized stories seems to remain the same), the decision to outlaw dog fighting nationally, and the very public coverage of the raid on Mike Vick’s dog kennels all had a positive impact for pit bull advocates.

But if I hadn’t, ten years ago, learned that pit bulls are no different than any other dog, I would never have adopted one.

I had always been skeptical of the whole “locking jaw” myth.  A locking jaw didn’t seem to be something that would develop naturally on one breed of dog and not other breeds of dogs.  And forgive the pessimism, but I also had no faith that human beings, brilliant or not, were capable of genetically designing and perfecting such a trait on a specific breed of dog without significant and noticeable facial reconstruction.

I started with the AVMA and found enough facts there to determine that the “locking jaw” was, indeed, a myth.  What people call a “locking jaw” on a dog indicates merely that the tenacity of the dog, left to its own development, would preclude letting go of a prey item.  It’s a breed trait.  So I knew that while a puppy would instinctively do this, I also knew it was a trainable behavior.  I could teach the dog, pit bull or not, to “drop it,” and help it curb its natural instinct to “lock.”

Specific web searches for “pit bulls” brought up a ton of web sites on both sides of the debate that had been raging since the late 1980s.  I waded through persuasive educational articles from many fledgling breed advocacy groups (BAD RAP, Understandabull.com, National Canine Research Council, and others) that left me wondering why so many people were so averse to this breed of dog without seeming to have any facts in their grasps.  And then I remembered that I’m pessimistic about the human being’s ability to be reasonably intelligent.

Pessimism aside, it’s painfully obvious that when a person argues a point, it’s that person’s goal to “win” the argument by swaying the other person’s belief system.  When a person discusses a point armed with tangible facts and an opened mind, it’s that person’s goal to teach and learn.

I’m a chronic student, and spent ten years teaching.

So I laid out a few arguments for my mother in favor of pit bulls.  I was subtle; throwing out little tid-bits I’d gotten from the internet like the myth of the “locking jaw,” and the fact that Petey from “The Little Rascals” was a pit bull.  She was worried.  I was steadfast.  She was unconvinced.  I knew I would be able to conquer her worries and fears.  She knew I was thinking along those lines.

In late August of 2002 I had called a local shelter on a Friday afternoon (as had become routine) to see if any puppies were up for adoption.  I was told some boxer puppies would be out the next day.  I was excited!  I love boxers!

I got up early and took the scenic, hour-long drive to the shelter.  When I got there and asked about the boxer puppies, no one knew what I was talking about.  I was devastated.  I had driven all that way and now might miss an adoption event being held at a local pet store (which, ten years ago, were not held every weekend).  Also, the staff was rude beyond belief.  I jumped in my car and hauled ass to the pet store – an hour and a half away.  I convinced myself that everyone and their mother was out looking for a puppy that day and that by the time I got there all the puppies would be gone.  It had been more than a month since I’d finished enough research to know I was up for the challenge of dog-ownership and had been looking for that one special dog for more than a month.  I wanted my puppy!

With this mindset I stalked across the parking lot and stomped into the store, ready to get my puppy and go home.  Immediately in front of me stood a young man holding the leash of a huge white dog with black spots.  He (the dog) was a young, very sweet, very calm, and very cute mastiff mix; way too big for me and my mother’s house.  “Are there any other puppies?” I asked.  He directed me to a group of cages and a table the animal shelter had set up.

While I chatted with the women at the table, I watched two puppies romping around on the floor in the middle of a circle of people.   They were the same size but one puppy was tan with a black muzzle, very thin, and a boy.  The other puppy was a brown blur of movement as she chased toys from one person in the circle to the next.  When she finally stopped, I saw she had the strangest coloring I’d ever seen on a dog.  She looked like a tiger (I learned later that the technical term for her coat is “brindle.”)  Plus, it was obvious I would never be able to keep up with such an energetic pup, stalwart non-athlete that I am.  Disappointment settled like dust in my brain as I asked “Are these the only puppies you have?”

At that point I learned that the tan puppy had already been adopted at the shelter and was waiting for his new family to come and pick him up.  This left the puppy with the tiger stripes.

She was about four months old, weighed about 20 pounds, was predicted to weigh about 40 pounds total, and had been picked up by animal control three days prior to the adoption event after someone reported her being thrown out of a car.  The shelter staff had named her Star.  She had a short coat that would not require a lot of brushing.  She was not spayed.  She was determined to be a pointer/pit bull mix.

She looked nothing like any of the pit bulls I’d come across in my research or seen in other shelters, and I knew my mother would not be able to tell, either.

I hesitated.  I really didn’t like her coat.

The woman from the shelter encouraged me to walk her around the store and spend some time with her.  Star looked worried as we went up and down the aisles, looking up at me with big, wet, brown eyes that I could tell wondered if I would hurt her.  Especially after she pooped.

With some treats in my pocket I took her to a quiet corner of the store and asked her to sit.  She looked at me.  I manipulated the treat to have her sit and praised her a few times.  We walked around some more.  I tried the sit command again and she got it immediately.  I was impressed.

I pulled out the mobile phone and made some calls, wavering between wanting her and not wanting her with everyone I knew.  My mother told me it was my decision.  That didn’t help.

I wandered around, coming back to the puppy time and time again for four hours.  I was told I had to make a final decision by 3:00.  At 10 minutes to 3 I bought a green collar with rhinestones and a matching leash.  Then I signed the paperwork, gave them my check, and watched as they packed up all their gear and left the store.

I broke out into a cold sweat and looked down at Star.

She looked up at me.

I said, “Let’s go get you some stuff.”

 
An hour later and more than $100 poorer, I walked out of the store with my new puppy.  I put the new bed I purchased on the passenger seat of my car and Star curled up on it and immediately went to sleep.  The whole drive home I stroked her silky ear as she slept.  I couldn't wait for everyone to meet her...