What's in a Dog?

"What kind of dog is that?" was a constant question wherever I took Bryndy, which was pretty much everywhere except work and the dance floor on Friday nights.  I never knew quite what to say so always fell back on shrugging helplessly and saying "I don't know.  They tell me she has pointer and pit bull in her, but she's probably got 1000 other kinds of breeds in there, too."  When I asked the vet at her first visit she shrugged and said, "Heinz 57 mutt."  In other words, she is a classic shelter dog - the result of probably generations of multiple-breed mixed offspring.

But, as soon as the words "pit bull" floated out of my mouth I would get either one of two reactions:  A look of surprised confusion, perhaps an exclamation of disbelief; or I would see a look of suspicious wariness, and a physical backing away.  And of course, my reaction to these reactions varied as well.  The surprised person was usually surprised because Bryndy lacks most of the physical characteristics associated with "pit bulls."  She is long rather than squat, both in her body and in her legs.  She has a longer, narrower muzzle rather than a shorter, closer one.  Her adult weight is between 40 and 45 pounds, and her tail, when wagging, has a distinctive curl that hovers over her back like a little question mark.  What "pit bull" has that?  The conversations with the surprised/disbelieving were usually mutually friendly.

The suspicious and wary person was usually wary because of the words "pit bull" rather than any behaviors or reactions Bryndy displayed.  And always, always, their first question was, "Does she bite?"  And it made not one bit of difference if they had just pet her and received kisses, or just watched her as she lay on the grass.  After a month my standard reply became, "Why would she?"  This would cause the person to actually think while I pointed out her non-threatening postures and behaviors.  But it wasn't (still isn't) as easy as that all the time.

A few months into "pit bull" ownership, some relatives came to spend the day with us.  They brought their Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with them and fawned over Bryndy's antics while we chatted.  The inevitable question of what kind of dog she is came up and I listed the possibilities and added that "pit bull" had been thrown out there as one of the breeds they assumed she carried in her genes.  They didn't really have a reaction to this news.

My mother, on the other hand, who had been heading to the sink with the dishes, turned to me horrified and said, slowly and angrily, "She's a pit bull?!"

Now, my mother wasn't the type of person to get unduly angry at anyone or anything.  I mean, she had her opinions on what constituted correct behavior in a very "treat others as you would be treated" kind of way.  She was very fair and very smart.  But she had fear for the safety of her grandchildren, which I understood, and it combined with the fact that she had no knowledge of or experience with dogs.  Added to this was the fact that national news had been reporting developments in the Diane Whipple fatal mauling over the previous year.  The breed of dogs most commonly (and incorrectly) reported as being the culprits were "pit bulls," (the attacking dogs were actually a breed called Presa Canario), and public opinion of "pit bull" dogs was very low.

But my mother hadn't utilized the information available on the internet the way that I did.  She also did not attend obedience classes with me and Bryndy.  But she did know that she could reap the benefits of all the training I was doing, because by this time she was able to: put Bryndy in her kennel when someone came over, eat dinner in peace at the table without the bother of having a begging dog at her feet (Bryndy was taught to lay on her bed in the corner while we ate), and let her out into the backyard so she didn't have to worry about cleaning up accidents.  She was also impressed that I had taught Bryndy to wait for a release to go to her food bowl.  So what she knew through experience was that she had a dog in the house that listened.  What she feared in her heart was that she had a dog in the house that might "snap" at any given time and kill her precious grandchild.  But she also trusted that I knew what I was doing, would never put my nieces (and, eventually, nephew) at risk, and that I would take the dog to get euthanized myself if she ever did anything to hurt any of the children.  She also had faith in my ability to be a reasonable, intelligent, thoughtful, and responsible dog owner

I looked at my mom and held up my thumb and forefinger as close together as possible without touching and said, "She has this much pit bull in her."

"You told me she was a terrier mix."

"Pit bulls are terriers."

That answer earned me "the look." You know, the one that said we'd be finishing that conversation after our relatives left.

I can't remember any more specifics about this particular conversation, but I know I spent the next couple of weeks reassuring her that Bryndy was safe when supervised with the children (one aged 9 and one aged 12 months).  But then, Bryndy did something that erased all fears and concerns from my mother's head and heart and the only time afterward that I ever heard my mother say the words "pit bull" it was in defense of, or pride for, her granddog.

Bryndy wasn't too thrilled with wheels when she was a youngster.  She didn't like bikes, shopping carts, wheelchairs, roller blades, or skateboards.  She barked and lunged when they went whizzing by and I was a little clueless and financially unable to delve into it with specialized training.  It was just one of those things that you have to deal with when you have a dog, I thought.  But it was one of the things that stopped me from taking her into therapy work.  So when my 9 year old niece came into the house on roller blades, it captured Bryndy's attention.  She didn't bark, just watched as my niece collapsed on the recliner with her legs sticking out and the wheels on her feet still rolling.  We all watched her watch them.  Then my niece sent them spinning around again with her hand.  Bryndy was watchful of them, but did not react.  Then, my other niece - the toddler - started to walk towards the spinning wheels with her hand outstretched.  Bryndy literally threw herself, facing the wheels on the roller blades, between my toddling niece and the threat she perceived from the wheels.  She did not bark or growl, she just flung herself between the two.  And to us, with only an average understanding of dog behaviors, there was no mistaking her intention when she checked behind her to see that my niece had stopped her forward movement.

I think we were all impressed because we all seemed to interpret what she did the same way.  We all spoke at once, my mother and I marveling that a young dog, with "pit bull" in her, would display what we interpreted as a protective gesture to the family's human baby, and my niece who thought it was so cute that Bryndy wanted to keep her baby sister safe.

So the issue of what breeds were (are) in Bryndy ceased to be a potentially negative discussion in the family.  Bryndy was Bryndy.  Sweet, friendly, intelligent, obedient, playful without being frenzied (thank goodness for doggie play dates for puppies!), and mostly quiet.  A good dog.

However, there were still certain aspects that made me a tad bit leery of the "pit bull" part of Bryndy.  Was I afraid of my dog?  No.  Was I aware of what she was potentially capable of?  Yes.  Did this make me worry?  Perhaps a little bit.  But I was more worried that I was incapable of reading her body language and behaviors effectively – that I would put her in a position where she felt she needed to rely on instinct rather than learned behaviors.  And I was so attached to her at this point that just the thought of her dying, as a result of instinctual actions or at the hands of someone who just wanted to harm her - would cause me to sob.
 
So I had to quiet the turmoil in my mind - the small part of me that was influenced and frightened by what I heard and saw on the news.  And the only way to quiet the small fear that Bryndy would suddenly snap due to the percentage of "pit bull" in her was to educate myself about the genetic heritage of "pit bulls," and the idea of the “snap.”

At this point in time on the internet, my main source for information came from the fairly new organization called Bay Area Dog owners Responsible About Pit bulls (BAD RAP).  They had begun their programs in 1999, so by 2002-2003 they had a nice resource library of information that I started utilizing.  But even so, I was smart enough to realize that relying solely on the information provided by an organization that supported pit bulls would be foolhardy on my part.  If I was going to learn, I was going to make sure due diligence was paid for that educated.

I searched through the American Veterinary Medical Association (AVMA) for information about dog bites and attacks, to see if I could get a handle on the how and why of their occurrence, and came across their publication, “A Community Approach to Dog Bite Prevention,” that had been published in 2001.  This led me to the twenty-year study done by the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), the results of which concluded; “Collection of data on the entire dog population (eg, age, breed, sex) may help resolve comparative risk issues and may be accomplished by combining paperwork on mandatory rabies immunizations with registrations of breed and sex.  Only with numerator and denominator data with formal evaluations of the impacts if strategies tried by various communities will we be able to make science-based recommendations for decreasing the number of dog bites.  In the interim, adequate funding for animal control agencies, enforcement of existing animal control laws, and educational and policy strategies to reduce inappropriate dog and owner behaviors will likely result in benefits to communities and may well decrease the number of dog bites that occur.”

So it became clear to me that if I were going to be a responsible owner, with a community-friendly dog, I should continue down the path I'd started on.  I knew that time and experience would help my confidence and I decided to relax about the “pit bull” in my beloved Bryndy.  And we lived that way happily, and safely, for a few years.  Bryndy liked other dogs, loved other people, and was a trustworthy companion that filled a part of me I hadn't realized was empty.

Then something happened that shook me to my foundation.  Something happened that made me realize I could no longer relax.  Something happened that made me understand that I could no longer be satisfied that my dog, my sweet-natured companion, was an acceptable community member based on her behavior alone. Something happened in Denver, Colorado...