But She's A Pit Bull

But She’s A Pit Bull1

A lot of things have happened in my life. I’m sure I have endless tales to tell you, some of them happy and some of them sad. Maybe someday, together, we can explore those other stories. For now, however, the important part of my life centers around the age of two or three. I was considered an adult dog now. I knew a few tricks that I had been taught by previous family members, and I had calmed down from that chewing, rambunctious puppy stage. And yet somehow I still ended up at the animal shelter.2

I was quite nervous when I first entered the shelter. The noise of all the dogs barking frightened me. I will admit, because I am an honest dog, that I am not particularly friendly with others of my kind, so it was very hard for me to adjust at first. They put me into kennels with several different dogs, trying to find one that I would get along with. They never really were successful. I was already grumpy and scared, what with all the noise and the hard floors we had to sleep on. How could they expect me to get along with another dog?3

They started calling me Sissy. Any one of the members at the animal shelter would have spoke for my behavior, other then my dislike of other dogs. I was only there for a short time, but a few people came to visit while I was. They would pass by looking at all the other dogs and commenting on which one they liked. They would stop at my kennel and look at me closely, some of them pressing their hands to the cage door. I would lick them excitedly and wag my tail, but I stayed on all fours because I had been taught that humans thought it rude if you jumped up. How they could dislike this obvious display of love and friendship, I’m not sure, but I held myself in check anyway.4

“She’s very pretty,” they would all comment. Then they would look at something on the door, I’m not sure what it was, then look back at me. “But she’s a pit bull.” 5

They all said that, and then they would move on. I guess they thought I was pretty because of my black fur mixed with gold and brown, and the white patches on my chest and feet. Humans like color, I guess. I’ve never understood it. Color hardly seems important; the real thing you need to pay attention to is smell. And boy did everyone smell good. Especially the children. The children smelled of food and the outdoors. Oh, I love food, and I love the outdoors even more.6

I never did understand what a pit bull was, or why they would pass me by after they said it. I guess there are a lot of things I don’t understand. Anyway, just a few short days after I arrived, a family came into the animal shelter. One of them was a woman they called “grandma.” This woman smelled like lots of different dogs and like she was getting along in age, though not so very old, and had seen her share of difficulties. She also smelled like she had been a mother to some puppies, like me. This woman held a little boy who liked to stick his hands inside the kennels to get his hands licked. He smelled like a young human puppy full of energy and play. He also smelled like food, grass, and sleep. The third person smelled like a mommy also. She smelled like tired and sadness with an undertone of excitement.7

The woman not carrying a child passed by all the dogs, giving them all careful looks and exclaiming how they all were adorable. I think I was the most adorable, but at first I don’t think she noticed me that much. Her main focus was another dog that people had called a pit bull and passed by. She was a little smaller then me and not so pretty. The woman took this dog out of her kennel and the whole family left. I was disappointed. A moment later, though, they came back in and put the dog away in her kennel. They said something about her being sick but I am not sure what they meant.8

The woman that was examining all the dogs then looked at a puppy next but didn’t take this puppy out of the kennel, and then finally her focus landed on me. “This dog is pretty,” she said. I braced myself and waited for that dreaded second line. It never came. Instead one of the animal shelter people took me out of the kennel for her and let her take me to another room. There the small boy gave me lots of treats and the whole family petted me. I think they said something about how good I was because I let the little boy take one of the treats away from me and I didn’t get mad. I wasn’t sure why I should get mad, but I didn’t care anyway. I was happy enough to eat and get attention.9

A moment later I was taken back to the kennel and the family left. They didn’t look at any more dogs, and they didn’t return. You can’t imagine how sad I was. My heart sank. I had been sure that these people would love me. They had called me pretty and hadn’t even called me that word that always meant bad things. What had I done wrong? And so the days went by with me laying on my hard piece of something for a bed, contemplating my bad actions. People came and went and I tried to behave better, but no one took me home with them.10

The next couple of days are not very important, and I’d definitely prefer not to tell you about the vet. The vet is an awful place with awful smells, and such a place doesn’t belong in a story. However, my greatest moment of joy takes place at the vet the day I left. A person led me out into a room by a thing attached to my neck and guess who I saw? The woman who had visited me at the animal shelter! She took me outside to spend a moment in the grass before putting me in their carrier things they call cars. I like cars. They usually take you to fun places and you can stick your head out the window and feel the wind on your face. I didn’t get to feel the wind today, but I was happy as I lay halfway in my new mommy’s lap.11

So now my name is Annie and I get to live indoors. Not only am I not sleeping on something hard like rock anymore, but I get to sleep on the couch! Except at night I get put into another room where my bed is a pillow, I guess because I snore, whatever that is. I was skinny when I came, but I am quickly working my way towards fat with my two full bowls of food a day! And the woman tells me every day that I’m beautiful and perfect. The little boy loves to give me treats and hugs, and he also likes to play. Sometimes he gets a little too rough for me so I run away from him, but I understand that he is just a puppy. I also get to go to the park where my family lets me run and run until I am too tired to run anymore. I haven’t seen that woman called “grandma,” but a man lives with this family instead, and he likes to play really fun games.12

The downfall to my new found love and happiness is the other people. There are lots of people surrounding our home, and I don’t think they like me much. I hear my mommy talking sometimes with anger and sadness in her voice. She talks about a really big word that’s hard to remember. I think it was called prejudice. She also mentions the word pit bull a lot, but she doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. She is angry because the other people don’t like pit bulls, which I already knew and could have told her. I guess people think that pit bulls like to fight and hurt humans. If I am a pit bull then she must be confused, because I don’t like to fight at all and I would never hurt a human. Besides, if you’re fighting and angry then you're not snoozing on the couch or receiving doggy treats, are you?13

There have been a few times when people have mentioned me being a pit bull to my mommy. They always sound angry, and that is why I don’t think they like me much. My mommy replies that I am a lab mix, which I guess I also am, but I am not sure what that is either. There have also been times when people told my mommy that I’m a pit bull, as if she didn’t know, and they sounded like they were warning her. She says to them, “She is a lab mix, but even if she is half pit bull I don’t see what the problem with that is.” My mommy always sounds angry at the people when she tells them this.14

Once in awhile I do get a compliment, but it’s always the same as what the people would say at the animal shelter. “She’s so pretty, but she’s a pit bull.”15

Sometimes my mommy says that she fears for me. She won’t leave me alone in cars or with the house unlocked (that is what she calls it, I don’t know what unlocked means) because she is afraid someone will try to hurt me. I always wonder why they’d want to hurt me, but I guess it must be because I am a pit bull and the people think that pit bulls like to fight and hurt people. I wish I could tell them that I’m different. I wish I could tell them how much I love everyone, even if I don’t know them. I wish I could tell them how much I’d love to meet and play with them. It’s too bad they can’t speak doggy language, but at least I have my mommy to speak for me. When she tells me how beautiful and perfect I am, she also tells me that she’ll love me and protect me forever. 16

Recently my mommy and her family have talked about leaving, which they call moving. They talk about the fact that having such a big dog makes it hard to find a new home.17

“It’s too bad we have such a big dog.” The man will say, though he doesn’t sound unhappy. I know he likes me.18

My mommy looks at him, then smiles at me. “Yeah, but she’s a pit bull,” she responds, her voice full of love. Suddenly those words have taken on a whole new meaning.19