Dawn-
I
have considered sending you our
story a number of times. The story might not even interest you. And
it certainly isn't as horrid as a lot of stuff on your
website. But in the interest of (maybe) understanding the poor 'soccer
moms' who end up with these dogs, I think I should give it a go. I ask
that you please not vilify me for this story. I made my share of
mistakes. I don't know how I could have done it any
differently, besides giving up earlier or not trying at all. But no
hindsight frees me from the ultimate result. And I know the conclusion
sucks. I am much, much wiser now, and back then I hadn't yet realized
that it isn't all just hype, and there is a possibility (even if remote)
that it wasn't all my fault. When this story opens, I had a lifetime
of dog-owning experience. I love dogs, consider myself a dog person
with a special soft-spot for the terrified ones. I have trained a few,
loved many, and always felt like I could handle myself well around a
variety of them. I have been growled at, lunged at, and once got a nip
from a tiny dog when I was a kid (totally justified). I've read many
books, attended a few obedience classes (none were at a chain store),
and was extremely comfortable.
After
coveting the sweet pit/lab mix a relative had bought, we finally
received our new pal. They are neglectful people who throw off pets
when they get bored, so it was only a matter of time. At a tender 5mos
old, the puppy already came with a laundry list of bad behaviors, but
they all seemed like uncorrected puppy-shenanigans to me, and I wasn't
scared off. She was cute, and calm, and I
was no newbie to 'rescues'. The only things they had done for this
puppy was good socialization with people and dogs, and teaching her to
sit on command.
It is quite a long story, but I will try to sum it up here:
Within
two weeks, there were multiple dog fights in my house. The resident
dogs (a lab/husky and a lab) were both 12 years old, and neither was
prone to fighting. Actually, they NEVER fought each other. One
particular fight ended with my daughter getting a dog-tooth shaped
bruise on her leg, even though she had just been sitting nearby. If I
could have been sure it was the new puppy, it would have ended the
roller coaster ride immediately. I worked hard to establish pack
hierarchy here (as I always did with multiple dogs), but the fighting
continued. When she wasn't fighting with our elderly dogs, the new dog
was licking our male (neutered) labX's mouth until he growled at
her. The rest of the time she just ignored us completely. She did not
initiate play, did not ask to be petted. And anything said to her
(praise, her name, anything) was met with a blank stare and no body
language at all. More like a shark than a dog. I (probably wrongly)
assumed her neglectful past had left her with no idea how to read
inflection, so I exaggerated my facial expressions and tone. It made no
difference. I describe her behavior as 'an island', she truly didn't
seem to care if we were there or not.
On an almost daily bases I
was training her in basic obedience. I think it helps to strengthen a
bond, and gives everybody confidence. I tried praise, then food
rewards. In desperation, I re-read articles and books on dog training.
I tried play-training next. But no matter what I tried, the results
were abysmal. It took me a month and a half to teach her to lie
down. The worst part: I only knew she knew the command because dh got
frustrated and told her to "Go lie down!" in a much less-nice voice than
I was using. She did it immediately. She only became housebroken
after 5 months, and only because there was snow outside. (that sounds
like a joke, but it's not). All the sweet talking, cajoling, treats,
and catching her in the act didn't work.
She became an escape
artist. She broke the tie out potty-break line we had used with the
labs for
years. Dh fixed it, and she broke her collar. She was constantly
running off, and we had to go catch her. Another time, she got loose
and launched herself onto my goat's back (going for the back of his
neck/base of his skull). Thankfully, he escaped. We came home from a
trip to town to a slaughter of chickens and a broken window. We changed
our management style, bought a crate, and used it religiously anytime
the door was opened, if an adult couldn't watch her, if we were going to
be out in the yard (she couldn't be brought out on a leash due to the
most abhorrent leash manners I have ever seen in a dog), or if we were
leaving. It's a miracle she didn't harass the neighbor's livestock
during one of her.. outings. No dogs were attacked, either. I worked
to teach her to come for the 'oh shit!' moment that happens to
everyone. She gave me a blank stare and didn't comply.
Inside
the house, with supervision, things weren't going as well. She got in
the trash if we
weren't directly in the room with her, or went after it as soon as we
went to the bathroom. She stole food from the counters, becoming so
bold she would steal even if I was a foot away. She kept picking fights
with our dogs.
And I cried.
I consulted books, questioned
everyone I could talk to, relied on the vet and behaviorist. I could
feel something brewing, something seething under the surface. It was
there in the blank stare, the mid-level head, the not showing interest
in us at all otherwise. Something undefinable. I told my husband I
could feel it. Our lives became crating, dog fights, ripped trash, and
stealing. The puppy who would play with the kids in the yard never
materialized. She did sit patiently to wait for her food bowl, and
wasn't food aggressive, but that was the extent of what she would give
us.
After 6 months of this, I decided she needed to be
rehomed. In my heart, I felt that she needed someone with a much
harsher method of discipline than I could or would give out. Despite
what I thought I knew, and what I had tried, the bad behaviors were
getting worse. I did manage to teach her some basics commands, but
there was zero connection between her and the rest of us (oh how we
tried!). I contacted people and kept my ears open for the right home
for this dog.
And then the growling began. Only at my son.
The first time, she was next to my chair. I thought it was guarding
me. Concerning, but in an young dog, correctable still. And a few days
later she growled at him for no discernible reason at all. Discussions
and websearches offered nothing: it wasn't about a resource, wasn't
about territory, wasn't about me, wasn't about anything he had done. He
wasn't yelling, running, or less than 10 feet away from her. He
wasn't threatening her at all. He had no food and hadn't been around
any other dogs.
My husband revealed, in our conversation that
day, that she had been growling at him, too, from her crate for weeks.
I just didn't know. We immediately put her back in her crate to stay
(except to go outside) until we could decide what to do.
And
here's where we did what I would not do now. We discussed options. I
would not keep her here to train because I have children, and I had
clearly failed already. I was no longer comfortable just giving her
away: I had screwed things up so badly, how the hell would I pick out
the right person for this? We could have her pts. Or we could bring
her to the shelter (well funded in this area), let their professionals
assess her and treat her in a safe environment, and find her a home or
have her pts if they thought she was too dangerous. I absolutely
abhor shelters- I think they are dens of disease. Taking a
supremely pack oriented animal and locking it in a cage, by itself, with
limited human contact would drive a less sensitive creature mad. (and I
get it. I know most shelter staff have their hearts in the right
place. But the entire thing is just so... wrong). I promised myself I
would never send any animal to one, ever. Now, I would have her pts in a
heartbeat. But at the time, I didn't know as much as I do now, and I
thought, as horrid as the idea was, that at least it might give her a
chance. I thought maybe a different owner could bring her back before
she crossed into actual biting. A note here: if she was, say, a
generally friendly dog who had started resource guarding, it would have
been a different story. But she was neither overly friendly nor was she
guarding anything. The blank stare, the lack of interest,
the absolute refusal to be part of our 'pack' coupled with the growling
was like a cauldron set to boil a nasty green goo all over. With no
loyalty, what was to stop her from attacking us all? She was just 11
months old.
The shelter told dh that they 'don't do that anymore'
when he said we thought pts might be the best answer. I'm still
horrified by that. Not necessarily for this particular dog (who knows
there), but for the ones who have already bitten. They don't put any of
them to sleep for aggression?
Does this dog represent pit
bulls? I
don't know. I certainly don't have enough experience with that breed
to make such a conclusion. I'm sure similar stories could be told about
lots of different breeds of dogs. What strikes me is how often, and
how terrifyingly awful, this stuff is when it happens in a pit bull.
How permanent the results of mistakes can be. I certainly can't bring
back my birds, no matter how much I regret it. I have seen that same
blank look in the eyes of another pit bull very recently. The owner
(pit bull savvy and honest about this breed) has said he is sweet but
dumb. Who am I to question that assessment? I wish her luck with him.
I'll be keeping the kids away.
It was an extremely difficult
time for us. I will say that that dog changed my life. She taught me
that love isn't enough. She taught me that 5 months old is too old,
that rescues aren't to be trusted, no matter what source. She taught me
that no matter how hard I try, how patient I am, dogs don't give a
flying fuck. She taught me that dogs aren't safe, and that maybe I'm
not. She taught me that I could be angrier than I thought. She broke
parts of me, and I don't know how many kisses, belly tickles, and
perfect heels it will take to get that back. For awhile I tried to
blame her (unknown) parentage, the first people
who owned her (who got a strongly worded letter from me, to which they
replied in asshole fashion: she was a fucking PERFECT dog when we gave
her to you!), and ultimately.. I was just left blaming
myself. Oh, she changed my life, exactly like they tell you. It is
only by the good graces of a supremely wonderful Border Collie - the dog
worth waiting for- that I am not terrified of dogs now. He'll exchange
a kiss for every tear you give, check on you if you fall down, and
loves everyone furred or feathered, no matter how small. He wears his
heart on his collar, and spares no display of giddy enjoyment at your
company. He is what all dogs ought to be- what all good dogs, from
balanced breeds and mixes- ARE. He is the fundamental dogness of dogs,
with no shark blood coursing through his veins. Just like millions of
other, non-shark dogs. The only thing lurking beneath his surface is
more him.. the same him you see. And yes, I'm grateful every day that I
have this dog, who is patient and kind with me. Who reminds me that I
can still get it right, sometimes, when I trust myself. Maybe I
truly suck with other dogs, but not with this one.
So those
fur-mommies with their 'babies', who's dog rips the face off a child,
get zero sympathy from me. I did my absolute, no-holds-barred, every
day in the trenches best with that pitX. And knowing how hard I tried-
how hard my entire family tried- we would still have taken total blame
if she had hurt someone. While in our care, we tried harder than I
certainly have with any other dog, and yet it would still be my fault if
she had done something terrible. I don't believe dogs suddenly bite-
well, almost never anyway. I don't believe 'he's never been like that
before!' I think it's a crock of poo excuse to cover the fact that they
saw it coming but don't want to admit it. At any time on that train
wreck they could have stopped it, but they didn't. They had a million
excuses, until it was too late. These people make me far more angry
than the
dog-fighters. Those assholes know what they have, know what they are
doing, and know why their dogs are killers. The lipstick and
high-heeled set pretend until they can't. They flood my fb page with
cutesy pictures, with stories, with nauseating messages. They would
have to have never been around any other dog, ever, close enough to
breathe on to believe the crock about how extra cuddly, or extra
friendly, or reliable those dogs are. They would have to have turned
off their brain and ignored their newspaper. They would have to be
willfully, illogically ignorant. I get it- I fed into it (albeit
briefly, and I was never a nutter.. I fell into the 'it's how you raise
them' clan, though, and pretended the news stories were mistaken
identity).
And maybe my reaction seems like an over-reaction to
everyone else. There was no attack on a human. We were never bitten. I
know I was had by the
propaganda machine, but so what. That is nameless, faceless. What I
see, when I think about that time, is my exaggerated facial expression,
my constantly calling her name in a happy voice, the love we tried so
hard to project, with the shark-eyes staring back at us. In some primal
way, it is like we had a murderer living in our attic, stealing our
food, and we never knew it until we heard him on the stairs. The police
may have caught him in time, but I still feel violated. We loved that
dog, we cried for her, we gave her structure, time, patience. We
trusted her. And in the end, she betrayed us all, she told us as
clearly as if she had spoken that she would come for us when she was
ready. And I think about those other poor morons, the ones hugging
their doll's-eyes dogs. The ones who don't see the nearly indefinable
danger, who don't feel that undercurrent pulling them down. The women
in the SUVs,
with their prettied up pitties, who wear bandanas that say 'kiss-a-bul'
or something else grotesquely dangerous. Maybe they don't want to lie,
when they see the signs. Maybe, like me, they just don't want to be
the one who sent that sad old pit dog back to the shelter, who work so
hard to balance it all that they can't -can't- admit they made a
mistake. They don't hear the footsteps on the stairs. They don't call
the police. And by the time they realize who they have, he's already in
the livingroom blocking the tv.
I don't know what you will
draw from this e-mail. I don't know how I feel about sending it. But
ultimately, I think I need to say this: sometimes good people are
suckered into things they are convinced they can handle (by dog
trainers, by the shelter staff, by their own good intentions), and only
educating people about the truth can combat that sort of.. innocent
disaster. We
can vilify assholes in high heels who set these dogs up as princes and
princesses (and when their satan dog kills/maims someone or
something, and they claim surprise or blame the victim, we SHOULD) but
they won't stop adopting these dogs until they learn the truth. I'd
like to see the stats on how many first-time pit owners go on to have a
second. I know I will never be among that number (nor will I own any
other 'bully' breed. Who needs the fucking headache? Give me a dog
that actually likes people).
And shelters should be ashamed.
They know, they know far more than the middle class women trying to do a
good deed. They feed on the ignorance, the malleability of people who
just want to do the right thing. It's a slogan for a pyramid scheme:
counter their excuses until they run out! Then SELL THEM THAT PIT
BULL! Smile as they head out the door- no matter how it ends up, you
know the dog won't be back up for adoption. Don't waste time on the
popular dogs of yesterday, they are so out of fashion.
More fighters! More ticking time bombs! More sharks in the tank for
naked ladies to swim with! And who cares if they are so heartbroken
they never adopt again, there are 17 million more next year. It's all
in how you raise 'em, you know!
Your website has been
instrumental to me. I can let go of some of the guilt, some of the
regret, some of the blame. But not all- for who knows what happened
with that dog we sent to the shelter. I hope, more fervently than I
have ever hoped before, that the shelter listened to my husband, that
some foster mom or dad had her pts before she ever made it out into
public. It's a lie I tell myself. I know my border collie will kiss my
tears away long enough for me to believe it.
Thank you for your time.
