Hope Sure Loves a Pitbull!

Oliver

What do you  think when you hear the word “pitbull”?  Or more to the point, what do you feel?  Is it fear? Or is it a sense of justified anger?  Possibly one might feel curiosity or even simply neutral:  “Pitbull=Stocky Dog and didn’t I see something about one of those in the news?”  When I think of “pitbull” I think of Oliver.  And Bailey. I also think of Home Girl, Big Guy,  Russell, Lacey, and many others.  I think of Wilma and Louise who are two older girls I met at the pound recently. They are dedicated to each other and even though they are slower and older, they happily wagged their tails when I stopped by their cage to say hello and then they politely asked me to take them home. 

I’ve been a “dog person” since I was two and Cyrano de Bergerac, a jet-black poodle with a long nose, entered my life. My entire existence has been filled with canines and to imagine not having a faithful friend by my side seems incomprehensible. Through many doggie adventures with a lot of different dogs I have had my share of difficult experiences. I remember being attacked viciously by a maurading dog in Taos, NM and throwing heavy rocks on the attacker to get him off my Simone, a gentle girl, my true best friend. Later there were the ongoing threats by a pack of angry Golden Retrievers in Bend, OR,  and because they lived on my favorite walk by a beautiful rushing river, I chose to continue bringing my beloved Rosie, a retriever herself, near by, but always with a pocket full of rocks and shoulders raised. Later, in Tucson, when menaced by a Rottweiler with machine guns (or so it seemed), we fought to protect each other.  Comical, as we took turns stepping in front of each other, till the owner appeared and called the hoodlum off.  Hintza, my strapping and fierce looking hound, had enough hunks taken out of his hide by dog-park thugs and wandering coyotes that he looked like he’d been to war.  And so it goes.

Is there a theme among those attacks?  The only thread I can pull out is that some people do not stay in control of their dogs and then all hell breaks loose when an ill-tempered or poorly socialized dog is able to have his way with anyone in his or her path. Another theme is that poorly socialized humans purposefully over-breeding any type of dog, will tend to create misery in a million different ways.  My purpose in writing about dogs in general and pitbulls specifically today is not to beat you over the head with one more statistical bludgeon. As we all know statistics can be used in devious ways to support any argument and media outlets know that blood and gore sells. The heart-warming stories of millions of good dogs behaving well and being sweet just don’t sell advertising as well as one well-worded tragedy massaged and milked in such a way to create fear in every single person who reads/hears it.  No one even agrees what the breed “pitbull” is.  And many dog bite reports alledgedly caused by pits have had no basis in reality as most of us are not very good at dog identification.

With thanks to Facebook for always supplying clever memes.  

I became interested in taking in a pibble after our Hintza died four years ago.  He was irreplaceable, as all true- loves are, and I had to wait a long time before I was ready to welcome a new canine into the household.   I slowly began researching bully breeds and learning more about their history and temperament  and began looking at dogs available for adoption, online, at street fairs, and other local venues.  However, I didn’t feel ready until facebook popped a pibble right into my heart.

Oliver aka "Bart" at a local dog daycare with his devoted care-giver.

Bart was a black and white cutie who was dedicated to his 94 year old person  June, and the belle of the ball at doggie daycare three days a week. Sally Weber, a sister yoga teacher in Tucson, took him and his brother Pepper in after her mom died and then began the process of trying to find new homes.  Here is what she told me:  


"Mother had 2 dogs when we came to Tucson in 2005; Ginger (a white lab) and Pepper (a black lab).   Both of these dogs were hurricane Katrina survivors.  Several years after we moved to Tucson, Ginger died. Within the next year, one of Pepper's groomers told mother of this "sweet" dog that needs to be adopted into a loving home. She convinced Mother to see the Animal shelter video being aired on a local TV station.  Mother was excited before she even viewed the video.  It showed him resting. She invited me to the shelter to see him.  I suggested that we bring Pepper to see if there was compatibility. The meeting went very well and Mother was determined to bring him home.  She remembered two things from the instructions; one is that all dogs are tempermented tested and they do not adopt out any aggressive dogs; and secondly that if she brought him back for any reason, he would be put down.   She loved him and his vitality.  She rode him and Pepper around in her Honda Element (dog mobile) to their grooming appointments, day care, and vet visits.  I would help her with many these appointments."  Sally also told me that while her mother June was living in a nursing home before she died, that Pepper and Bart  visited every day for over a month.  Bart, being a social guy, loved visiting with all of the other residents as well.

June and Bart during her final days.

My young adult kids were instantly smitten, but we knew that the one who had to approve was Athena, our aging matriarchal standard- ranch- poodle.  She said “eh, whatever, just make sure he knows his place” and we made the big move. Our first act was to rename him Oliver, because well, you know, Bart rhymes with fart and that’s something that no dog, or his teenaged boy, can overcome. Over time we have come to know him as the sweetest and most loving dog we’ve ever had. Kind, cuddly, and always eager to please. He greets us at the door with a favorite toy and then proceeds to do a sophisticated happy dance. Such joy!

He has done continuing training at his obedience classes and has been a favorite of the instructors.  My goal is to help him reach his canine good citizen certification and then do the necessary training to be a visiting pet therapy dog.  He has already proven his competency in this area by visiting June, his previous beloved person in the nursing home she resided in during the last months of her life.   He and his pal Pepper went on daily visits to June and the other nursing home residents and Sally tells me that he was quite popular. 

I am also working to create the very best hiking partner possible. Ollie loves to run so nailing that recall is essential.  On trails all over Tucson I have been heartened by those hikers who make a point of saying hello, asking to pet him, to give him a treat, and to congratulate me on having the best-behaved and most handsome dog on the mountain.  Yes, those who are dedicated to these misunderstood pups are also dedicated to creating a new community that is respectful and supportive of dogs and those who love them. These warm souls are found everywhere:  Bookmans (our local used bookstore chain), Ace Hardware, Petsmart,  Home Depot, the neighborhood where we live, and anywhere he goes.  These locations are perfect locations to take any dog for socialization for those who are serious about creating successful companions. I am as heartened by these folks as I am saddened by those who take one look and cross the street, averting their gaze. I have learned that there are two kinds of people. 1) Those who rush to our side hoping to pet our guy, and 2) Those who take one look, scowl, and cross the street muttering as they hurry on by.

Oliver enjoying a hike in Sedona, AZ

Loving someone who is so often unfairly judged based simply on his appearance has been an interesting journey for me.  I’ve learned the depth of my commitment to another being, about being steadfast in the face of difficulty and not giving up. It hasn’t been easy as, Oliver, with all of his sweet -natured charms, suffers from extreme separation anxiety when apart from his people.  His self-medication of choice is to chew.  And chew and chew.  Pillows, couch cushions, blankets, entire couches, my electric toothbrush, and more. When he moved to books I knew I had a problem that required solving.  I am a bibliophile, and while I try to keep a handle on my book-loving tendencies (no new shelves!), I have a collection of over 1000 volumes, most that I intend to keep and read forever.  This is not a passing  fancy, and while couches come and couches  will go, books are sacred in this home.

Oliver caught in the act.

After trying many things from behavioral conditioning to herbs and supplements, I found three things that worked in combination.  1) We installed a dog door having learned that some dogs can suffer from containment anxiety - hence the bent bars on his crate and the broken tooth in his mouth.  2) A veterinarian consult led me to very reluctantly try medication.  Dogs have anxiety too!  Prozac dialed it down by a huge degree. 3) After a consult with a dog behavior expert, we learned that helping him be successful by providing nothing to chew was important. This last was the hardest to implement.  Who needs cushy furniture anyway?  It's terrible for our posture and our backs. I am not exaggerating much when I say that my house has had a transformation.  With a some simple modifications we have found our way to pibble peace and better posture as a way of life.

After reading this, it may seem like it's been one thing after another, and what on earth would be inspiring or hopeful about this story? This dog greets every person he meets as if they are his long lost soul-mate. He comes happily to the front door bearing a toy for each visitor who enters and he makes sure they feel loved and cared for.  He is an entertaining, endearing, wriggling mass of comfort when sometimes comfort is hard to find in our crazy world.  He is an untiring ambassador for the innate goodness of pitbull type dogs everywhere.  He gave great joy to a woman in the last years of her life, and then came and did the same for us.  I look at him every day and tell him how very grateful I am to have him in my life.  I hope he feels the same with us, in his third, and final home.

We live in a throw-away society.  Always after the next new thing, the next best thing, the thing that will bring us instant happiness. Hard work, dedication, devotion, loyalty, and constancy don't always make the news.  Oliver has taught me in a way unlike any other, that these things matter, and that loving someone and sticking by them is absolutely a choice, even when it's tough, and we can choose to do so every day.

Who do you choose to love?

Shalom, Shanti, Peace,

Felicia

Normally I would post links here, but I trust that any who are inspired to consider rescuing your new best friend can make your way to a local Humane Society or Animal Control Agency near you. There are many breed specific rescue groups and more non-kill shelters are springing up daily.  Here's to finding hope with your new love.