“…One of my favorite movie lines is from the movie, Under the Tuscan Sun. After enduring a painful divorce, Frances, the lead character, escapes her chaotic, American, city lifestyle and takes a spontaneous leisure trip to Italy. Despite the fact that she is emotionally in turmoil, her life is beginning to bloom. While visiting the Tuscan countryside, much to her own surprise, she finds herself considering the purchase of an old, rustic villa with enormous charm and potential. Katherine, a lovely and vivacious Italian woman she has befriended says, tempting, “It’s a nice little villa… are you going to buy it?” to which Frances replies, “The way my life is currently going, that would be a terrible idea.”
Katherine’s response is simple yet profound: “Terrible idea…Don’t you just love those?”
…I too, had a terrible idea once: I had just started living with a man I was in love with and just when things started getting serious between us, I decided that I desperately wanted to get a puppy. As an attempt to persuade him I would stalk the online classifieds “just to look” and once I found a face that I thought would surely be irresistible, I would show him the picture as I “ooed and awwed” hoping my own sad puppy face would change his mind. Of course, it didn’t. And that’s just one reason I love the man. But I digress…
It wasn’t long before my terrible idea was shared by even Mr. Sensible himself.
Weeks later, after a ridiculous, albeit dramatic argument of some sort, Bryan randomly and suddenly decided that now, of all times, was the right time to get a puppy. A small ad in the local newspaper advertised a litter of puppies just seven weeks old, living in some house in a bad neighborhood on the other side of town. It appeared as if Mr. Sensible had gotten a little soft on me. I wasn’t sure if it was the few beers he had consumed earlier or just really bad judgment, but I didn’t care—we were finally going to get a dog!
I should probably interrupt the story for a moment to share one very important detail. You see, it wasn’t just any dog we were on our way to adopting. We had had the discussion a few times prior and Bryan made it clear that if we were to ever get a dog, it would have to be a “Pit Bull.” His ardent love for the breed was, at the time, impossible for me to understand. As many people can attest, just the name “Pit Bull” conjures up disturbing images of a snarling, vicious beast trying to break free of its silver chain and collar laden with spikes to ruthlessly attack anyone passing by, with a particular preference for small unsuspecting children. It seemed like an everyday occurrence that the news would reveal the latest death-of-child-by-dog tragedy and, of course, all of these stories would predominately involve a “Pit Bull.” Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled with his choice in breed but I knew that it was either a Pit Bull puppy or no puppy at all.
The long drive to see the puppies was a sobering one…just enough time to really think things through. Where will it even sleep? Who will take care of it when we are at work? What do we feed it tonight since all the pet stores are closed by now? Is our house even puppy proof? What if our relationship doesn’t work out? Who will have custody? Is there such a thing? Can we afford it? Where will it sleep? What about our trip to Texas next month? Where will the puppy go then?
The initial excitement began to lose its momentum when reality set in—we were totally unprepared for such a huge commitment. But by then, it was too late for any second guessing. There we were, parked on the curb of a small, ghetto, downright frightening house on a poorly lit street. “Beware of Dog” a sign read in the window. Great. I couldn’t help but ask myself, “What the HELL are we doing here?”
We walked in and were immediately surrounded by wobbly-legged little puppies. The family seemed nice enough as they proudly showed off the enormously muscular parents who were less than pleased to see us enter the home. Their intimidating barks fed my suspicions about the kind of dog these puppies might grow up to be. The puppies came with papers proving their “American Pit Bull Terrier” lineage. But all of this was pretty meaningless to me when my eyes fell on a chocolate colored baby with a white chest and green eyes that made me melt. “That one,” I said. Bryan pointed out a few others he thought we should consider but I insisted. That one.
That was all cute and great until five minutes later, we are back in the car together, only this time, there was a living, breathing, hopefully not pooping puppy in my lap that now depended on us for survival. I was excited and scared all at the same time and had no idea what was in store for Bryan, me and the unnamed puppy. But that’s the way life always goes, I guess. Each moment, each experience, each decision might carry with it, life changing power.
There is no doubt about it. That little puppy was the cutest darn thing most people had ever seen. My dear friends, The Lewis family, were the first to see our new baby. We all sat on the floor of their living room and admired her while the kids squeezed her and giggled. I wouldn’t have traded that sight for the best seats at the hottest, latest show. It’s amazing how much joy the simple things in life can bring.
You know when you try to name a pet and everyone involved shouts out possibilities to try them on for size? Fluffy, Patches, Max, Cookie….until finally, one of them sounds just right. In our case, it was as if the name had already been chosen somewhere up above because without much thought or hesitation, Victor, a sweet, insightful 7-year old decided to offer the first choice of the night. “Hey….What about……… Grace??”
The name Grace means “blessing.” I loved the irony of it- a sweet and delicate, feminine name for a puppy whose breed bore much controversy. That night, Grace the Pit Bull was born.
I joked and told Bryan that after having Gracie for just a week that I now knew what it feels like to love someone who is discriminated against by society — people in biracial marriages or having a loved one who is gay. You constantly have to justify and defend your love and acceptance which was so hurtful to me because all that love and adoration just came so naturally to me. “If you only knew…” I would think to myself.
Once, at an outdoor, dog-friendly mall, an older couple approached me to admire Gracie who was excitedly wagging her tail and anxious to plant them with kisses. They complimented her for her adorable looks and inquired about her breed. I proudly told them that she was an American Pit Bull Terrier and an immediate look of disgust and judgment swept across their faces. “Why?” the cantankerous old man asked indignantly.
That comment actually made my heart hurt, not just because he had insulted a dog that means the world to me but because his attitude seemed heartless considering all the unconditional love that Gracie just wanted to give everyone. I thought about the way Gracie lays on my feet when I wash dishes and how she follows me around the house everywhere I go. I thought about the way her tail wags so fast with sheer excitement when she sees kids that it seems like it could fall off. I thought about the time when, during a quiet moment alone, I sat on the floor sobbing after an awful day and the way the usually rambunctious Gracie calmly came and curled up in my lap, licked me softly all over my face, and sighed as she rested her head on my leg and somehow, instantly made me feel better.
Gracie isn't the wrinkly little puppy anymore that used to fit in my arms. Her once soft and new pads of her paws are now calloused from all the rough housing and running around in the mud and dirt chasing birds and flies and her own tail. But everyday sheds light on a new and adoring facets of her personality and I often wonder how empty our lives would feel without her. She wakes me with a thousand kisses and can't help but rest her front paws over the tub when I am taking a bath, playfully trying to eat all my bubbles. She has brought so much joy to our home and I day never goes by that she doesn't makes us laugh or smile. Gracie adores kids and views everyone walking down the street as a potential friend. She showers everyone with kisses, loves her toys and sometimes will talk and whine back to the squeaky ones. She will fake a squat to get a treat for going pee outside. She lies on my feet when I wash dishes and follows me around the house everywhere I go. She growls and barks at the broom and tries to bite air coming from the blow drier.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a grand finale ending to this story. I would like to be able to say that Gracie defied all critics of her breed and saved seven drowning children or pulled me out of a fire or became famous. But she didn’t. Well, not yet at least. But she is famous in our family and I, of course, am her biggest fan. But she is acquiring quite a fan club from the kids she chases in our neighborhood and the other dogs she has befriended at the park.
When a poodle attacks a child, we never hear about it. It’s the same reason we never hear about the successes in Iraq or the death of a homeless person—none of those events are “newsworthy.” But if a “Pit Bull” has bitten someone, or anything that even remotely resembles an APBT you can be sure it will be a headline story. Sensationized journalism has many consequences. I simply wrote this story not because there aren't enough "good" stories about pitbulls but because she good stories are rarely told or heard. And it is a shame because I think about how passionate I am about a breed I almost never gave a chance and how many others might miss out too. “Don’t judge a book by its cover” is a trite maxim that we all hear but never manage to actually live by. My ignorance could have cost me the most incredible experience. And ignorance is causing an entire breed of dog to bare a stereotype that couldn't be farther from the truth. Pitbulls have endured some of the most horrific injustices from forced dog fighting, abandonment and abuse. Shelters are full of them and an inaccurate reputation seals their fate. Many of them will never know the love that Gracie does and returns ten fold.
So this post is dedicated to my sweet, Gracie...strong, loving and fiercely loyal….just like her dad.
Katherine’s response is simple yet profound: “Terrible idea…Don’t you just love those?”
…I too, had a terrible idea once: I had just started living with a man I was in love with and just when things started getting serious between us, I decided that I desperately wanted to get a puppy. As an attempt to persuade him I would stalk the online classifieds “just to look” and once I found a face that I thought would surely be irresistible, I would show him the picture as I “ooed and awwed” hoping my own sad puppy face would change his mind. Of course, it didn’t. And that’s just one reason I love the man. But I digress…
It wasn’t long before my terrible idea was shared by even Mr. Sensible himself.
Weeks later, after a ridiculous, albeit dramatic argument of some sort, Bryan randomly and suddenly decided that now, of all times, was the right time to get a puppy. A small ad in the local newspaper advertised a litter of puppies just seven weeks old, living in some house in a bad neighborhood on the other side of town. It appeared as if Mr. Sensible had gotten a little soft on me. I wasn’t sure if it was the few beers he had consumed earlier or just really bad judgment, but I didn’t care—we were finally going to get a dog!
I should probably interrupt the story for a moment to share one very important detail. You see, it wasn’t just any dog we were on our way to adopting. We had had the discussion a few times prior and Bryan made it clear that if we were to ever get a dog, it would have to be a “Pit Bull.” His ardent love for the breed was, at the time, impossible for me to understand. As many people can attest, just the name “Pit Bull” conjures up disturbing images of a snarling, vicious beast trying to break free of its silver chain and collar laden with spikes to ruthlessly attack anyone passing by, with a particular preference for small unsuspecting children. It seemed like an everyday occurrence that the news would reveal the latest death-of-child-by-dog tragedy and, of course, all of these stories would predominately involve a “Pit Bull.” Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled with his choice in breed but I knew that it was either a Pit Bull puppy or no puppy at all.
The long drive to see the puppies was a sobering one…just enough time to really think things through. Where will it even sleep? Who will take care of it when we are at work? What do we feed it tonight since all the pet stores are closed by now? Is our house even puppy proof? What if our relationship doesn’t work out? Who will have custody? Is there such a thing? Can we afford it? Where will it sleep? What about our trip to Texas next month? Where will the puppy go then?
The initial excitement began to lose its momentum when reality set in—we were totally unprepared for such a huge commitment. But by then, it was too late for any second guessing. There we were, parked on the curb of a small, ghetto, downright frightening house on a poorly lit street. “Beware of Dog” a sign read in the window. Great. I couldn’t help but ask myself, “What the HELL are we doing here?”
We walked in and were immediately surrounded by wobbly-legged little puppies. The family seemed nice enough as they proudly showed off the enormously muscular parents who were less than pleased to see us enter the home. Their intimidating barks fed my suspicions about the kind of dog these puppies might grow up to be. The puppies came with papers proving their “American Pit Bull Terrier” lineage. But all of this was pretty meaningless to me when my eyes fell on a chocolate colored baby with a white chest and green eyes that made me melt. “That one,” I said. Bryan pointed out a few others he thought we should consider but I insisted. That one.
That was all cute and great until five minutes later, we are back in the car together, only this time, there was a living, breathing, hopefully not pooping puppy in my lap that now depended on us for survival. I was excited and scared all at the same time and had no idea what was in store for Bryan, me and the unnamed puppy. But that’s the way life always goes, I guess. Each moment, each experience, each decision might carry with it, life changing power.
There is no doubt about it. That little puppy was the cutest darn thing most people had ever seen. My dear friends, The Lewis family, were the first to see our new baby. We all sat on the floor of their living room and admired her while the kids squeezed her and giggled. I wouldn’t have traded that sight for the best seats at the hottest, latest show. It’s amazing how much joy the simple things in life can bring.
You know when you try to name a pet and everyone involved shouts out possibilities to try them on for size? Fluffy, Patches, Max, Cookie….until finally, one of them sounds just right. In our case, it was as if the name had already been chosen somewhere up above because without much thought or hesitation, Victor, a sweet, insightful 7-year old decided to offer the first choice of the night. “Hey….What about……… Grace??”
The name Grace means “blessing.” I loved the irony of it- a sweet and delicate, feminine name for a puppy whose breed bore much controversy. That night, Grace the Pit Bull was born.
I joked and told Bryan that after having Gracie for just a week that I now knew what it feels like to love someone who is discriminated against by society — people in biracial marriages or having a loved one who is gay. You constantly have to justify and defend your love and acceptance which was so hurtful to me because all that love and adoration just came so naturally to me. “If you only knew…” I would think to myself.
Once, at an outdoor, dog-friendly mall, an older couple approached me to admire Gracie who was excitedly wagging her tail and anxious to plant them with kisses. They complimented her for her adorable looks and inquired about her breed. I proudly told them that she was an American Pit Bull Terrier and an immediate look of disgust and judgment swept across their faces. “Why?” the cantankerous old man asked indignantly.
That comment actually made my heart hurt, not just because he had insulted a dog that means the world to me but because his attitude seemed heartless considering all the unconditional love that Gracie just wanted to give everyone. I thought about the way Gracie lays on my feet when I wash dishes and how she follows me around the house everywhere I go. I thought about the way her tail wags so fast with sheer excitement when she sees kids that it seems like it could fall off. I thought about the time when, during a quiet moment alone, I sat on the floor sobbing after an awful day and the way the usually rambunctious Gracie calmly came and curled up in my lap, licked me softly all over my face, and sighed as she rested her head on my leg and somehow, instantly made me feel better.
Gracie isn't the wrinkly little puppy anymore that used to fit in my arms. Her once soft and new pads of her paws are now calloused from all the rough housing and running around in the mud and dirt chasing birds and flies and her own tail. But everyday sheds light on a new and adoring facets of her personality and I often wonder how empty our lives would feel without her. She wakes me with a thousand kisses and can't help but rest her front paws over the tub when I am taking a bath, playfully trying to eat all my bubbles. She has brought so much joy to our home and I day never goes by that she doesn't makes us laugh or smile. Gracie adores kids and views everyone walking down the street as a potential friend. She showers everyone with kisses, loves her toys and sometimes will talk and whine back to the squeaky ones. She will fake a squat to get a treat for going pee outside. She lies on my feet when I wash dishes and follows me around the house everywhere I go. She growls and barks at the broom and tries to bite air coming from the blow drier.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a grand finale ending to this story. I would like to be able to say that Gracie defied all critics of her breed and saved seven drowning children or pulled me out of a fire or became famous. But she didn’t. Well, not yet at least. But she is famous in our family and I, of course, am her biggest fan. But she is acquiring quite a fan club from the kids she chases in our neighborhood and the other dogs she has befriended at the park.
When a poodle attacks a child, we never hear about it. It’s the same reason we never hear about the successes in Iraq or the death of a homeless person—none of those events are “newsworthy.” But if a “Pit Bull” has bitten someone, or anything that even remotely resembles an APBT you can be sure it will be a headline story. Sensationized journalism has many consequences. I simply wrote this story not because there aren't enough "good" stories about pitbulls but because she good stories are rarely told or heard. And it is a shame because I think about how passionate I am about a breed I almost never gave a chance and how many others might miss out too. “Don’t judge a book by its cover” is a trite maxim that we all hear but never manage to actually live by. My ignorance could have cost me the most incredible experience. And ignorance is causing an entire breed of dog to bare a stereotype that couldn't be farther from the truth. Pitbulls have endured some of the most horrific injustices from forced dog fighting, abandonment and abuse. Shelters are full of them and an inaccurate reputation seals their fate. Many of them will never know the love that Gracie does and returns ten fold.
So this post is dedicated to my sweet, Gracie...strong, loving and fiercely loyal….just like her dad.
The reasons Pit Bulls are used as fighting dogs isn't because of some inherent violence or aggression in them, but because they care so much about pleasing their masters. They just want to do what their master wants and when they are praised for violence and scolded for being passive, the fighting dog is the result.
ReplyDeleteI teared up reading this :) I miss you, and I miss my Gracie!!
ReplyDelete