We are passing along this reader-contributed poem for your edification:
Patrone was a dog, and a very fine boy
Of muscles and satiny coat, a real joy
to his doting fur-mommies he was just like a child
But Pat was a dog and they thought he was mild...
Those Mommies they pouted, they preened and they posed
Whilst the Bull doggy heart of poor Pat was confused.
They wanted a lap-dog, a lover, a mouse
So they loved on this Mastiff as one would a spouse
Pat slept in their beds as a good lover should but
Sometimes he bit them and tasted their blood.
Now blood to a Bull dog is honey and wine
To the palate of man when he sits down to dine
Patrone got a regular taste for the stuff
To the point where it seemed he could not get enough,
And he sent his fur-mommy to work cut and bruised
She said he had bit her, but then got confused
and said she was savaged by canine unknown
So Patrone the Pit Mastiff stayed cosy at home...
We cannot blame Pat in the heart of this story
Although his finale was bloody and gory
His fur-mommies loved him, their precious best boy
Of muscles and satiny coat, a real joy.
The people nearby locked their doors and their gates
The fur-mommies said they were just full of hate
For their Pat was a sweetheart who'd lick them to death
And not some foul beast who would steal their last breath...
This story must end as most fairytales do
When princesses frown and their crowns go askew
Reality beckoned one day for Patrone
When his resident Mommy did something so wrong
And opened the door for the Mastiff to roam
Not safe in a yard or watched from their home
Big Pat took a tour of the streets in deep joy
The pride of his fur-mommies and their bestest boy
Their licky-lick lover and gentle sweetheart
Took a shine to a stranger and tore her apart.
He took Bull dog kisses of cervical spine, and
he opened her throat to release the rich wine
He chewed on her legs and took flesh from the bone
Quite simply forgetting his Mommies at home,
Quite simply remembering all that he was,
Patrone, my dear friends, was a Pit fighting dog,
No lover, no daddy, no lap-dog was he
No bed-sharing, joy-giving, life homily
Patrone the Pit Mastiff with blood on his teeth
And his tail wagging hard in genetic release.
The moral contained in this tale is quite clear
If you look and you learn and you hold your life dear
You stand with your canine as mistress or master
You make him your child, you court a disaster
You choose your pet wisely and always avoid
Those dogs with the teeth, and the muscles, the maws,
The deep-chested, dead-eyed, goof-grinning jaws....
You'll look, really look, and you'll know what you see
Is purpose-designed with a dark history
Ignore it, deplore it, explain it away,
And call it a sweetheart for all and a day
And bed it, and love it, and praise it as mild
And smooch it, caress it, and call it your child
But that dog is a Fighting Pit Bull Dog, and thus
It is all that it seems, and it is as it looks.
Patrone was removed from the scene of his crime
And his fur-mommies wept at the thought of the time
That their poor boy would spend in the pound, all alone,
Pining and yearning for love, life and home,
But this does not end very well for Patrone...
The Pit Bull Dog Mastiff did not use his brain,
And could not exert normal canine restrain,
He bit his assessor, got labelled as crazy
And now, like most Pit Bulls, he's pushing up daisies.