The Tale of Patrone the Pit Mastiff

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.

Now.....

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.

Dog attack report by breed - December 2013

The 2013 year end statistics from the multi-decade animal people study of fatal and maiming dog attacks on humans have been released. Bull Mastiffs have moved up to edge German Shepherds out of the top 5 offenders, while pit bulls have increased their lead over all other breeds to further solidify their position as the most harmful domestic dog of all time. 

One particularly disturbing trend noted in the report was the sharp increase in fatal or disfiguring attacks by pit bulls compared to previous years. In 2013, pit bulls committed 572 fatal or disfiguring attacks on humans. (the number of fatal or disfiguring pit bull attacks on animals is orders of magnitude higher).

The top 5 offenders at a glance

Note that the statistics in this study pertain to attacks on humans only. A comprehensive study of dog attacks on animals is due in the Feb 10th issue of the animal people magazine. A preview of those findings can be found here. 

Reference -

Dog attack deaths and maimings Sept 1982 - Dec 2013

Legion

You speak of Pit Bulls, I block and parry
And mightily chirrup my hostile parody of
Protectionism and fear, borne on a swathe of
Hordes alike, the brethren of the Bull Dog, with
Eyes made bright like reptiles, shaking our tried
and tested phrases at you and your tears, we emit
our jeers and paste our memes, our gladly mesmerised
heads excitable & sweaty with Pit Bull dreams.

He moves apart from me, and yet is the sum of me
constrained by my hope & the leather cord, he
glances at me & my lost heart loves him so,
although I know, I know and know, that constant,
the last vestiges of my former conscience murmurs
like the buzzing of a picnic bee, the wasp in the bottle
that I raise to my lips, 'you are his creature'
He could evade your hopes at any time;
Gift a deadly sting of blood and truth and terror.

Lord of the streets, people fall away in whispers
Disapproving, changing directions, crossing streets,
Glancing, avoiding; clutching their pets to their
breasts or their flanks, panicked and panicking,
He knows & I see his chest burgeon & his eyes
Lighten, I speak & his ear turns but between the
stinking rope that binds us, I feel his joy & the
Weighty sum of all his blood & all his ghosts
The furious, fast, ferocious past & his inheritance
Bound to me in my cosy home, this dog of death and bone.

Iconic outlaw; he is me and I am him, rejected
Dejected, misunderstood – my frail psyche found
Peace in his dangerous face, his smiling jaws, he plays
On me as fearless as a loveable rogue, boundless energy
And the muscles that swathe him compel me to run my
Hot hands over him in some spell-binding fascination; the
awful power of him that sleeps at my hearth; I touch
Him with a prayer – do not hurt me, do not deliver all
that you are; do not become all that you wish for.

You speak of Pit Bulls, I lie and obscure
I quote and yarn, quarrelsome & querulous, deny
Your truths, the weeping wounded & the broken bodies,
I speak of mixed breeds, curs & mongrels, chained brutes
Of no good measure & made for violence, kicked & cursed,
Ignored & used, a thousand names for the abused, any
Name that leaches into the ether & forms on my lips
I will use; and failing that I will consort with hordes
Of my own kind with their own canine Lords, and
Together we will form a wall of fury to wipe away
The blood & the questions, 'til truth be smothered
Under tons of Pit Bull dog flesh, & all their Lovers.

Inside the minds of pit bull advocates

This article is worth reading if you want to understand what makes pit bull advocates tick.

A few years ago, I experienced a serious pit bull attack that led to countless personal losses, I found myself outraged at the system that had enabled such attacks to occur in the first place. I mean isn’t Government supposed to protect innocent people from such unnecessary brutal and violent assaults? It didn’t take long for me to discover why, I soon learned there was an aggressive and outraged pitbull advocacy movement that had influenced Government and prevented reasonable protective legislation from being implemented. So I turned to social media to interact with these people, only to realize that they felt they were the aggrieved party, even though they had suffered no permanent  physical injury, as I had,  they had not lost the ability to walk or care for themselves for a substantial amount of time, as I had, they had suffered no large financial losses, as I had, they had never faced years of legal wrangling to seek compensation for their losses, as I had and they had not lost their business as I had.  The only loss it appears they had incurred is that people hurt their feelings because they were critical of the breed of dog they had chosen as a companion animal.  And yet their outrage was as if someone had murdered their entire family.  This disproportionate over reaction struck me as incredibly bizarre and until now I hadn’t been able to understand it sufficiently.

Continue reading Max Gold's article here

'via Blog this'

An anniversary of sorrow

No matter how many cases like this that we learn about, we are always shocked and saddened anew. It's never easy to write about these tragic deaths, but we are duty bound to raise awareness of the ongoing slaughter of the innocents. 

November 12th is forever tainted for Jaime, whose beloved Boxer girl, Quinn, was savagely mauled to death in front of her on that very date, four years ago. This is her story:

At approximately 7:43, my brother called. I talked to him for 12 minutes while in the garage and came back upstairs to my room. Three minutes later, I called 911.

Many of us celebrate the births of our loved ones as well as mourn the loss of our loved ones. Quinn was six, she was a boxer, she was 'just a dog', expected to live another 4-6 years.  That night, my life changed forever.  More than I could ever put into words.  I think of the little things I did wrong, the graphic details, the sounds, the sights, the smells, etc almost every night I lay my head down. Tonight is the anniversary of the attack, when the pit bulls turned on me & Quinn. 

It all happened so very fast but yet seemed to take forever.  I am not here to condemn pit bulls, I'm just here to share the life of Quinn and make others listen to the way she died.  She was so very pretty, a flashy fawn that was given to me by my pops as a Christmas present, he brought her home in a stocking.  I named her Joey for a few days and then Quinn came to be the final choice.  She went through a lot with me, during a very tough time of my life.  We moved into this new house a year before her death. 

She finally had the doggie door, free reign of the house and was finally the 'only dog'.  She always had a racquetball in her mouth, her tiny nub of a tail was always shaking, especially when she brought the turtle in from outside and thought he was a toy to push around the hardwood floors.  

The pit bulls moved in after knowing her for four years.  All she wanted, was to be a part of their bond.  She would run and play and lick their faces, thinking she was becoming a part of their pack.  I made a few mistakes, I should have listened to my gut, I should have made them go...this was her house and he promised he would never let her get hurt.  I trusted in that.  I've forgiven myself, I've accepted the way she died but I may never forgive him.  She was my girl, and I watched her fight for her life, trying to surrender to her torturers.  She screamed like a child, the blood was everywhere. I had to walk away from her, I couldn't save her.  I knew, while laying in the bathroom trying to wrap my arms around her and pick her up out of their grip, I knew that I was putting my own life in danger and could not let my family lose me in that way. Yes, my finger was crushed, my scars will always be there. But no living soul should ever have to experience what she suffered in her final moments on this earth.

I will forever share her story on this day, it's the least I can do. I have loved pit bulls in the past, and there are still a couple I love to this day - but please, please know that if ever they snap, it may be too late.  Three years and one day ago, I too was saying that it was the owner, not the dog - but I learned the lesson the hard way. The pit bulls died a very peaceful death, with me at their side, not like my girl Quinn, who was ripped apart like a wishbone in front of my face. There is no worse feeling than that helplessness, being unable to save the one who looked to you for security.

Yes, I know Quinn was just a dog, as far as the statistics go, but I often let my mind wander to what if it would have been a child or even me. I promise you, it is not worth the chance.  Keep your families safe, and this includes that little four legged dog that trusts in you as his or her only friend.  More importantly, listen to your gut. 

For more info go to dogsbite.org

Boom, the gentle pit bull

One thing we've been noticing here is that as the number and severity of pit bull maulings rises, the propaganda campaign from the pit activists ramps up in an attempt to divert attention from the violence. We've all seen the media hyped stories of pit bull "heroes" - perhaps a pit bull barks when a fire starts in the trailer - something any dog would do, but when a pit bull does it, it's heralded as a legendary exploit. Single-source, unverified stories of pit bulls performing heroic tasks are quite common, and tend to spread quickly, despite the absence of proof.

There is a popular meme among pit activists which takes the form of an image of a pit bull (not torturing a victim, but rather posed in some harmless looking way, using some cute looking props) featuring a caption that ridicules the idea that a pit bull could possibly be dangerous. The image below features "Boom" the pit bull:

The idea behind these memes seems to be "Hey, if we can show this picture of a pit bull not killing a miniature poodle, that proves that pit bulls don't kill miniature poodles, right?"

As it turns out, "Boom" does indeed appear to be "your typical violent and aggressive pit bull", which is to say that it is perfectly capable of posing for an innocent looking picture one day, and the next day mauling the blind, elderly miniature poodle belonging to the widow next door. 

Boom is owned by Carla Ann Thomas, who has multiple animal cruelty convictions. Boom was witnessed by at least a dozen people committing a completely unprovoked attack on a little dog at a canine fly ball competition. For more info on the real Boom, kindly refer to the article Profile of a responsible pit bull owner at  Craven Desires

When you see cute pictures like the one above, remember that they are carefully staged to produce warm fuzzy feelings, and remember the daily reality of pit bull attacks on innocent animals. The survivors can be seen in pictures like this:

Why not trust a pit bull?

This is an account from about 20 years ago. At the time, the pit bull problem was not as serious as it is now, but the problem's trajectory, so to speak, was visible to those who were paying attention even then. Developments of recent years have underscored the problem, but as this account shows, the nature of the pit bull, formed over hundreds of years of deliberate breeding for merciless violence, was exactly the same then as it is now.

A dog, a pit bull terrier, allegedly killed his female master on September 3, 1992, in Cleveland. There were 180 bite marks on the dead woman's body, according to the Cuyahoga County coroner. I read that news story and revisited the horror my family experienced on Christmas Eve, 1989.

We had a pit bull. He was all white. I named him Chester, after Chester Avenue in Cleveland, where I found him in the middle of the busy street, trapped amid traffic. I could not just drive by. I stopped to shoo him off the roadway. Instead of running off, he got to the tree lawn and rolled over by a belly-rub. He had me by the heartstrings. I took him to a veterinarian for a checkup and neutering that very day.

Chester was not yet one year old, but he was big and well-muscled. He was friendly even with strangers. He spent most of his time in a fenced area with another dog I had taken in, and things went smoothly throughout that fall. When the temperatures turned cold, I brought the two dogs into the heated, finished basement of our country home.

On many occasions I let Chester sleep with my youngest daughter. (She was only three.) Chester was also allowed to mingle with my assorted formerly stray cats, and a rabbit who ran loose in the house. He never paid any attention to the other animals, but he loved the attention he got from my three daughters.

My husband always had reservations about Chester because of his breed. I, on the other hand, got used to the idea of having a pit bull, and I trusted that nothing bad would happen. After all, we were not encouraging aggressiveness. We never roughhoused with Chester. We didn't want a guard dog, and we kept a close eye on him when he was with the children.

I, an animal health technician, former zookeeper, and animal activist, believed that Chester would not be one of those vicious dogs you read about in newspaper headlines. I was wrong.

On Christmas Eve, after a family gift-opening get-together, we returned to our home. My husband was the first to enter the house. I was sleeping in the car when he shook me into reality. "Donna," he said, "it's awful. I wish I could hide this from you. I can't. Come in."

What awaited me in the house was a scene from a horror movie. Chester, greeting me in the kitchen, had long red scratches all over his face. There were streaks of blood here and there on the carpeting throughout the house. The French doors between the basement steps and the living room had been forced open. and there were dead bodies everywhere.

My rabbit was dead on my bed. One cat lay dead in the basement, another under my dresser. Two cats, locked safely in a bedroom, were unscathed. One cat survived atop the refrigerator, but a claw had been ripped from his paw. The fourth survivor was huddled on the top bunk in my daughter's bedroom, wild-eyed and quivering. It took him weeks to return to normal behavior.

My husband reluctantly shot Chester. We then went about placing presents under the tree and stuffing stockings. It was a grim Christmas morning as I watched the sun rise through tears, and I hugged my daughters a little harder that day.

Donna Robb

From ANIMAL PEOPLE, January/February 1993

[Donna Robb, now a reporter for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, is a vet tech who was formerly an elephant keeper at the Cleveland MetroPark Zoo.]