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.]

A sad place for a pit bull

The Animal People organization have been working for animal rights for decades, and have been documenting their efforts along the way, and as a result, their archives are filled with relevant data. We recently came across some accounts published in the Animal People News nearly 20 years ago that we find quite relevant today. Here is one of those accounts

We had Nikki euthanized this morning. She was a purebred pit bull terrier, rescued from an animal collector here in southwest Michigan. When we responded to the call from Children's Protective Services, who had gone to the home for other reasons, we found Nikki chained to a doghouse. The chain was bolted to her collar. It was the dead of August, and Nikki had been without food or water for who knows how long. She lay in the dirt, barely moving. We were able to convince the collector that her dog was days away from death, and she finally consented to let us take her.

At our veterinarian's clinic we took photographs, in case we were able to pursue cruelty charges against the collector. Nikki was grossly underweight at 25 pounds, and was full of worms, fleas, and mange. Her age was estimated as two years. When her heartworm test came back negative, we determined that she was salvageable. I took her on as a foster project, and watched this pitiful wreck of a creature bloom into a healthy, handsome dog. It took weeks. We kept her indoors, though she was smelly and crusty from the manage. She learned about living in a home, and reveled in the constant affection she got from my husband, myself, and our two boys. Though Jon and I had been battling in court about the five dogs we already had, two more than the city limit, we grew attached to Nikki. That she was a pit bull made finding her a proper home more difficult. Most people who would adopt such a dog had no business having one at all. We intensified our search for a place in the country.

We moved to our 9-acre farm early in the fall. By now Nikki was a spayed, healthy, 60-pound success story. She and the other dogs spent leisurely afternoons with the family, walking the pastures and woods on our farm. Nikki loved to dig after the pasture critters, though she never caught any. She'd come up for air after five solid minutes of burrowing, her white face and head caked with earth, tongue lolling out, smiling a joyous, dirt-filled smile. Our other dogs, a Dane, a greyhound, and three mixed breeds, would race through the pastures, chasing and teasing. Nikki, with her great bulk, could not join them. She'd get up to a slight run, then somersault over her own feet. So she mostly tagged along with Jon and I, dashing away from us now and again to dig another hole.

In the house she was a dream dog. Perfectly housebroken, perfectly crate-trained, clean, submissive, and gentle, Nikki dispelled our image of the raging, murderous pit bill. All those pit bulls who turned on their families, well, those people must have done something to make it happen. Our Nikki was just a lover and a cuddler. Other than normal playing and sleeping with the dogs, Nikki seemed indifferent to our other animals. Then, late in the fall, a potbellied pig came to us for foster care. After the initial pig-dog introductions, we saw that there was a potential problem between Nikki and Petunia. Nikki was over-excited by the pig, chasing and biting at her in a way that was not just playful. Petunia brought out a side of Nikki that we had not seen before, and we were concerned. We decided that the two animals would never be exposed to one another.

This worked for about a month. Then, late for work one evening, I rushed out without telling Jon that Petunia was unpenned. He called me at work an hour later to tell me that he let Nikki out and she attacked Petunia, mauling her face and head. I came home at midnight to find Petunia still bleeding and frightened. Traumatized and plagued with guilt, we immediately found Petunia another home.

That dog should be destroyed, our vet said. On the most reasonable level, we knew he was probably right. But we we weren't operating from that level. Jon and I rationalized the incident. Nikki lived next to a pig farm when she was with the collector. On the day of her rescue we witnessed several other dogs fighting over the remains of a pig who had been slaughtered that morning.

They probably had to kill pigs to survive, we protested. We kept Nikki, vowing to watch her every move.

Mac

In December a pit bull mix named Mac came for foster care. Because he was heartworm-positive and a pit bull, we knew he would be a longterm project. We started his heartworm treatment and integrated him into the family. Things were uneventful for the first month. He fit into the routine easily, getting along with everyone but the cats and one unneutered male dog who stopped at our home on his way to another foster home. Otherwise Mac did not worry us. Then one evening Mac and Nikki were playing in their typical vigorous fashion, and suddenly both turned on Enzo, our Labrador mix, who was sitting nearby. Within seconds Mac s jaws were clamped on Enzo s hind leg while Nikki s were locked at his throat. The sounds of the fight were terrifying, and as Jon and I rushed to separate the dogs, I lost my footing and fell. Mac bit hard on my ankle and I screamed until Jon was able to shake him off. Jon had Mac by the collar; I grabbed Nikki s collar. We had to twist and yank with all our strength to get the pit bulls of Enzo. When we did, Enzo crawled into the corner, injured and whimpering and terrified. His leg was hurt and there were deep puncture wounds to his throat, but there was nothing that required stitches. My leg throbbed from Mac s bite, but that bite too consisted of deep puncture wounds that could not be stitched. Mac was put outside and Nikki went to her crate. Because Mac bit me, he was unadoptable by Rescue standards, and he was euthanized the next morning.

Jon and I were forced to re-evaluate our beloved Nikki. We had to face that she was a pit bull, and had the potential to act every bit like those we d read about in the papers. I spent the next day on the telephone, seeking the advice of professional dog trainers and animal behaviorists. In essence, I was told that with pit bulls and other dogs bred for aggressiveness, one blood bite would usually precipitate others. Indeed, Nikki was temporarily preoccupied with Enzo, sniffing the door to the porch where he stayed and attempting to attack him again when we went to reacquaint them several days later. We had a trainer come to our home to evaluate Nikki and her capacity for further aggression. He suggested obedience training and trying to desensitize Nikki by having her see Enzo from a distance, then gradually bring the two dogs closer together. He explained that even with training, there would be no guarantees, and he reiterated his point that dogs who have bitten are likely to bite again. My husband and I, clinging to the slight possibility that this was an isolated incident, vowed to keep Enzo and Nikki totally separate. Nikki would become a full time house dog.

Within a few days we had developed a workable system to keep the dogs away from one another. We felt that it must have been Enzo s timid, ultra-submissive personality that caused Nikki and Mac to go after him the way they did. Nikki was second highest in the pack order of our household, the uncontested alpha dog being Rita, our five-year-old greyhound. Enzo had always been at the bottom of the hierarchy. We had never seen anything between Nikki and Rita that concerned us. The two dogs co-existed peacefully, and even played sometimes, with Nikki consistently adopting a submissive posture in the games.

Jon and I watched Nikki with eyes in the backs of our heads. She ate completely by herself, and went out in the fenced yard on a cable, just in case. She was kept from Enzo, and she was crated whenever there was not an adult available to supervise her. She lost her couch privileges, since we didn't want to encourage any illusions of dominance she held. If she and Rita s play got a little too rowdy, Nikki went to her crate to calm down. We bent over backward to safely accommodate our dog. Despite this, we saw her getting worse. Within one week, Nikki broke out two windows when she saw cats outside. When she was out on her cable and saw cats, she would nearly choke herself trying to get at them. We watched, tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It was a matter of weeks before it did. My mother came for a visit. Because of deep snow, I had to move my car into the driveway. I was on my way back in when she ran to the door, screaming my name. Rushing in, I could hear the dogfight. I ran to the dining room and grabbed Nikki s collar, and tried to unclench her jaws from Rita s throat. It took several seconds for me to twist and pull her away. I immediately crated Nikki, who continued to snarl and bark at Rita from the crate. Examining Rita, I was amazed and grateful to find her uninjured.

I knew then that our time with Nikki was over. What we had dreaded most was now the only option. While we had never seen Nikki act aggressively toward any person, her behavior toward other animals was likely to result in their death. Doing the rescue and sheltering work we do, there are always other animals around. We could no longer jeopardized their safety. We spent the evening grieving.

Readers of this story might ask, God! What took you so long to put that dog to sleep? It s a valid question. Within the Rescue, we've euthanized dogs who behaved less aggressively than Nikki, and I've advised many people to euthanize their unpredictable or aggressive dogs. All I can say is that we loved her deeply. The pit bull aspect of her personality, while terribly frightening, seemed minuscule compared to the dozens of endearing things about her. People who weren't dog people loved Nikki. When people came to adopt our foster dogs, they were taken aback by Nikki s friendliness and silly antics, and often asked if they could adopt her instead. Family members who had long since stopped trying to keep track of our pets asked about Nikki regularly. When we had her before and after pictures on a Rescue donation jar, she gained fans we've yet to meet. Truthfully, Nikki was adored by everyone who knew her, and even by some who didn't know her. The goofy, smiling, happy, friendly Nikki was the one we couldn't put to sleep. Watching the pit bull take her over was like watching a loved one succumb to mental illness. We denied what was happening until we just couldn't any longer.

Postscript

In the days since Nikki's death, I find myself moving between grief and anger. Grief dominates when I think I hear her barking, or when the boys, out of habit, call to her to come snuggle with them while they watch TV. My most tearful time so far was when I moved her crate out of the living room. I gathered her blankets and buried my face in them, breathing her sweet, clean smell, and my chest just ached. The anger is much easier to deal with. In sadness, I want to be left alone to cry for hours. In anger, I curse the twisted idiots who breed these lovable time bombs. I think of pit bulls who have killed people; killed children. I pity the animal lovers who, like me, feel compelled to give a pit bull the benefit of the doubt. The pain we've earned in so doing defies description. I am aware of several other instances, some within the Rescue, of other pit bulls killing or injuring animals or people. Sorrow and regret seem almost inevitable when we're talking about this breed. I myself vow never to take on a pit bull again. Should I find one crossing the highway, of course I ll stop and try to get him, or her. And if I succeed, straight to Animal Control is where I ll go. Better for me to euthanize the dog immediately and forever question myself, than to take such a dog in, grow to cherish him or her, and then face what we faced with Nikki.

I harbor no anger or blame toward Nikki. She was as much a victim as her own victims were. My regret is that I thought she was different, that she was incapable of the violence her breed is known for. Or maybe I thought we were different, that if we just gave her enough love, enough discipline, enough something, that love would override her pit bull instincts. It hurts to admit we were wrong. It hurts to think that because we took in this animal, our other animals lives were threatened. I have yet to admit to myself or to anyone else that our children could have been in danger.

I know now that pit bulls have their reputation for a reason. Fear of the breed is not unjustified. And while rescuers will be rescuers, I personally will advise my fellow animal people not to try rehabilitating pit bulls. Your chances of success are too slim, while your chances of bringing tragedy upon yourself, your children, and your other animals are too high. As unpopular as my position might be with my peers, I believe that a peaceful death is the best we can offer pit bulls.

Nikki's ashes were scattered at the Special Place, a serene wooded valley at the back of our property. It is easy to visualize her there, digging and playing and just being the goofy dog she was. Nikki loved the Special Place, and she makes the valley even more Special by being there.

Shannon Lentz
Founder and Director, Kalamazoo Animal Rescue
(Now founder/director of Grateful Acres Animal Sanctuary.

(From ANIMAL PEOPLE, May 1994.)

Pit bull advocacy and basic statistics

There have been 400 disfiguring or fatal US pit bull attacks on humans so far in 2013.

In the aftermath of each attack, news sites that report the attack are invariably besieged by an army of relentless pit bull advocates doing damage control and PR, delivering prepared and well-practiced talking points which usually boil down to one or more of the following, in some form:

• It was the attack victim's fault; It was the pit bull owner's fault
• Blame the deed, not the breed! (What does that even mean?)
• How do we know it was a pit bull? (It was a pit bull, not a unicorn!)

One of the most popular types of talking points involves a personal anecdote, usually involving one or more of the following elements:

"I've had pit bulls all my life and I've never been bitten by one, but I was viciously attacked by a <arbitrary breed name here>. My pibble is harmless. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

The pit bull lobby always tries to emphasize atypical behaviors - for instance, a seemingly mild-mannered pit bull. But when a pit bull advocate trots out an anecdotal tale of a pit bull that didn't attack, thinking it to be some sort of game changing revelation, what they're really saying is that they have no concept of statistical distribution.

While there may well be some "family pit bulls" that don't attack, there is absolutely no way to predict whether such a pit bull will attack tomorrow, since virtually all attacks by such pit bulls are completely random, sudden and unexpected. But let's say, for the sake of argument, that there are pit bulls that don't attack. This is no surprise to anyone who has been paying attention. Living creatures are not identical automatons. For every trait, there is variation along some curve. Pointers were bred to point, but you might occasionally find a pointer who fails to point. Pit bulls were bred to attack, torture and kill weaker creatures for no particular reason, but you might find the odd pit bull that doesn't appear to have that inclination. 

At any rate, the pointer that doesn't point, the lab that doesn't swim, and the pit bull that doesn't torture and kill are statistical outliers. The fact that such pit bulls might be observed is often used by pit bull advocates to insinuate that all pit bulls are harmless, but all it really does is illustrate the properties of the well known bell curve.

The bottom line is this: Any particular single observation or measurement could be nearly anywhere on the map. A single data point is always inconclusive. But once you have a large enough sample size, every distribution starts looking like a bell curve. (More info on this at Khan Academy)

So, when pit advocates trot out the apocryphal account of a meek pit bull (assuming it's true in the first place) we're talking about something not representative of the breed in general. When they trot out their tale of an attack by an aggressive large retriever (again, assuming the story has any basis in fact) it is a statistical outlier. When pondering what breed of dog you would like to adopt as a family pet, it would be extremely foolish to focus on an aggressive breed and assume you'll end up with one of the safe "duds", and it would also be a mistake to avoid a known safe breed because you heard a story about someone being bitten by one. 

As long as we're dealing in personal statements about pit bulls, consider this observation from a long time pit bull fancier and breeder: "Any pit bull that hasn't killed another dog is a pit bull that hasn't been let outside". Isn't that lovely? The pit apologists will howl in protest over that statement, but it has every bit as much validity as the hackneyed "my pit bull wouldn't hurt a fly" shtick. 

Anyone can make a statement of belief, and anyone can relate a personal anecdote, but if we want an accurate view of reality, we need to look at the big picture, not just our own personal experience. Using a search engine can be a useful first step in such a quest. Google is your friend!

Welcome new blogger

Another new blogger has arisen to address the growing epidemic of pit bull violence.

17 Barks welcomes The Canine Game Changer to the community of those who stand for the truth and speak for the victims.

Maul Talk Manual 2.0

A new version of the Maul Talk Manual is out!

All who are considering breed-specific laws should browse this helpful glossary of terms used by pit bull activists, which will provide insight into the reality distortion and psychological warfare tactics employed by pit bull owners, advocates and animal groups.

The pit bull propaganda machine

Access the new maul talk manual and learn more about it here

On pit bulls and their owners

In 2013, there have been 18 canine homicides of which 17 were committed by pit bulls or pit bull mixes. Our dogs are not killing us. Pit bulls are killing us. And although pit bulls attack and kill strangers like Claudia Gallardo, 38 (killed by a pit bull in the front yard of its owner's house in Stockton, California) and Pamela Devitt, 63 (killed by 4 pit bulls running at large as she took a walk in Antelope Valley, California), the usual victims are our children, parents and guests.

I have come to believe that the modern pit bull should not be thought of as a dog at all. A dog is man’s best friend, but this is an animal that will kill the man, his wife, his children, his parents and the guests in his home. Clearly this is not man’s best friend; clearly it is not a “dog” in the sense that we think of a dog. Charles Manson was anatomically a man, sociologically a neighbor, and legally a citizen, but he is spending his life behind bars because he was a deranged individual who orchestrated mayhem and murder. Just because pit bulls look like dogs, they do not have to be thought of like we think about dogs such as golden retrievers and Yorkshire terriers.

In almost all homicides carried out by pit bulls, the owners and neighbors express shock and disbelief because the animal never gave a sign that it wanted to kill anyone. But to me, this is like a drunk driver expressing shock and disbelief that his car could kill. In both types of cases, a person made a choice to do something incredibly reckless, either by getting drunk or by getting the animal that makes headlines because of the frequency and brutality of its killing. We need to stop people from doing these reckless things.

Lawmakers have to stop listening to the nonsense about breed specific laws which is spouted by the owners of bully dogs like pit bulls. Since 2006 there have been 3 psychological studies which focused on the personality and behavioral traits of the owners of pit bulls and other high-risk breeds of dog. A study published in the Journal of Interpersonal Violence showed a link between ownership of high-risk dog breeds and deviant behaviors, crimes against children and domestic violence. Another study concluded that "vicious dog ownership may be a simple marker of broader social deviance." A third study established that the owners of high-risk breeds of dog displayed more antisocial thinking styles, have an arrest history significantly higher than owners of other dogs, and engage in fighting to a significantly greater degree than other dog owners. They also had higher levels of overall criminal thinking patterns to go with the actual criminal behavior. These people, who are fixated on the animals that kill, maim and terrorize, are not the people that a lawmaker needs in his camp. Reasonable people want fair laws that provide a solution to the obvious problems caused by pit bulls.

Sincerely,

Kenneth M. Phillips
Attorney at Law

What happened to Gavin?

There was a time when Maggie would have heartily recommended a pit bull as a family pet, but she no longer feel that way. Here is how a real-life education about pit bulls changed her mind.

My boyfriend Greg had had a pitbull named Bexar for 6 and a half years. He'd raised him from a pup and Bexar was a very well behaved dog and listened to everything Greg would tell him. Greg and I got together over 2 years ago, moved in with each other and Bexar came too. I instantly fell in love with Bexar. He was my "sweet boy". He would give you kisses for hours, even smiled at us every time we walked in the door.

I got pregnant in April 2011 and gave birth to our son in Feb. 2012. Everyone in my family was very concerned about Bexar. We insisted that he would never hurt anyone ever! (well, at least we were sure Bexar wouldn't ever actually hurt a person - cats and other animals were a different story). Bexar was great with our son Trenton, just as we expected him to be.

Trenton had just started crawling in September 2012. We would let him crawl over to Bexar, pat him on the head, play with his ears, let Bexar give him kisses, etc. Bexar would even sleep in front of his crib. He had been around kids his whole life. Family, nieces and nephews, friends kids of all ages.

Maggie and Bexar

On Saturday November 10th, 2012 my mom came to my house to hang out and visit and brought Gavin, my 5 year old cousin. Gavin had stayed with us many times before playing with everyone all day, including Bexar, who he loved to play with. Eventually about 10 visitors had arrived at the house and were in the backyard socializing while Greg and I were inside trying to put Trenton to sleep. 

The backdoor was open and suddenly we heard people screaming from outside. Bexar, with zero warning, had lunged at Gavin, and his jaws were clamped down on Gavin's face, right in front of everyone. Let me point out that there were 8 people within arms reach of Gavin when Bexar attacked. This is a critical point, because I have heard from many people about this, who say that they would never leave their children “alone” with "any" dog. Gavin was far from being alone when this attack happened. Even 4 grown men were unable to pry Bexar's jaws off of Gavin's head. Greg ran out and was finally able to get Bexar to release, saving Gavin's life.

Gavin was rushed to the hospital, then transported to Texas Children’s due to the severity of his injuries. He's since had multiple surgeries on his face and jaw and will need more in the years to come. Bexar barely missed his temple, barely missed his eyeball, and barely missed the main artery in his neck. Greg and I took Bexar and had him put down that night.

In retrospect, we had felt supremely confident that Bexar would never do anything like that - ever. We'd argued with many about pit bulls and told them that "it's all how you raise them". I know that there are people out there who still think it's all in how you raise them, and my goal is to educate and raise awareness of the breed, in the hope that future tragedies can be averted. 

We never want to see what we went through happen to someone else's loved ones. I wouldn't wish the pain that our family has gone through, and more importantly, the pain and suffering that it has caused for our sweet Gavin, on my worst enemy.