| Hammock Parties |
08-27-2024 10:42 AM |
When I saw two tiny dumped Pit Bull puppies on the road one day, I snatched them up and brought them home to raise like one (or two) of our own. Our friends told us it wasn’t a good idea, that Tuggy and Scooty could harm our other dogs. I scoffed at them, parroting what I’d heard: that Pit Bulls used to be nanny dogs, and it was “all how you raised them.”
We raised them like we had raised all our other dogs over the past 40 years — 30 or so dogs in all — with never a serious incident. We shook our heads at how Pit Bulls were misunderstood and the unfairness of how the breed was discriminated against. Tuggy and Scooty were shining examples that it was, indeed, all how you raised them.
They became best buddies with one of my other dogs, Luna, and I trusted them implicitly. One day they all had big new chew bones. Luna decided she should growl possessively at Scooty. And that was all it took.
With no warning, not a bark or a growl, not a sign of anger, Scooty jumped on Luna, grabbed her around the neck, and proceeded to choke the life out of her. Tuggy joined in, silently grabbing a back leg and pulling as hard as he could.
My mother and I desperately tried to get them off of Luna and pry open their jaws. Luna’s tongue turned blue, she lost consciousness, and let loose her bowels. At that point I knew we had lost her.
You know the worst nightmare you’ve ever had? The one where something horrible is happening to someone you love, but you’re moving in slow-motion, as if you have 50-pound weights on your hands and feet, and you can’t speak or yell because you have no breath?
That’s how I felt when I saw Luna getting killed in front of me. You may think you could react well in such a situation and save your dog’s life, but you can’t.
I tried to pry Scooty’s jaws off Luna, but all that got me was my hand bitten clean through (it would later require a $26,000 surgery to repair).
Scooty took off running around the house dragging Luna’s lifeless body like a leopard with a dead antelope in a macabre game of keep-away. I tried to think of any weapon I could use, anything that looked like a break stick, but I had nothing because I trusted my Pit Bulls.
I trusted what people had told me, and as I result, I was totally unprepared.
In desperation, I over-turned a marble table and Scooty finally let go.
I learned a very hard lesson that day: Pit Bull behavior is not, in fact, about how you raise them. I had been duped by people who, in their quest to defend their favorite breed, had given me wrong information.
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