Momentous Monday: Ending canine prejudice

There’s a reason that I call this site The Word Whisperer. That’s because prior to starting it, I worked for a decade for the Dog Whisperer, and for a good part of that I was Senior Editor and Head Writer on his website, as well as keeper of the corporate voice and (sssh, don’t tell!) the ghostwriter for all of his online articles and a lot of his media interviews.

So, in other words, I was deeply into all things dog, and one of the subjects that he was passionate about and which I crusaded for was the plight of the pit bull. As in by the early 2000s, they had become one of the most maligned and misunderstood breeds in the country.

They were banned everywhere, simply based on perception, and especially the misconception that “pit bull” is a breed of dog. It’s not. It’s a type of dog, comprising at least four distinct breeds.

But for those of us who are pit bull fans because, face it, they are sweet dogs, there was a recent victory as the city of Denver voted to overturn their pit bull ban originally imposed in 1989. No mean feat, considering that the anti-pit bull crowd turned out to argue against it but, trust me, I’ve had experience with them, and they are an emotional bunch who won’t let facts get in the way.

What they like to ignore is that any dog can be dangerous and that unknown breeds of dogs involved in incidents are often reported as pit bulls, especially if they’re over a certain size. They also ignore the fact that dogs can sense when a human is anxious or uneasy around them, and this can actually lead to attacks. So… the people who fear pit bulls act fearful around all dogs, and bad things are going to happen.

This was a question I dealt with in one of my more popular articles on Cesar’s site, which I’m now going to plagiarize and paraphrase from, because I can. (Bastards scrubbed all of the bylines recently, but that’s a long story I’m not going to go into until TMZ is writing me a big-ass check.)

The question I asked: How did pit bulls get such a bad rap?

Would it surprise you to learn that pit bulls used to be America’s darlings? Before the mid-80s, stories of pit bull attacks are practically non-existent. As noted, there is also confusion over exactly which breed of dog is a pit bull — American pit bull terrier, Staffordshire terrier and, at times, the bulldog. This confusion seems to have dogged the breed from the beginning, as there is some disagreement over the origin of pit bulls.

In one theory, pit bulls began during antiquity as the so-called molossus, a now-extinct breed that was used by the Greeks as shepherds and guard dogs. In times of war, they marched off to battle with their humans. Eventually, so the theory goes, the Molossus made it to early Britain, where it became known as the mastiff. In the first century CE, Rome discovered the breed after defeating the Britons, and the dogs spread all over the empire. For the next four hundred years, they were used as war dogs, and intermixed with various local breeds all over the European continent, becoming the forerunners of the modern pit bull.

A competing theory places the origin of the pit bull in England at the time of the Norman Conquest in 1066, when butchers would use large, Mastiff-type dogs as “bullenbeissers,” which translates as “bull biter.” Trained to latch onto a bull’s nose and not let go until the animal was subdued, these dogs were the only way that humans could regain control when a bull became agitated. Unfortunately, this practical if dubious use eventually led to the “sport” of bull-baiting, where dogs were put in a pit with an intentionally riled-up bull and spectators placed bets on which dog would hold on the longest, or bring the bull down. You’ve probably guessed it by now, but this is also the origin of the terms “pit bull dog” and “bulldog.”

Still not a specific breed, the bullenbeissers were bred with terriers, combining their intelligence with the strength of the mastiffs. As bull-baiting came to be banned in the 19th century, dog fighting became popular as an underground and quasi-illegal activity in the UK. British immigrants to the U.S. at that time brought dog fighting, as well as their dogs, to the New World. However, as the breed spread to Americans and Americans spread across the continent, pit bulls began to be put to their original use, as general purpose herding and working dogs. Because of their fighting history, though, the American Kennel Club would not recognize the breed until 1936, although they defined it as a Staffordshire terrier, distinct from the American pit bull terrier.

Far from being considered a killing machine on legs, pit bulls seem to be an American favorite in the early half of the century — indeed, during World War I, the country itself is personified as a pit bull on army recruitment posters, and several pit bulls go on to become famous in the American military. Referring to an athlete as a pit bull is a very common sports metaphor through the 1930s, and it is meant as the highest compliment. There is also a famous racehorse in the late 1930s named Pit Bull, as well as a number of pit bull stars of early motion pictures. Frequently, pit bulls are associated with children, as in the Our Gang comedies, as well as with Buster Brown, both in short films and as the corporate mascot for a shoe company. The famous RCA Victor image of a dog and a gramophone also featured a pit bull terrier.

All of that pit bull love went away by the mid-80s, and by New Year’s Day 1986, over thirty communities are considering breed specific legislation and bans on pit bulls. What changed?

For one thing, despite being illegal in all fifty states, dog fighting made a comeback in the 80s, and the pit bull is the dog of choice. It is also the preferred guard dog for drug dealers and gangs, with a hugely publicized attack in 1987 in which a pit bull guarding a marijuana crop in California mauls and kills a two-and-a-half year-old boy.

By the summer of that year, every single proposed ban has become law, but not necessarily with the support of animal professionals. Kent Salazar, head of Albuquerque’s animal control division, commented at the time of their proposed ban on pit bulls that he didn’t think a ban on pit bulls was necessary, saying, “We have all the means to protect people with clauses about vicious dogs.” He also noted that, a few years previously, Doberman pinschers were the target of such bans. His words went unheeded, and Tijeras, New Mexico, just outside of Albuquerque, passes the toughest pit bull ban of the time, allowing animal control officers to seize and destroy them on sight without compensation to the owner.

The various pit bull breed bans are decried by animal control officials as “the most concentrated legal assault on a pit bull they can recall,” as well as “canine racism.” The Houston Chronicle quotes unnamed officials as placing the blame for the problem squarely on humans. “(M)any of the pit bull attacks are due to a skyrocketing number of poorly bred and badly trained dogs raised by backyard breeders, who are trying to cash in on the pit bull’s growing reputation as a cheap, but deadly effective guard dog, particularly in urban areas.”

Nearly thirty-five years after the beginning of this anti-pit bull hysteria, the tide seems to be turning a little bit, but every step forward is followed by a step back. Even as Florida is attempting to overturn all breed-specific legislation, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin is considering imposing a new ban. Yet it only takes a brief look at the history of pit bulls to realize that the dogs are not the problem; the humans who misuse them are. For over a hundred years, holding the owners personally responsible was enough to prevent attacks, and the breed was perceived as very child-friendly. With outreach and education, it may be possible to restore that image and rehabilitate the pit bull’s reputation, restoring an iconic American dog to its rightful place among mankind’s best friends.

Maybe Denver will be a first step back toward the direction of sanity and a reminder: It’s never the dog’s fault. It’s always the human’s.

Photo: The author being viciously mauled by the Dog Whisperer’s pit bull Junior. © 2017 Jon Bastian.

 

Sunday Nibble #7

Okay… my dog is one little badass. Here’s the story. I came home Monday night, which is one of my two stupid-long days on which I don’t come home until close to fourteen hours after I leave. So I come home last Monday night to find Sheeba lying on her side on the living room floor, trying desperately to get up by slapping her left paw on the floor, and I freak.

I mean, I have no idea how long she’s been lying there. This could have happened five minutes after I left, or five minutes ago. I try to help her up, but she has no traction and her feet slide out from under her on the hardwood floor. I finally have the insight to make the floor not-slippy, so I grab a big bath towel and spread it out, then lift her up and get her onto that.

Some success. She manages to stand, a little wobbly, so I lead her off hoping to take her on her walk, but as soon as she’s on wood… splat. Figuring that the problem is the floor, I get her leash, put it on her, then pick her up and carry her outside and set her on the grass and, indeed, she’s suddenly much more stable, manages to pee, and we take a bit of a walk until, suddenly, plop. Her back legs drop her on her ass.

I carry her home and wonder, “Okay, is this it?” Because, unfortunately, if it’s anything that costs anything, I can’t afford it right now. I bring her inside and put her to bed and spend a lot of the evening crying.

Now, oddly enough, because some of the maintenance crew is coming in on Tuesday, I’m going to have to leave Sheeba shut in the bedroom, which I consider a blessing in disguise. She won’t have the chance to wander out and strand herself in the living room. So I move her food and water into the bedroom, put towels down so that she has a non-slippery surface to walk on, leave a note on the door in Spanish and English saying “Please don’t come in,” and head off to work.

When I come home, she’s still in bed, and it looks like she hasn’t really moved all day. And despite my urging, she tries to get up, but can’t. And it puts me back in my funk. About a half an hour after I get home, I look in and see that she’s stood and moved toward her bowls, but isn’t eating, then watch as she goes back to bed.

I do the only thing I can, go back to my desk in the living room, but about a half hour later, I hear her tags rattle, look over, and she is standing in the bedroom doorway and giving me this look as if to say, “Yo. Forgetting something?”

I go to the kitchen to get her leash and poop bags and although she’s moving haltingly, she is walking, and makes it into the kitchen, and this is when I’m reminded how damn amazing she is.

This girl is Uma Thurman in the “Move your pinkie” scene in Kill Bill. She’s the one who pulled herself from “can’t even move my ass” to “Here I come.” And the only help I had to give her after that was to pick her up and carry her down the steps and then back up. Otherwise, she took her damn sweet time enjoying a stroll and sniffing everything, and not once falling down.

Once we came back in, she wandered around the apartment, and it was almost like she was practicing and exercising, and willing herself to get better. And I swear that when she caught me looking at her in amazement, the look she gave me back was, “What? I got this.”

And she did, plus she left me in complete fear on Monday night of having to finally say good-bye and have the vet give her the blue juice to thinking, “Okay, no. This bitch is going to fight to the end.”

She turned fifteen last November, which means that she’s about 78 in human years — no, it is not seven years per year for dogs, sorry. But I really swear that she’s going to pull a Betty White on me, and that’s a good thing. No. It’s a great thing.