The Life As A Pit Bull.

Pit Bull Myths

2007-08-10T02:56:00.001-07:00

PIT BULL VICIOUSLY ATTACKS BABY

2007-07-20T22:48:00.001-07:00

2006-11-04T22:50:00.000-08:00

Sean Kennedy - Dog Law

Don't Believe The Bull.

2006-10-28T23:56:00.000-07:00

don't believe the bull

Funny Pit Bull Video

2006-09-18T00:21:00.000-07:00

Pit Bulls - Funny Video by APA

When the Dog Bites (CBS)

2006-09-08T01:42:00.000-07:00

HERE IS THE LINK.

When the Dog Bites (CBS)
Body: (CBS) Many people have misconceptions about which kinds of dogs are actually inclined to bite or attack, as well as what you should do if that does happen. But Early Show Contributor Debbye Turner, who is also a veterinarian, has some advice.

Most of us don't really think about getting bitten or attacked by dogs in our daily lives, but it can happen a lot more often, and quicker, than you'd ever think. Part of the problem is that we are led to believe that there are certain types of dogs that are extremely aggressive and vicious (like pit bulls) when, in fact, some of the breeds that are more likely to bite are those you'd never think about, like poodles or terriers.

About 4.7 million people are bitten by dogs each year. One million of those need medical attention. About 750,000 children are bitten by dogs each year; in most cases, these bites are from "familiar dogs" -- not strays. Approximately 12 people die each year from dog bites

All dogs can be provoked to bite. There is really no such thing as a "bad breed." Most (if not all) dogs can be properly trained and socialized to be gentle and tolerant. Your dog should be trained to obey basic commands: sit, stay, come, and down. This alone could prevent many dog-biting incidents.

Potentially aggressive breeds:

Llasa Apso: can be cranky with kids

Toy poodles: bite out of self defense

Dachsunds: not very patient

Rhodesian Ridgebacks: very dominant breed

Miniature Pinschers: "big dog" mindset in little body

Pekinese: intolerant

Chihuahuas: prefer adults, not tolerant of kids

Chow Chow: one-person dogs, bite without warning

Giant Schnauzers: very dominant breed, will even challenge adults

Old English Sheep Dog: very protective of owner

Cocker Spaniel: very protective of owner

Rottweilers: very protective

Typically gentle breeds that have "bad boy" reputations:

German Shepherd: great with kids

Bulldog: gentle, playful

Rottweilers: can be gentle, affectionate

Great Danes: gentle, affectionate

Boxers: good with kids

Mastiffs: very docile

"Pit bull" is a bit of a misnomer. There really is no such breed. Generally, "pit bulls" are a cross between a "bulldog" breed and a terrier. They are also known as American Pit Bull Terriers, American Staffordshire Terriers, and Staffordshire Bull Terriers.

Most "pit bulls" are not aggressive by nature. They tend to be gentle, playful and loving. However, there are those that have been bred and trained to be aggressive. Even then, they are more aggressive toward other animals, not people.

Often, aggressive "pit bulls" have been abused and/or neglected. These are VERY dangerous.

Ways To Provoke a Dog:

1. Try to take food or toy away from him. NEVER bother a dog while he is eating. The most common situation where a dog bite occurs is while a dog is eating.

2. Playing "tug of war" with a dog. Many dogs interpret this as aggression. If they "win," they feel empowered. If they feel threatened, they may try to retaliate.

3. "Surprising" a dog. (sneaking up on him or startling him while he is sleeping). Often, the dog's defense mechanism will kick in, and he will bite in self-defense.

4. "Rough housing" with or other sudden movements toward the dog's owner. Many dogs will see this as an attack on his owner, and will attack you to defend the owner.

5. Ignoring their warning! If a dogs barks ferociously or growls when you approach his territory, bed, etc. and you continue, that is an engraved invitation to get bitten. They are warning you that they don't like that and stop. Listen!

6. Inappropriate touching. Dogs generally don't like their ears, tail and feet tugged. Some don't like being inverted and rubbed on their belly. This is a position of submission and an aggressive dog will resist this "challenge" vigorously.

The Proper Way to Approach an Unfamiliar Dog:

1. First, get the "okay" from the owner.

2. Hold out your hand, fingers closed, palm down, slowly toward the dog. Allow the dog to approach your hand and sniff it.

3. Wait for the dog's "okay". If he wants your affection, he will lower his head, perk ears, or even come closer to you. If the dog puts his ears back, flat on his head, or growls, or cowers, don't pet him.

4. Pat the dog on the top of his head, or along his back. Avoid touching his belly, tail, ears, or feet.

What To Do If You Encounter a Seemingly Aggressive Dog:

1. Stand still. If you keep approaching, the dog will interpret this as an attack

2. Don't make eye contact. This is a challenge to the dog

3. Don't smile. The dog thinks you are "baring your teeth" at him. This is an invitation to fight.

4. Wait for the dog's owner to come and restrain the dog

5. Respect the dog's wishes! If the dog is barking and growling, he is expressing his definite displeasure with your actions. Don't push the envelope. Most dogs make good on their warnings!

What To Do If You Are Attacked by a Dog:

1. Don't move! You cannot outrun a dog, no matter how fast you are. Running only provokes an angry dog.

2. Look away. Staring an aggressive dog in the eyes is a challenge.

3. Use a soft, soothing tone of voice. Loud, angry-sounding words and screaming only spur on the dog.

4. Keep your arms to your side, with your fingers curled in so the dog can't bite them.

5. If he bites you, DO NOT PULL AWAY. This only spurs the dog on. Remain calm. Try to ram a stick, broom handle, etc down the dog's throat to make him gag and let you go. Don't hit the dog. Again, that just makes the situation worse.

6. If you are on the ground, curl into a fetal position. Cover your head and neck. Lay perfectly still. Usually a still target is boring to the dog and they will retreat.

We're Sorry

2006-09-01T01:48:00.000-07:00

www.sorryagain.com

Good News Story...

2006-08-14T00:36:00.000-07:00

Pit Bulls--Punish the Deed or the Breed? by Tsarouchas

God Help The Outcasts

2006-08-10T23:56:00.000-07:00

God Help The Outcasts

BSL is....

2006-08-04T02:34:00.000-07:00

Bullshit Legislation

The TRUTH About Pit Bulls.

2006-07-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

The TRUTH About Pitbulls

Dr. Death

2006-07-17T01:05:00.000-07:00

Another reason why you should spay and neuter.

http://www.borntodiepets.com/html/doctor_death_wm.htm

News Story: Pit Bull Scratches Officer.

2006-07-14T00:18:00.000-07:00

Link:
http://www.nj.com/news/jjournal/index.ssf?/base/news-2/1151136652184910.xml&coll=3

Story:

A dog attacked a Jersey City cop responding to a tenant-landlord dispute on Thursday, police said.

Police arrived on the 100 block of Duncan Avenue at 3:10 p.m. after a tenant complained the owner of the house wouldn't let her park in the driveway, police said.

When they went around the house to meet the landlord, they were greeted by his pitbull, police said.

The pitbull charged at the cop and scratched his left arm, police said. When it jumped at him again, another officer drew his weapon, but did not fire. The owner then restrained the animal, reports said.

The dog owner apparently wasn't cited.

JACK HERMAN

All I can say is W.T.F.

This is so stupid. If it was any other breed of dog, nobody would have cared or took notice. The dog was probably excited and wanted to say hello and maybe give him some kisses. But this is considered an 'attack'. I'm just happy the officer didn't shoot the dog.

So now if my dogs scratch me or someone else they could be considered vicious? I get worse scratches from my cat...... Does that make him mean too.

Arrrgggg the nerve of some people..... Complaining about a stupid SCRATCH.

HOW COULD YOU?

2006-07-08T01:39:00.000-07:00

How could you?

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?"-but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person", still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch-because your touch was now so infrequent-and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don'tlet them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?" They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind-that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?" Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself-a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place

A Reason Why You Should Spay and Neuter.

2006-06-17T02:08:00.000-07:00

So you think it is okay to randomly breed or buy from a BYB
Please read about the day in the life of an unwanted pet.

Helter Shelter
A grim tale of the needle and the damage done

Former shelter worker fights for new job

In their words

BY TY PHILLIPS
BEE STAFF WRITER

It is early morning at the Stanislaus County Animal Shelter. And for you, the animal care specialist, the day opens in minor chords.
You walk to the computer and print out the list of dogs that fill dozens of the agency's kennels. You sit there with your coffee, highlighting in yellow marker the ones that have been here for five days. They've all got a story.

Someone stopped loving him. No one ever loved her. He got too big. She started chewing on sprinklers. He bit a child. Her owner is out of town, and the house sitter noticed the dog got out but didn't bother to call the shelter. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter now: Their time is up.

You move to the first noisy cage. As you open the door, a few dogs try to escape, while others cram themselves into the far corners to avoid you. Everyone on the outside says the animals have no idea what's coming, but you've seen too much proof to the contrary. Yes, on some sad level, they know.

You squeeze into the cage and slip your leash, your noose, around the neck of one. You lead him back to the gate and open it just enough for you to squeeze through. You pull his head closer to the gate, and get ready. Then you jerk him out quickly and slam the door so the others don't get out. He's scared and whimpering, looking around frantically, but he does what he's told and follows you, faithfully, to the end of the line.

The killing room is a large, cold place with a small row of metal cages along one of the concrete walls. There's a large, stainless-steel table in one corner, holding syringes, needles and bottles of tranquilizer and Fatal Plus, a solution of sodium pentobarbital that usually kills within seconds.

As a co-worker readies the syringe, you're kneeling, holding the dog still, cuffing one leg with your hand. Sometimes you have to fight them. Sometimes the battle is so fierce, you resort to forcing them between a gate hinged on a wall, immobilizing them long enough so you can get the needle in.

But not this time. This one's calm. He trusts you. He even gives you his paw: He's obviously someone's pet. So you stroke his head softly as the co-worker finds a vein. Then, just like that, he melts in your arms. You grab his paw again and drag his limp body to a corner.

One by one, you lay them out on the cement floor. One by one. Though county records show roughly 15,000 animals are killed each year at the shelter, it's a number, like eternity, that defies comprehension. But when one considers the solitary act of each animal death, and the people who do the dirty work, the number 15,000 comes into better focus. One death is a tragedy; anything more than that is just a statistic.

On this morning, and every morning, there will be about 15 to 20 of these canine executions, not counting the ones that come in throughout the day that are injured or unadoptable. As you walk to the cages to retrieve another, the anger swells inside you. Because you know most of this daily ritual easily could be avoided. Spay and neuter, people, you say to yourself.

Spay and neuter!

Time runs out on a mother pit bull and her puppies. When she showed up here last week, your only hope was that she wouldn't give birth before her five days were up. But she did.

You hardly could stand to watch her care for her pups, licking them, dragging them around to protect them. Finally, you gave in and fed her treats, telling her, "That's a good girl."

Because, sadly, you knew all her efforts were in vain. This day always comes. Once you've got them all gathered in the room, you put her down first. Because you've learned the babies cry when they're injected, and that only adds stress to the mother.

One by one. One after another. You stack the singles into piles. You load the piles into 55-gallon barrels. You push the barrels into the walk-in freezer, where rows and rows of barrels fill completely about twice a week. The barrels are emptied into trucks. It's like a factory here. And they call this a shelter?

The stench of death permanently haunts the air: It's a dull fragrance you won't forget the rest of your life. Someday years from now, you'll be served food at a restaurant, and something will trigger the memory of that awful smell. Just like that, the meal will be over. You wash your hands incessantly; trouble is, what you're trying to clean doesn't go away with soap and water. That would take a psychologist, better than the one you have.

An hour into it, you're nearing the last of the morning's kill. Next up is an adorable pop-eyed Chihuahua you had thought someone might claim. Or adopt. You start for her, but then you make a grave mistake: You look into her eyes. In a flash, your mind acknowledges that this is a living, breathing thing. Damn dog, now she's under your skin.

Suddenly, you can't bring yourself to do it. Not this one. Your back yard already brims with the dogs and cats you've personally spared over the years, and there's simply no more room. So, you sneak her off the list and move her to another kennel. Your day off is tomorrow, and you just put it out of your mind. That's all you can do.

Now, through the bars, you spot the big mongrel. You squeeze into the cage, and he moves away. He's scared and hungry; he's not the alpha male in this lot, so he hasn't eaten in five days. And who knows what he went through before he ended up here? So you kneel and call to him in a pleasant voice. Now he's wagging his tail because he thinks you're going to rescue him from this awful place.

You get him outside and pet him to try to keep him calm. But he's excited, jumping up and down, because you helped him out of the chaos. You're his friend now; he'll follow you anywhere. So you lead him toward the room and he trots along happily.

But halfway there, something shifts in him. You figure he's starting to smell that stench coming from the freezer. Yes, on some level, they know. He starts jerking his neck back, using his front legs to try to pull you back. The more you fight him, the more he realizes he should fight. So you drag him the rest of the way.

Once you get him into the room, he's still fighting pretty hard. Your arms are getting tired. To get him to the table, you both trip over piles of dead dogs that now cover the floor. Finally, you get him stopped. The soft talk helps a little, and you're able to hold him still enough for the co-worker to find a vein. Once it's in, you let go. He moves away, woozy. They don't always die immediately. He wanders over to the corpse of another dog, and sniffs it a little before collapsing onto the floor.

Spay and neuter, people!

Leaving the room, you remember something you wanted to tell a co-worker. She's working alone in the cat room, putting down several dozen to start her day. You open the door, but the scene makes you forget what you wanted to say. There she is, sitting in a corner, crying, surrounded by dozens of dead cats that litter the floor. You make eye contact and get ready to say something, but she waves you off. It's a quick shake of the head that says, "I'm fine; just leave me alone." So you do. For those who do this for a living, it's mostly business as usual, life goes on. But there are occasional meltdowns. Not to mention divorce, denial, alcoholism, nightmares, antidepressants and all sorts of other ugly side effects.

Walking away from the cat room, a simple question forms in your head, one that plagues you often throughout your days here: Does anybody care about animals? Anyone at all?

Inside, you know there are thousands of people, just like you, who cherish their pets and treat them like family. Or even royalty. Working here, you rarely see those folks. They take care of their animals.

Instead, you get the people who Â before business hours Â drop off a cardboard box of mangled kittens that were used to train pit bulls to fight dirty. Usually, they just toss the dead alongside the road somewhere, but for some reason, someone brought these in. You open the box to discover all but one are dead, and the only one alive is using its front legs to crawl toward you because its back legs are crushed.

Or you get the people whose hobby is trapping feral cats and bringing them to the shelter. Once you asked about strange lines etched into the stick they use to hold the trap shut, hoping you were wrong. But, yes, like notches in a gun, that's how they track how many cats they've captured. It's a game to them.

Or you get the man who brings in three kittens in an ice chest he placed in his trunk. In the middle of summer. When you open the lid, most of the horror has played out. You look up and scold him, asking him what he was thinking. And he shrugs. Not like it matters, he says, they didn't belong to anyone.

Or you get the people who pull up in a moving van to drop off their family pet, saying that they can't take the dog with them and that they were unable to find the animal a home. They drive away, conscious clear, leaving the dirty work for you. Like you're some kind of sin-eater.

And to think, you took this job because you wanted to save animals. Standing there at the kennels, lost in the flashbacks, you ask yourself again: Does anybody care?

Anyone at all?

A friendly face pops into your mind. Yes, there is one, you finally remember, trying to cheer yourself up. That poor young woman from the west side, the one who's been coming by twice a week for the last six months, looking for her beloved red Doberman pinscher. She keeps asking you, "How long should I keep looking?" And you keep telling her, "As long as your heart needs to." Who are you to take away hope?

And now, come to think of it, you did notice a nice-looking Doberman in the back kennels this morning. Nah, couldn't be, you think. He disappeared six months ago. But, needing a miracle, you go and check anyway. You look him over for a while. There is some red in his coat, but you're not certain.

Cautiously, you have someone call the woman. Be sure to tell her we're not sure, you say, but let her know we might have her dog. An hour later, the woman is scurrying through the hall toward the back kennels. You can barely keep up with her.

I think I hear him, she keeps saying excitedly. She keeps calling out his name. All you hear is what you always hear: the deafening din of scores of barking dogs. When you get to the back kennels, a lowered metal guillotine door is keeping everything outside. So you raise the door, and 80 pounds of frenetic dog come bounding inside, wildly running around the cage. You think to yourself, how would he even know she was coming? Yes, on some level, they always know.

Just like that, this huge dog plasters itself against the chain-link fence, licking the fingers of a woman who's pressing herself against the fence, too. The scene is reminiscent of lovers on a beach. It's him, it's him, she keeps saying. All the while, this enormous dog is emitting the strangest high-pitched yipping you've ever heard, almost like a puppy.

Overcome with emotion, the woman sinks to the cement gutter and starts sobbing into her hands. You sit next to her to offer some comfort. Then, before you know it, you're right beside her, bawling uncontrollably. She's crying because her life is complete again. And you're crying because, after working this job, your life never will be the same. Because for every animal that leaves with its owner, half a dozen are hauled off in garbage trucks.

No, you think, wiping away the tears, this is no place for an animal lover.

Hero.

2006-06-08T01:32:00.000-07:00

Another wonderful link that shows how the Pit Bull can be hero's too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdY9Z5ub9xw

One more link.

2006-06-05T01:45:00.000-07:00

Here is ANOTHER link, This one has some pretty graphic pics in it..... but it still gets a good message across.

http://media.putfile.com/An-American-Hero-The-Pit-Bull

Another link.

2006-05-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

Here is another link that I wanted to share.

http://gprime.net/flash.php/thepitbullproblem

All I'm going to say is, it is sad...... but PLEASE click it and see it for yourself.

Turn on your speakers.

Link...

2006-05-12T23:30:00.000-07:00

Here is a link that I love..... shows how great Pit Bulls are.

CLICK HERE TO SEE IT.

I didn't make this, someone on the Pit Bull forum did. I hope you enjoy it.

Make sure your speakers are on...

2006-05-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

Here is my APBT mix?

His name is Jude, and he is 7 months old....... more pictures to come.

A new blog.

2006-05-12T22:25:00.000-07:00

Hello.....

I have decided to start this blog to support my love for the American Pit Bull Terrier, aka Pit Bull.

I have just recently adopted a pit. And I have to say he is the best dog ever. True he is still a puppy (seven months) and he has normal puppy problems. He like to get in the garbage and chews everything, but I still love him.

He is also is a goof ball. He likes to run around, called zoomies, all over the house. He plays with everything. And he likes to play with my other dog. The cats..... ummm..... he just chases.

I am making this blog to show all of you that the pit bull isn't some 'baby killer' in the right hands. It is a great family dog. It LOVES all people, even stranger. Pit Bulls DO NOT make good guard dogs because of this reason. The are good around kids and the elderly alike.

It is irresponsible owners and the media who make this dog seem so bad. I will go further into this at a later date.

The Pit Bull is a great dog..... and I want to show you that.