Pit Bull Notes from Seattle

Today was the last day of my 5-day visit to New York City. After Broadways shows, Letterman, and fancy cocktails, today was a day to dig deep. I walked the length of Central Park, discovering waterfalls, finding someone’s lost fortune (it read: He that can’t endure the bad will not live to see the good), spying fat squirrels, and watching dads shout “Skate!” at their kids placing ice hockey. After the park, I joined a guided tour of the Tenement Museum, where they tell the stories of 97 Orchard Street. Built on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1863, 97 Orchard is a tenement apartment building that was home to  nearly 7000 working class immigrants through 1930. The banister that spirals five floors is original. I ran my hand along the smooth mahogony, thinking of all the hands that have used the railing. Sounds kinda silly but it felt like shaking hands with history. I ended my day at the Manhattan Animal Shelter in East Harlem.

I walked the rows of dogs available for adoption. Kennel-after-kennel, pit bull, pit bull, pit bull.  And I didn’t see all the pit bulls that were at the shelter. Three were out for their afternoon walks, and a handful are in quarantine according to a volunteer. Of the 51 dogs currently listed for adoption on their website, only 11 are not pit bulls of some variety.

While I was there, I chatted up as many people as I could. One woman adopted her dog from this shelter 14 years ago, and her dog died 2 months ago. She’s back to find her next dog. Pit bulls scare her. Can’t trust em she said to me. One guy really wants to adopt a pit bull because they get a bad rap. But pit bulls are banned in his apartment complex so he just comes to look at them every couple of weeks. Jenn, a dog walking volunteer, estimated only 1 in 5 pit bulls will be adopted and that the rest are euthanized. She explained she walks the dogs because she wants to make the time they do have a little better, a little less stressful. Vince, an adoption volunteer, confided: At the hint of kennel cough, the shelter will euthanize all the pit bulls because it’s an excuse to do something with all of them.

Being there today sapped me. Looking at each dog, I saw hints of my own dogs. Chaney’s gentle giant eyes. Buffalo’s smile. Blue fawn coats and baked potato markings. I saw traces of dogs I’ve fostered. Star-blazed chests. Skinny bellies. Timid moves. I saw reminders of dogs from the Seattle Animal Shelter. Goofy faces. Anxious bodies. Shutting down. I photographed each pit bull I saw today. It’s an understatement to say I wanted to take them all home.

I called home before I boarded the flight back to Seattle, and Miguel sent me this photo of our two dogs to cheer me up. Chaney’s head resting on top of Buffalo’s. Cuddled up on the couch. Their Christmas stockings hanging on the fireplace next to ours. I’m not sure it cheered me up.

Today I met Amy, a foster parent for the Seattle Animal Shelter, and her foster dog, Toby. We crossed paths at the K9 Fun Zone for a play session with her resident dog, Sandy. Toby is a 1-year old, goofy pit bull with cow patches and blue eyes. This backyard cutie was picked up as a stray in August, and he started bouncing off the walls at the shelter about a month ago. Amy took him in about 3 weeks ago, and he has settled in nicely. Amy’s dog, Sandy, is a 2007 rescue from One Love. She’s a Canine Good Citizen. She rocked the American Temperament Test in Portland. She’s also a heck of an agility dog and as Amy put it, she’s a once-in-a-lifetime-pet.

Here are some of the photos from today, including one shot of Gigi and Toby that might be my favorite dog photo of 2011.

Sunday mornings I make the rounds in my neighborhood, and this morning I brought my camera. Five minutes in, I spotted this pit bull on 14th, the main street in South Park. He was quietly camped out on the side of a house, behind a brick wall. No collar. No leash. Unneutered. He did have a blanket. I couldn’t tell from this distance if he was a puppy with mange or an old dog losing his fur. He repeatedly took several steps towards me and then circled back to his blanket.

As I dialed Animal Control, a guy walked out of the house across the alley-way and asked what I was doing. It’s Carlos’ dog, and the guy wanted to get on with his day so he took the dog inside. I could easily be convinced this is a dog in trouble.

Down the road near the Duwamish River, I came across this blue beauty. About 6 months old. Collar, no dog tags, no tie-out, a 4-foot high chain link fence. A dogloo on the front porch and an extra large bag of Pedigree kibble on a bench. This is a dog that someone will steal.

And one pit bull is no longer on the map. Just the leftover dog house where she used to spend her days and nights.

When I got home, I found Buffalo waiting on the couch, asking for an update. So I gave her the 411.

We picked up Pumpkin from the Seattle Animal Shelter about a week ago as our next foster dog. She’s a 4-month old puppy that some dolt would try to sell on Craigslist as a highly prized, old family, red nose pit bull. I know she’s just a backyard-bred Betty who got lucky. A good samaritan pulled her out of someone’s backyard because the mange was so bad she was a neglected mess. A character in Hell Raiser. Here’s a first-hour-home photo we took of her. Curled up asleep. Grateful for a warm bed and a quiet place.

When we foster a dog, we take it slow and don’t do introductions with our dogs for several days. In this case, because our darling Pumpkin had kennel cough, we waited a week. I photographed the introductions–next time I’ll shoot video. We introduce our dogs one at a time. Here we go.

We started with our male pit bull, Chaney, first because we’ve learned that while he gets excited and is an awkward player, he’s a pushover. Pumpkin jumped on his head and back from the get-go. He tried to keep all four paws on the ground and keep his head up high but she went over the top of him time-and-time again.

Chaney also kept his mouth wide open like an alligator, and she licked the insides clean. Notice how Pumpkin is grabbing him with her front legs. She’s being a very pushy girl indeed. We gave Chaney a break and brought out Buffalo, our now 10-year old female pit bull.

In the amount of time it took us to put Chaney in the house and bring Buffalo out into the yard, Pumpkin went from being a punk to being a little lady. Notice that Pumpkin is not touching Buffalo’s head at all. When she goes up in the air, her head and body are backed away from Buffalo. Pumpkin wants to play but she learned very quickly that Buffalo is Queen Bee. Buffalo then taught Pumpkin how to play with her. They ran, chased, and as soon as Pumpkin would get too near her head, Buffalo corrected the puppy with a growl. With each growl, Pumpkin adjusted her play style.

She then played much better with Chaney as you can see here.  She’s not an honor student yet but she’ll get there. More school this weekend at puppy play group.

With every foster, I learn more about dogs, especially our own dogs. I have deep respect for Buffalo and her ability to teach another dog things that many humans don’t even see in dog behavior. And I’ve learned that Chaney will always be the big lug that the bullies pick on.

It was March of this year when I picked up Fergus at the Kenab grocery store near Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Utah. He was one of seven 6-week old puppies being given away for free. When the teenaged girl thumped him for having a drippy nose, I couldn’t leave him in the box to be passed out like a hamburger at a drive-through window. Laura was my Thelma, and she named him Fergus after a lovely pit bull she fought hard to save. She snapped this photo of him at the Quail Park Lodge–just down the street from the grocery store parking lot.

Instead of rescuing me from an impulsive decision that didn’t make a difference for the rest of the litter or the puppies’ mom, Best Friends gave me a health certificate and a crate so Fergus could fly to Seattle. The Seattle Animal Shelter kindly agreed to find a home for the little tyke, and Julia’s story is every dog on PetFinder’s dream.

Fergus has many fans, and they wanna know. So here he is today in West Seattle with Julia. He’s a handsome boy, and he’s a very good boy. He loves kids, he loves other dogs, he likes moonlit walks on the beach. When I asked Julia if he ate her house while he was teething, she said the only thing he chewed on was her Prada sunglasses. She then took off her shades to show me the teeth marks. As it turns out, he also has good taste.

At 8 months old, he’s a big boy, weighing in at 62 lbs. I’d say a smidge pit bull and buckets of yellow lab. Fergus is now Riley. The white spot on his nose grew to a speck, and the chocolate heart shape on his tail faded. He snuggled his way into my lap and gave Gigi many kisses. I’ve second-guessed my decision to take him from the free box at the grocery store. Doesn’t matter. He’s happy, and Julia’s over the moon. And I bet she calls him Johnny Utah every once in a while.

When I go downstairs, he goes downstairs. When I go back upstairs, he trails up behind me. When I make the triangle from kitchen to bathroom to bedroom, he tags along. When Gigi and I argue about what she’s going to wear to school, he’s within earshot.

Chaney is my shadow man. And he kinda crept up on me. When I first met Chaney in 2004, I was photographing him with a family that adopted him from BullsEye Dog Rescue. His adopters included a husband that wanted a dog that wiped his feet before he entered the house. A good sign that they didn’t really want–or need–a dog.

Chaney came to me as an overnight foster when BullsEye pulled him. He bonded with our resident dog, Buffalo, on first greet, and Miguel was quickly over-the-moon for the beautiful, blue-fawn beefcake. What started out as an overnighter is now 7 years later.

He was so connected to Buffalo early on that I don’t remember when he started hitching a ride with my every move. My first memory of Chaney being glued to my side was when I was in labor with Gigi. I was at home in our bath tub, in a very small bathroom. Miguel and our doula kept trying to move him out of the way but he wouldn’t budge. He camped out for hours, and I twisted his ears around my fingers and smoothed his nose to get through contractions.

The thing about his shadowing is how stealth he is. He doesn’t make a fuss. He doesn’t stare me down. He doesn’t try to sit in my lap. He’s not vying for my attention. He’s just there. Always. Quietly following, saddling up alongside, staying close. Yesterday I photographed some of his shadow moves.

Here he is in the bathroom while I’m blow drying my hair. He hangs around the bedroom while I get dressed for work. He waits outside the laundry room while I fold clothes. And he sits near my feet in the backyard while I read my Kindle.

He’s of course curled up next to me as I write. I’m twisting my fingers around his ears and smoothing his nose. He’s a good shadow man.

We spent today in Issaquah–just 20 minutes east of Seattle–celebrating pit bulls. Pit Bulls on Parade is sponsored by BullsEye Dog Rescue. I founded BullsEye with Lorrie in 2004 with the help of Relaena and Kirstan. And today I was struck by the fact that BullsEye has become more than a respected dog rescue. BullsEye is making a positive impact in our community.  And here’s how:  This 3rd annual event includes the opportunity for anyone to take the Canine Good Citizen (CGC) test for free. Before the test, owners must sign a Responsible Dog Owners Pledge. During the test, dogs are asked by their owners to do common tasks that are judged to be important in well-behaved dogs.

Any dog that growls, snaps, bites, attacks, or attempts to attack a person or another dog is not a good citizen and must be dismissed from the test. The program certification rewards dogs who have good manners at home and in the community. Last year 47 CGCs were awarded at Pit Bulls on Parade and today the numbers were close to matching that number. Not one pit bull has been dismissed from a test.

In Seattle a clash is brewing over pit bulls. Some people believe they’re a menace to society while folks like me have pit bulls as beloved family pets. The CGC title helps pit bulls earn respect in our community, and events like Pit Bulls on Parade showcase the wonderful characteristics of the breed. Congrats to everyone who passed their CGC and many thanks to the dog handlers who demonstrated weight pull, agility, and nose work. You make me really proud to be part of the pit bull community in Seattle.

Here are some highlights of the day. We got to meet Hope. She was seized from a dog fighting ring in Graham, Washington during a bust in 2009. BullsEye was able to re-home a handful of the 22 dogs that were seized, including Hope.

It was finally a hot one in the Northwest so we got to see many smiling faces in the doggie pool.

We met handsome chunky-monkeys. We met friends from out-of-town.

Some friends were babies. Some wore tutus. Some wore t-shirts.

We also crossed paths with old friends. Here’s me and Gigi with Lorrie, the president of BullsEye Dog Rescue. We’ll be back next year–thank you!

I’m not a Seattle native but I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest for more than a decade so it’s almost home. It’s been the coolest and wettest July on record. Cliff Mass, our beloved local weather blogger, says it feels like we’re being punished.

It’s been a gloomy set of rainy days, and when it rains, I have to push our dogs out the door to get them outside. Sometimes Chaney does the wheel barrow, and every time they’re both back to the house in a flash.

Here’s Chaney on Sunday. Ears back, shivering, huddled up on the front stoop, in need of a potty break. Gigi offered him her umbrella.

Pit bulls hate rain. Short fur. Very little body fat. It’s another reason I want to unchain all the pit bulls that are tied up outside 24-7. I know how much they hate it.

The rain prompted me to make the neighborhood rounds in the wee hours of the following morning. I started with Gazebo Dog with rescue plans brewing in my head.

No sign of him, and the back gate is open. Makes me wonder if a good citizen walked in and set him free. I’m confirming his absence with neighbors. The kids who started making him a dog house the day Animal Control visited never finished. Although it does look like they fortified the gazebo a bit.

Next I walked round the corner to make sure that La Tigre has not been replaced.  No sign of her or other dogs.

Then down the 12th Avenue stairs to check on another house that hasn’t had pit bulls for a while. I discovered a new kid on the block. No dog house, not tied up, and wearing a collar. He was more interested in the wood chip than me, and it was easy to snap this photo over the 4-foot chain link fence. I’m not sure if he’s a permanent addition or if he’ll stay outside. I’ll keep a watch on him.

I was in Georgia this month visiting family and friends. There were several cities on the agenda, including a few that are hard to spy on a map. After breaking my number-of-roller-coasters-in-one-day record at Six Flags in Atlanta, I headed south to the small town of Helena. Down the I-75 corridor and east into the cotton fields.

Population 420. Mid 90s lemonade-weather. A 40-acre farm with a house built in 1903. Here I visited Meyer and his human, Kristin.

Meyer was 5 years old when he landed at the Everett Animal Shelter 4 years ago. The Everett shelter–an hour north of Seattle–euthanizes pit bulls irrespective of health and temperament. And the City of Everett considers pit bulls and pit bull mixes potentially dangerous. The city requires pit bull owners to: register their dogs as potentially dangerous; contain their dogs in a house or in a kennel with secure sides, top and a locked gate; and muzzle their dogs in public.

My friend, Stefaney, lives in Everett and her Animal Control contact at the shelter reached out to her to see if Meyer would be a good candidate for rescue.

Ideally we wouldn’t need shelters. Animals wouldn’t go stray. People wouldn’t surrender their punk adolescent dogs they claim are un-trainable. People wouldn’t dump animals they’ve decided they no longer want. Tied up to the front door. Dropped in the overnight surrender box. Left in a crate on the door step. Cut loose in the shelter parking lot.

Here’s the photo the Everett shelter took of Meyer when he was surrendered by his owner. Just like my two dogs, Buffalo and Chaney, a shelter staff member stepped up to save him. Maybe because of his good looks. Maybe because he melted the heart of the right person at the right time. For many shelters, pit bull rescues are an underground railroad, and in a city like Everett, it’s the only 2nd chance a pit bull will get. But it’s an above-and-beyond situation. A lottery because rescues simply don’t have the capacity to find homes for all the unwanted pit bulls that land in shelters.

Animal People reports: Shelters in large U.S. cities have a pit bull population ranging from 40% to 60% of the total shelter population and a national average of 33%. Shelters needing more space opt to euthanize pit bulls before any other type of dog due to the numbers. Animal People also estimates 75% of shelters nationwide euthanize pit bulls entering the facility without ever giving them a chance to be adopted. In a 2009 study, they report a 93% euthanasia rate for pit bulls and that equates to a 1 in 600 chance of being re-homed.

Meyer is a lucky dog. Stefaney and her husband, Andrew, met Meyer at the shelter and agreed to find him a home. At 5, he was in good health and eager to please but he struggled with separation anxiety and wanted to eat cats. A tall order for an adopter. He was first adopted to a couple that couldn’t manage him and instead of contacting Stefaney, they posted him on Craig’s List. By chance, Stefaney found out and pulled him from the adopter immediately. As good as we are at screening homes, most people have really good intentions and some people are really good at telling you what you want to hear.

Enter Kristin, another lucky strike. After a year of being in foster care with Stefaney, a good adoption application came through for Meyer. Stefaney’s bar for adopters is high and given the one failed adoption and Meyer’s needs, the bar for Meyer was alpine.

During Stefaney and Kristin’s first phone call, Stefaney responded to Kristin’s polite phone voice by explaining Meyer needed a strong, confident, savvvy dog handler. Kristin pushed back on Stefaney’s move to dismiss her by saying you haven’t met me, and they agreed to do a meet-n-greet. Some people think big dogs need to be managed with a 2×4. Kristin has it right. She’s a calm leader who sees around corners to guide and re-direct when necessary. Meyer responded right away to Kristin’s cool-headedness. Cat chasing, separation anxiety, Kristin’s laid back and confident approach put Stefaney at ease but she took the adoption slow.

To start, Kristin got to take Meyer on hour-long play sessions. Then she got to take Meyer to work with her at Google for day-long vists. Then an overnighter. A weekend trip. Kristin was working on buying a house with a yard and after 6 weeks, Kristin took Meyer home for keeps.

She slowly chipped away at his separation anxiety and cat chasing. And in the meantime, she figured out she no longer wanted to live in Seattle–too dreary for a California girl. She wanted to move to Australia with Meyer but pit bulls are banned from import. While she might have been able to prove Meyer isn’t 100% pit bull, she didn’t want to put him at risk.

So Kristin moved to Atlanta with Meyer and last November she bought a farmhouse in south Georgia as a weekend retreat from the big city. Meyer now shares his city house and the farm with a menagerie that includes chickens, goats, and a horse. We marvel at Kristin, and we beam knowing Meyer is loved-to-pieces and living every dog’s dream.

It was a pleasure to cross paths with them both again–and to meet a kissing goat. Here’s the lucky dog now.

Today I made some new friends and visited some old friends. I support a handful of the foster parents at the Seattle Animal Shelter, and Jen, a long-time shelter volunteer, is fostering her first dog, Hoops.

I tagged along for a meet-n-greet with potential adopters this morning. The couple meeting Hoops has been looking for the right dog for a long while. They briefly met Hoops a couple of months ago, and they’ve been patiently waiting to meet her again–Hoops is recovering from her knee surgery to correct a luxating patella in her left leg.

Hoops is such a happy girl, and the very nice couple beamed with excitement about the prospect of taking her home. I was struck by how these two lovely people had taken a shine to her. They’ve met many dogs that need homes, and they decided today that Hoops is their girl. Hoops is one lucky girl to have scored such wonderful humans.

After the meet-n-greet, I drove to South Seattle. It’s been almost two years since Anne died, and I haven’t seen Gaye Davies, her best friend, in almost a year and a half. Anne had many dogs but Merlin was her heart. He was her go-to dog, and when she died at home, she was found curled up with Merlin. Gaye took in Anne’s beautiful, blue brindle pit bull and has cared for him since.

I picked up sandwiches from Both Ways Cafe, drove past Ideal Pet Stop where I first met Anne, and spent the afternoon on Gaye’s back porch enjoying her and her dogs, including Merlin.

Gaye and I don’t see each other often enough, and we pick up right where we left off. No bad feelings for not seeing each other for so long. No awkward silences because we’re running out of things to talk about. Instead, we tripped over each other’s words because there’s so much to say, and we laughed about the fact we were bouncing from topic-to-topic, story-to-story.

Merlin was very happy to see me. He’s nearly an old man at 9 years old. Grey muzzle. Thick waist. Weepy eyes. He lounged in the sun in between bouts of the zoomies. Here he is with Gaye and a photo of him napping in the doorway.

All four pit bulls in Gaye’s house are rescues with heartwarming stories, and there’s nothing I’d rather do on a Sunday. Here are some of the photos from today.

This is Touch. She came to Gaye through someone who knew she helped dogs at just 4 weeks old. The puppy was malnourished, full of worms, and had an infected abscess on her belly. Gaye reminded me of Anne’s response 4 years ago when Gaye reached out for help: This dog has had such a bad start, and there are just way more pit bulls than there are good homes. The kindest thing you can do is to put the dog to sleep. Gaye wouldn’t have it so she nursed the puppy back to health. She named her Touch because she touched her heart. And that’s one of the many reasons I love Gaye.

Gaye sent me home with a bottle of Garnacha, a warm heart, and promises to see each other soon. And as the day started to wind down, I caught this glimpse of Gigi with our dogs, Buffalo and Chaney. It was a better than good Sunday.

There’s an incremental set of somethings lining up. Some of these things feel like turning points. Some of these things feel like tipping points.

Several walks past La Tigre’s house confirm she’s no longer there. She’s been chained up 24-7 for as long as we’ve lived in South Park and this was the year I was going to do something to change her situation. Here’s the photo I took over Easter weekend.

At first, I was taken by how empty the place looks without her guarding the tree in the front yard. My first thought was she died. But that’s not the case.

The carport that was jammed with who-knows-what is mostly empty. The mattress, the office chair, the odds-and-ends dumped in the front yard are gone. There are two garbage cans neatly packed full. A broom. The broken window is fixed.

Her people have moved. And I fear her people have found another tree to chain her to. My heart sinks, and I want to make something better for her.

I’m resigned to the fact that it won’t be better until she dies. And when she does, I will her to be a phoenix rising. I plan to memorialize her at Angel’s Rest in Best Friends Sanctuary. There she will re-join her tribe and run with the animal spirits. She will bask in the love of the hundreds of people who visit. We will celebrate.

I took this photo the same day I realized La Tigre was gone. Gigi and Buffalo. A girl and her first dog. Warms me to the core. Something to celebrate.

And during an after-work run down Spring Street in Manhattan yesterday, I met this pit bull named Oreo. A rescue dog. A familiar face. A fast friend. Seemingly small, yet a meeting to celebrate.

I added another pit bull to my South Park dog-watch map this week. About 7 months ago, one of my neighbors brought a puppy home and put him in the backyard. Sometimes tied up, sometimes not. It’s a busy family living in a house with dangling rain gutters, peeling paint, sagging fence lines, and a handful of kids under 18. Some days they play with the dog, and some days they forget they have a dog.

The surrounding neighbors are concerned the dog is frustrated, and they’re re-playing newspaper headlines over-and-over in their heads because they have small children.

Last night I strapped on my camera to check out the situation. Poor guy. His dog house is a gazebo that looks like it was once a beautiful place to enjoy the yard. His tie-out cable is wrapped around a gazebo post. My assumption is he got himself into this tangled mess, and I don’t know how long he’s been bound to the post.

I thought about jumping the very short fence to untangle him but I couldn’t see enough of his body to feel like I had a good read on his body language. And a neighbor reported the dog had been aggressive with him.

Not long after snapping these photos, a few boys piled into the backyard. Chatting with them about better ways to take care of their dog is the right thing to do. But I really just want to take the dog away from them because the gap between his current situation and where I want him to be is miles-wide. I reported the situation to Animal Control, and an officer will do a welfare check. Hopefully tomorrow.

Right now it’s pouring rain outside in that dreary, chill-your-bones-Seattle-way, and I think about this poor dog shivering in that gazebo. Gazebos are places of rest, places to gaze upon the garden, decorative architecture that’s a focal point for a beautiful landscape. Seeing him in that gazebo yesterday surrounded by piles of garbage. TV, bed frame, pillow stuffing, newspapers, mattress, beer cans. It’s Faulkner. Absurd.

And today is April Fools’ Day. It’s a day of good humor and practical jokes. It’s also the 12th Anniversary of BadRap. I’ll be making margaritas all weekend long to toast their wonderfulness because they make a difference for pit bulls like these in shelters. These three pit bulls are currently at the Seattle Animal Shelter, and I wonder if Gazebo Dog will be one of the eager-to-please faces I’ll see at the shelter one day soon.

Gigi gave me a few more dashes of optimism today. She drew this picture of a girl with a dog, and the caption reads, “Pit bull puppies snuggle lots. They love to play ball.” And that’s what I want for every dog. Lottsa snuggles and lottsa play.

4/2 Update: Animal Control checked on Gazebo Dog. His name is Brownie, and Animal Control coached the humans who care for him on proper shelter and the best ways to ensure access to water. A neighbor reports the kids starting building Brownie a dog house that same night. I’ll continue to check on him.

A week ago Laura made the last-minute decision to fly to Salt Lake City to join me on a road trip to Southern Utah for a volunteer weekend at Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. The plan for the trip looked something like this:

Drive 5 hours to Kanab. Grab some dinner. Check-in at the motel. Get a good night’s sleep. Be at Best Friends for volunteer orientation at 7:30 a.m. Volunteer all day. Grab some dinner. Get another good night’s sleep. Be at Best Friends at 8 a.m. to volunteer for 1/2 a day. Drive back to Salt Lake City at noon on Sunday. Fly back to Seattle Sunday night.

Our trip began last Friday with meeting an old high school friend of mine for lunch in downtown Salt Lake. I hadn’t seen Alyson in 25 years, and it was terrific fun catching up on families, her new life in Utah, and dogs. Turns out Alyson, like us, is a dog person so she appreciated how excited we were. After eggs benedict that doesn’t compare to Glo’s, we hit the road. It was a gorgeous Utah day. Not-a-cloud-in-the-sky, 60 degrees. Perfect for a road trip.

We stopped at the Flying J Petting Zoo. A zebra named Marty, bunnies, emus, lamas. As two people passionate about animal welfare, we both paused to consider how well the menagerie was cared for. Maybe no cause for alarm but didn’t seem quite right. This old bird lost her right eye when she was attacked by a swarm of bees.

We were about an hour away from Best Friends and stopped at a gas station in Penguitch for a quick break. I photographed this now-vacant coffee shop across the street. As we walked out of the mini mart, I spotted a small dog under a car parked at the pump. I panicked the car would pull away from the pump and run-over the dog so I made a shrill call. The dog–which turns out was a puppy–ran to me, and I scooped her up. Looking to the left and to the right, it wasn’t obvious where the dog came from. I spied a woman standing in the doorway of a run-down motel. Asked the guy behind the counter. Knocked on the window of the car still parked at the gas pump. The guy in the passenger seat didn’t roll down the window and hardly made eye contact as he shook his head NO. This was easy:  She’s coming with us. It’s only then that the car parked in front of the gas pump drove off.  It took me a while to realize they dumped the puppy. We called her Utah and Dingo Baby. Here she is.

As the sun set, we drove into Kanab with Dingo Baby on our laps and arrived at Best Friends. The Welcome Center closed at 5. Missed it by an hour. Given we didn’t have a collar, leash, or food for our adorable hitchhiker, we found Glazier’s Food Town, one of two grocery stores in Kanab. Laura waited in the car.

At the entrance of Glazier’s were three young girls, a man, a woman (maybe husband and wife), and a box full of puppies with FREE scribbled in red ink. I ran back to the car for my camera. The situation triggered me. They were passing puppies through car windows like hamburgers at a McDonald’s drive-through.  The litter of 7 was only 6-weeks old and should still be with their momma. The people were half-friendly.  As I snapped photos, one of the young girls thumped a puppy in the face because his runny nose dripped on her. It was more than I could handle:  I’ll take that one. He’s going home with me.

Laura was cool-headed, We’ve already got one puppy, what’s two? We headed back with the two puppies to check-in to the motel. Enter Matt, owner of the Quail Park Lodge, a motel he dreamed he’d own one day when he was a little kid riding by on his bicycle. There are nice people in the world. And then there are people like Matt, people you wanna bear hug from the first-minute and share all your secrets with. He laughed when we told him our crazy story, gave us extra blankets for the room, and poured us a glass of Washington state wine. Turns out he lives most of the year less than 10 miles from my house in Seattle. Laura decided to name the puppy Fergus. She named him after Fergi, a female pit bull from the Seattle Animal Shelter that she went above-and-beyond to help.

We had a plan to show up at Best Friends early the next morning to see if they could help us with the puppies. It was a long night as Dingo Baby bounced from bed-to-bed, wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor. We arrived 30 minutes before the volunteer orientation began with puppies in our arms and butterflies in our stomachs.  We met several people while we waited to speak with Animal Help. Irina and Becky from Las Vegas. Mike and Laura from Olympia and also staying at Quail Park. We shared our story with everyone we met. Chris, who works the front desk at the Welcome Center. Georgi, coordinator for Angel’s Rest. Diane, who organizes tours of the sanctuary. We were all eager to hear how Dog Headquarters would help us. Here’s Laura at the Welcome Center while we wait to learn more about our options.

Best Friends’ position was this: You picked up a stray that needs to go back to Penguitch Animal Control. You shouldn’t have taken the puppy from the grocery store because you made it easy for that irresponsible pet owner to keep backyard breeding. Given you took the free puppy, congratulations, you now have a new puppy that will fly back to Seattle with you.

There were many tears because I knew they were right. And there were many tears because we came all this way to volunteer.

We made a plan so that Laura could volunteer that afternoon and while I gave the wonderful staff at the Welcome Center an update on what would happen to the puppies, Chris explained that homeless pets is an epidemic in Utah. Best Friends turns away 400 animals a week because they simply don’t have the capacity to care for that many animals. At any given time, there are ~2,000 animals at Best Friends, many of which will remain there for the rest of their lives.

Chris also explained Dingo Baby’s chances of being adopted within Animal Control’s 3-day waiting period were slim. After 3 days she’d be euthanized. As I weighed the options of taking her back to Penguitch and flying her back to Seattle, Georgi–who’d been chatting with us off-and-on for a couple of hours–announced, I called my husband Joe, and he’s gonna come get her. Her husband was reluctant but she convinced him by saying, Convenience isn’t worth the life of this dog.

Georgi added, Since you’re already crying, I might as well tell you we’ve decided to name her Maggie. We hope that’s okay with you.

More than okay. Here we are with Georgi and Joe. Turns out Joe also works at Best Friends. He’s the grounds keeper at the pet cemetery, Angel’s Rest.

While Laura volunteered that afternoon, I went to the pet cemetery. When I pushed open the cemetery gates, Angel’s Rest wrapped itself around me. The breeze, the chimes, the names, the photos, the memorials. So beautiful. A blessing. And while I was there, I held tight to the fact that Maggie, our Dingo Baby hitchhiker, was on her way home with the man who cares for these grounds with such tenderness and respect.

The day winded down back at Quail Park with Matt and a childhood friend of his, Lad. Turns out an employee at Best Friends was having a birthday bash that night, and they invited me along. Laura stayed with Fergus so I could go.

Around two bonfires with dogs running loose and bottles being passed from person-to-person, I met about 30 people that work or volunteer at Best Friends. The birthday girl, Kirsten, is the team lead at Puppy Playgroup. Laura is a vet tech at Cat World. Deidre cares for the birds at Parrot Garden. Sara is a dental tech at Dog Headquarters. Tyson makes sure their computers work. I met one person without a connection to Best Friends. He lives down the road from Kirsten:  Randy Yellowhorse, a Navajo Indian that works for the Forestry Service. I knew I liked him when he said, Hold my Merlot, I have to take a leak.

The next morning Laura offered to watch Fergus so I could do my volunteer shift. At orientation, I watched a safety video that included three people I’d met the night before around the fire pit.

I set off for my dog walking shift at Angel Lodges in Dogtown. Here’s the first set of dogs I encountered. And here’s Terry, my team lead, with Pinky Pie, the kitchen dog.

Terry warmed up to me once I told her I was at Kirsten’s birthday party the night before. She asked, Now how in the hell did you end up there? I hiked about 8 miles that day with 4 different dogs:  Sunshine, Waldo, Sweetie Pie, and Gossom.

Terry gave me a big hug when it was time to say goodbye. Now we’re friends, she said.

We made the 5-hour drive back to Salt Lake City, bought Fergus a plane ticket, and now we’re working on finding him a home through the Seattle Animal Shelter where we volunteer. Here’s Fergus at the airport waiting for our flight, and here he is at my office this week.

The word that keeps coming to mind is serendipity. And what Georgi said to me at one point keeps ringing true, I know it’s not the trip you planned but it’s the trip you were meant to have. The trip changed me. And I’ll be back in Kanab.

We arrived in Denver on Saturday and drove over to the City and County Building to protest the city’s nearly 20-year ban on pit bulls. We accidentally left our homemade “Judge the Deed, Not the Breed” sign at the airport but we proudly wore our pit bull  sweatshirts in front of the building where the ban was enacted into law in 1989.

Turns out we missed a larger protest that occurred the day before:  Pit Fest was organized by local pit bull activists to protest Denver’s breed-specific legislation and to raise money for Mariah’s Promise, a sanctuary in Colorado Springs that specializes in re-homing orphaned pit bulls. The special guest was Shorty Rossi, star of Pit Boss.

While I was disappointed we missed the organized event (and yes, even the chance to meet Shorty), I’m happy to see demonstrations large and small are gaining momentum. On January 21st, about a hundred people gathered to protest Denver City Council’s December rejection of a service-dog exemption. The Americans with Disabilities Act was revised to protect pit bulls as service dogs in July of last year, and the Animal Law Center has filed suit against Denver and the city of Aurora on behalf of three disabled plaintiffs that use pit bulls as service dogs. The hearing is scheduled for March 15th, and lots of people in-and-outside of Denver city limits will be watching closely, including the Colorado residents who run this website, Denver Kills Dogs.

We headed up to the mountains, and I visited the Summit County Animal Shelter on President’s Day. It’s not the first time I’ve visited this Frisco shelter but this time around I met with Virginia, the Volunteer Coordinator. She welcomed me and gave me a tour of the shelter. She was open to questions about the Denver ban and reported Animal Control had  just transferred a nine-year old, male pit bull from a shelter in Denver. This is Joker. He’s a mellow, well-mannered guy with a gray muzzle. He’d just returned from a snowshoe trek–there’s about two feet of snow on the ground.

Virginia explained they only transfer a few pit bulls up from Denver a year and wasn’t sure what criteria is used to determine which dogs should be spared euthanasia. Not surprisingly, they have a tough time adopting pit bulls. One thing I really like about this shelter is they don’t do same-day adoptions. They ask all families to take at least one day to make an adoption decision and for pit bulls, they do landlord checks for renters and mortgage checks for home owners. This shelter is a division of the Summit County Sheriff’s Office, and they list the dogs available for adoption on their website and in the local paper.

I’m disappointed they listed Joker as a pit bull mix. While I understand the inclination to play-down his breed to boost his chances of adoption,  it misses an important opportunity to make a difference for this breed:  To tell his true story, the story of a 9-year old dog that would have been euthanized in Denver for no other reason than being a pit bull.

And one more miss during this trip to Colorado: Michael Vick was scheduled to interview with Oprah today but he cancelled. There are rumors flying, and NBC Sports reports the Eagles forced Vick to bow out. I’m off to write my letter to ask Oprah to interview BadRap and Jim Gorant instead – -Vicks’ dogs are the ones that need to be heard.

Today is Valentine’s Day and throughout the weekend I thought about love and pit bulls. It started on Friday when a co-worker asked me in the office kitchen, “So do you love all animals or just pit bulls?” The answer was right there but I stalled before saying pit bulls. She kicked it right back to me, “Why?” I’ll have to think about that.

I don’t think it’s the appeal of an against-all-odds situation for the breed to overcome such negative public perception. Although I can be an annoying optimist. I don’t like the idea that it’s because there’s no middle ground when it comes to pit bulls. Very few people don’t have an opinion. It’s not shock factor. I don’t typically bait party-goers with “So what do you think about pit bulls?” I like the idea of owners who look like their dogs so they’re a muscley, smart choice but that’s tongue-in-cheek.

There are two things, two things I come to.

The first is race and class. I never finished it but I had plans to write my dissertation about white trash culture to explore the complicated ways race and class are entwined. Black gets conflated (and often times is equated) with poor. When white gets paired up with poverty, it’s a acceptable joke that is welcomed in even the most socially respectful conversations.

About the time I was giving up on my dissertation, I was putting together the first Pit Bull Project calendar, and I realized all the families I’d been photographing were white. I didn’t want the story to be white, rich people rescue dogs from non-white, poor people so I recruited families that had adopted from Anne that weren’t white and weren’t upper middle class. I’m proud of the calendar.

In the poor Mexican neighborhood I currently live in, I think about race, class, and pit bulls every time I go for a run. Why do I think it’s okay to steal my neighbor’s dogs?

Gladwell published “Troublemakers: What Pit Bulls Can Teach Us About Profiling” in The New Yorker in 2006, and I grapple with the point he makes about how a specific pit bull attack could have been prevented: The right kind of generalization—a generalization based not on breed but on the known and meaningful connection between dangerous dogs and negligent owners.

So there it is: Pit bulls push my mind to think about important social issues, and that’s one reason I love them.

The second thing is about the place where love sits right up against the back of what’s tragic. There are some pit bulls I’ve helped become beloved family pets. These are the happy endings I live for. There are also many pit bulls I’ve put to sleep because the dogs we rescue have to be bomb-proof, rock-solid. And by no fault of their own, some pit bulls simply can’t overcome their bad breeding, their history of abuse, their poor starts. The happy endings are more joyous because of the dogs I’ve set free.

Two snoring pit bulls as I type. Raining like hell outside. Husband and baby asleep now.

Here we were earlier tonight.

Monday was MLK Day, and I listened to two of his speeches in the morning. I’ve Been to the Mountaintop, the speech he delivered the night before he was assassinated, and A Time to Break Silence, his call-to-action to end the war in Vietnam. Some of his words: Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy’s point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves.

I spent much of the rest of the day in the field next to my house in South Park, a mostly poor Mexican neighborhood. This field is a hide-away for transients. A secret spot for prostitutes to conduct business. An area littered with potato chip wrappers, needles, broken glass, and graffiti. With 15 other people, we cleared blackberry bramble, picked up a truck load of garbage, and talked about how wonderful it will be to have a beautiful park our neighborhood can enjoy.

We cleared one homeless camp. Amidst dozens-n-dozens of beer cans, I found a tooth brush and dental floss. Reminders this is a human being. A man from Honduras with broken English passed through while we were working. He’s in health care, has his papers, and can’t find a job. My husband explained we were volunteering, not getting paid, and chatted with him for a while. The man thanked him for the conversation. His gratitude struck me.

On the other side of the field is where La Tigre is chained up.  In my last post, I said this year I would do something to make a positive change in her life. With that in mind, I marched closer to her than I ever have and took this photograph on Monday. Her muzzle is grey, and her eyes cloudy. You can see the mud on her dog house from jumping on and off. I took time to look around her as I slowly passed by. Garbage all around. A car missing a window, bumper hanging off. The house windows are covered so no one can see in. The front door looks boarded up. And then a face in the window spying me with a camera around my neck.

Front of mind: Poverty, abuse, violence, drugs. It’s all connected to the issue of injustice.

I believe dogs are the reflection of their people. And I’m conflicted: I hate these people for tying her up 24-7 and making her crazy-frustrated. I also empathize for these people who can’t take care of themselves, who are barely making it, just hanging on. Making a positive change for La Tigre probably has more to do with her people than I’m ready for. Even though I don’t know how far I’ll get, I’ll hold on to the words of Dr. Martin Luther King to be more compassionate about her owners  by imagining: What’s their point-of-view?  What are their questions? What is their assessment of me?

On this third day of January, I read back through my blog posts, look back at the dog photos I took last year, and make plans for the new year.

In 2010, I spent less time at the shelter but more time working on something to make a bigger impact. In partnership with a group of dedicated volunteers, I helped the Seattle Animal Shelter found a fundraising organization so the shelter can do more for the animals in our city. The Seattle Animal Shelter Foundation was granted non-profit status in October, and we’ll hold our first fundraising event in 2011.

Our mission is to enrich and enhance the lives of animals cared for by the Seattle Animal Shelter through veterinary care and by raising awareness in the community with educational and volunteer programs.

I will be dedicated to the Foundation in 2011 and will also find a way to spend more time at the shelter. One idea is a photo project to document the journeys of pit bulls that pass through the shelter into the homes of foster parents and adopters. I also want to spend time with some of the pit bulls I crossed paths with in the last decade. Ruu, my first good citizen rescue, turned 10 years old in December. Merlin, Anne’s pit bull, remains in the care of Gaye Davies. Elsie and Dazie are also on my list, including their human, Cheryl.

And this year I’m going to do something to make a positive change for La Tigre, a pit bull that’s been chained up in my neighborhood for longer than we’ve lived in our house.

Our daughter, Gigi, turned 5 in 2010, and her relationship with our dogs continues to be full of snuggles and fun. I took this picture of her with Buffalo and Chaney after a day of November skiing.

We fostered two puppies in 2010, Tiny (on the left) and Rosie. 

Gigi mastered walking away when a puppy jumps up, squeaking “ouch” when a puppy’s bite is too hard, and luring a puppy into a sit with a treat. I’m really proud of her. She’s eager to tell anyone who will listen: We have a foster puppy! And when she’s asked, Isn’t it hard to give them up?, she replies:  No, we’re not going to adopt them so that we can foster more puppies that need help.  I’m not giving her these words to recite, and it makes me realize how much she’s learning from fostering.

There are some stories from 2010 I can’t write about so instead of telling their stories, I’ll share what I learned from them. As rescuers, we must set free the pit bulls that need to be managed, the dogs that can’t be family pets. Management will fail even though we have right minds and true hearts. It’s inevitable.

I go back to Fagen, a puppy I stole from a backyard breeder. She was a feisty puppy that needed boot camp, a puppy that was bred without regard for health or temperament. It’s hard to remember–maybe we thought she could be fixed.  Instead of setting her free, we found a breed savvy adopter that was committed to taking on a project. It was only a three-year project. While Mary Anne did right by Fagen as best she could, Fagen was too dog aggressive and had to be euthanized before her 4th birthday. We learned a lot and while that’s worth something, I realize now it was too much to ask of Mary Anne and of Fagen. She was too much dog for this world, a world that bans pit bulls outright, a world that euthanizes thousands of pit bulls because there are more good dogs than good homes.

I’ll be in Colorado again in February and plan to protest Denver City Council’s toughest ban in the country in memory of the family pets the city euthanized for no other reason than being a pit bull. And in March, I’m going to volunteer for a weekend at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Utah to honor the dogs we had to set free in 2010.

For now: May you rest in peace. I will not forget you.

Today it snowed about two inches in Seattle, and the city shut-down, including school which meant we spent the day at home drinking hot chocolate and watching bad movies. Snow also meant that Buffalo got to go crazy for snow balls.

Buffalo has been on countless snowshoeing adventures. It’s embarrassing how many dog booties we’ve lost and how many expensive snow coats I’ve crammed her into over the years.

She wears the mushing wax well and for one season got to tag along with Miguel in the backcountry. That was until she started to chase the snowboard and nearly severed a vein in her hind leg on the board’s metal edge. Check out this video of her shredding Chinook Pass.

I snapped this photo about 4 years ago at Gold Creek Basin. Buffalo was leaping into the air to catch a snow ball. And today, we made Buffalo lots of snow balls so there was much leaping and much photo snapping.

So in dedication to my favorite snow hound, here are the best photos from this afternoon, where it was dark about 4:30.

She came to me as a puppy with hang glider ears, a pink belly spotted with freckles, and enough energy to fuel a rocket booster. Because I thought she looked like white puffy clouds, I named her Buffalo Sky. I know it was summertime when I starting sharing my house and my life with her. And I remember what a big decision it was: How do I know she’s the right dog for me?

My friend, Maggie P, said, “Yeah, but before you know it, she’ll be an old dog, and you’ll wish like crazy that you had 15 more years with her.” She wasn’t looking at me when she said it. It was as casual as tossing a blanket on the couch. But it stuck with me.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes with Buffalo over the years, and she’s never held it against me. To name a few: I put her in a prong collar and hooked her up to a flexie leash to go jogging and teach her heel. I popped the leash to try and teach her not to pull. I went out on the town one night and forgot to shut the backdoor to my unfenced backyard. I kneed her in the chest to try and teach her not to jump on people. I loaded up crackers with hot sauce to try and teach her not to counter surf.  And once on a hike in elk country, I cut her loose trusting she had good recall.  There’s been a lot of trying on my part but not much teaching.

And this week it struck me: Another mistake I’ve made with her is not celebrating her birthday. She’s like almost every other rescue dog. We don’t know where they came from or which day they were born but like all of us, there’s a day she became part of the world and that’s worth celebrating.

So today is the day. October 20th will be her birthday, and she’s now 9 years old. I have more learning to do, and I hope she’s got lots more living to do.

And in the meantime, I pause to reflect that being a good, responsible dog owner takes some practice.

So the next time I see someone with their dog on a prong collar and a flexie leash, like this gentleman with his pit bull at the park on Sunday, I’ll trust they’re practicing becoming a good dog owner.

I spent last week in Colorado on a family trip, a trip we make two times a year: once in the summer for Rocky Mountain sunshine and once in the winter for snowangels and snowboarding. 

We fly in to Denver and every time I look out the window onto the city, I think about the dogs and families affected by the pit bull ban in Denver.

From July 31, 1989 through April 21, 2004 and re-enacted since May 9, 2005: It is unlawful for any person to own, possess, keep, exercise control over, maintain, harbor, transport, or sell within the city any pit bull.

This ordinance also bans shelters and humane societies from harboring pit bulls, and forbids any U.S. resident from transporting a pit bull through Denver without a permit.

There are exceptions for dogs registered prior to 1990 but given its 2010, there aren’t any exceptions. 

When the ban in Denver was re-enacted in 2005, the city mailed letters to residents with registered pit bulls notifiying them they had 30 days to remove their dogs from the city. Some of the people moved outside the city limits. Some of the people re-homed their dogs outside the city. But hundreds of people had to surrender their dogs to animal control–good citizens that registered their beloved family pets. On July 29th, 2005, the Associated Press reported:  Since May, 380 dogs have been impounded and at least 260 destroyed.

Since the 2005 ban, I read several Denver blogs and in 2006, the following image was posted in the Westword Blog as an anonymous photo from the city’s animal shelter. A pile of dead pit bulls. This image travels with me everywhere I go. And when I go to Denver, I carry it with a heavy, angry heart.

So one of the things I do when I’m in Colorado, and outside the Denver city limits, is visit the Summit County Animal Shelter in Frisco.

There’s typically only one pit bull for every dozen dogs at the shelter. I took this photo of Bella last week. She’s listed as a pit bull-lab mix even though she doesn’t look like she has a lick a lab in her. But it’s no matter: She’s a beautiful girl that warmed my heart.

I imagine she’s adopted by someone who falls in love with the breed, becomes a fantastic advocate, and joins the growing number of Colorado residents that will overturn the pit bull ban in Denver for good.

A stretch, yes. But if we expect good things–from people, from dogs–seems like more good things will happen.

A year ago, on July 19th, two women were brutally attacked in my South Park neighborhood when a man climbed through their bathroom window while they slept. Theresa Butz died, and her partner survived. In the days that followed, we mourned the horrific tragedy, and we were beyond scared for our family and friends while the suspect was at large.

On July 24th, police released two surveillance videos, each showing a man skulking around a dark alley in an unknown location with a brindle pit bull at his side. Given my radar for pit bulls in the neighborhood, I watched the videos dozens of times to see if I could identify the guy.

Within hours of the video postings, a Metro bus driver near Magnuson Park spotted the suspect walking with his brown-and-white pit bull, Endo, and called police. They swarmed the area, and Kalebu was arrested.

Here’s a photograph Greg Gilbert shot of Endo to include in a Seattle Times article about what would happen to him.

I remain haunted by what happened to these two women that I never met but that lived blocks from my home. And this week, almost a year to the day, I received an update on Endo. He’s now a beloved family pet. I don’t know how he wasn’t also the victim of violence, how he wasn’t damaged. But I find some peace knowing he’s safe and sound.

La Tigre is also on my mind with the first days of summer in the 90s. During a drive-by last week, on first glance, we didn’t see her. As soon as I got excited about the chance she may no longer be chained up, she startled us when she jumped on top of a car to alarm bark our passing by. Looks like she’s chained to the inside of the carport right now.

There are also three new pit bulls in South Park. A used tire store opened about two months ago, and they’re relying on three pit bulls to guard the tires when they’re not open for business. Two males and a female. All in tact. There are now 3 dog houses, and they keep water and food bowls visible so folks like me don’t keep calling Animal Control. I’m thinking:  What if during a midnight mission I stacked all the tires on the outside of the fence and left the dogs inside with a giant sign that reads, “Pit bulls are not guard dogs.” But maybe the dogs are enough for thieves to shuffle down to the other two used tire shops a block down the street.

There’s one more pit bull on my mind:  Tiny Gus-Gus. We agreed it’s time to foster another pit bull puppy so when I dropped by the shelter two weeks ago, I brought this little guy home with me.

He was found as a stray, only 4 weeks old, brought to the shelter by a woman who happened to cross his path. I really hope Tiny will grow up to be all the wonderful things pit bulls can be but I’m also realistic this is a less than ideal start. He should be with his litter. For now, we’re doing the best we can to give him the guidance on how to be a good dog. Here he is with Gigi. My grandmother, Ruby, was crazy about poodles. I’m crazy about pit bulls. And I wonder what Gigi’s breed of choice will be.

Last summer in July, the same month Anne died, there were two litters of pit bull puppies at the Seattle Animal Shelter. A total of fifteen puppies that spent the first ten weeks of their lives in the shelter. Puppies that were initially being held for animal cruelty cases. The shelter worked hard to get these dogs into foster care once they were legally cleared so that they could get as much socialization as possible to make up for a less than ideal start.

Some how I talked Miguel into bringing one of them home. She was tagged as Number 9 when I checked her out and as we drove her back to our South Park neighborhood, we agreed we should name her after a place.

And what better place to name her after than our local watering hole, Loretta’s. I snapped this photo of our foster puppy as we walked through their front door. Even though it’s No Dogs Allowed, we knew Amy would let us grab a drink and a burger out back by the Airstream and ping pong table.

And if you look into the background of this photo, you’ll notice I captured another element of South Park. A local prostitute who frequents the sidewalk in front of Loretta’s.

I’d led a few Foster Orientation sessions at the Shelter but I was still rusty–Chaney was our last foster so it’d been about 4 years. I rolled up the rugs, had the crate ready, kong balls stuffed, and our resident dogs were safely put away. But I forgot the Nature’s Miracle.

Loretta was home the moment she arrived. Tail wagging-puppy pouncing, chasing bumble bees, eating shoestrings, digging holes.

We took introductions slowly with our two dogs. After a few days of crate-and-rotate, we donned them the Three Amigos. Here’s Loretta with Buffalo and Chaney.

Loretta was only with us a couple of weeks before being adopted–and yes, Miguel wanted to keep her.

It was back-to-the-basics goodness for me.

A reminder that the heart of rescue is sharing your home with an animal in need. A warm bed, a gentle hand, an easy time. It’s where many of us begin, where some of us get lost, and where so many animals need us to be.

Lorretta is now a year old and has turned into a beautiful pit bull with a fantastic, responsible owner. Here she is on the sidelines at a soccer game cheering on her favorite human.

The same day I unloaded the boxes I picked up from Gaye’s house, I started organzing the contents of Anne’s rescue work. There are twelve boxes of file folders.

Each manila file folder is labelled with a dog’s name and the date Anne first became aware of the dog. Sometimes the labels include the dog’s new adopted name, a euthanasia date, or an adoption date.

The files start in 1998 and some years, 2002 and 2003, have two boxes of files.

Anne’s record keeping was meticulous in the beginning. For every dog, I know where the dog came from, have a detailed description, and there’s almost always a photo in the file. I knew Anne worked with hundreds & hundreds of pit bulls but going through these files made her work very real to me on a different level. Her chicken scratch intake notes, her follow-up notes on dates and times she called vets, foster parents, prospective adopters.

Going through the files, I came across dogs that I knew their stories start-to-finish. And there are also dogs like Daisy that I only remembered had been adopted by a wonderful family. I learned Daisy fell off a cliff and died hiking in the mountains by reading her file.

Anne’s files in 2008 tell the story of a woman struggling to do rescue. Her notes are spotty, dog photos are few, vet bills are unpaid, and there are labels with ”outcome unknown.”

In addition to the files, there were three, black garbage bags neatly wrapping poster board displays Anne and her volunteers had created over the years. I unfolded each one and photographed them.

Their purpose was to educate and inspire. Anne used these boards at fundraising events, at public outreach booths, at Ideal Pet Stop.

The tri-fold boards had dog fur stuck to the edges and smelled like Anne. Cigarettes and perfume.  There was a poster board for the 2005 Pit Bull Project calendar photographed by Bev Sparks.

There was also a poster board for the 2007 calendar which also includes beautiful photography and a few dogs I recognize. 

And finally, one of the last poster boards in the set was of Anne’s house. Photos of her son and daughter and the dogs that were a part of their lives.

So many details. Anne’s cursive handwriting. Jots of this-n-that. Names and addresses of people who adopted dogs. Photo-after-photo of pit bulls, pit bull mixes, mutts with brindle coats. Vet bill-after-vet bill. Yahoo emails. PetFinder listings. Copies of Canine Good Citizen certificates. Business cards. Newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. And thank you letters for miles.

Here’s an excerpt from the parents of Sammy Snuggles written in 2001: Dear Anne, how can we thank you for the newest member of our family? Mr. Sammy Snuggles charged into our lives and showered us with kisses and goofiness. He talked us into buying a house with a yard so while we’re not as close by as we used to be, we thank you every day for saving this dog that our lives would simply not be complete without.

On a beautiful summer day in Seattle last year, I was drinking a margarita under the magnolia tree when I checked my phone for messages. One voicemail from Lorrie. There was a lot of crying and after replaying the message several times, I made sense of it: Lorrie’s finger was bitten off trying to break up a dog fight–the fight did not include pit bulls–and Anne Holte was found dead in her home curled up with Merlin.

My mind kicked in to remember: When was the last time I saw Anne, when was the last time I spoke to her on the phone, when was the last time we exchanged emails. It’d been 3 years since I’d seen Anne in person. It’d been 2 years since I’d spoken to her on the phone. And it’d been 6 months since we exchanged emails.

In our last email exchange, I’d reached out to tell her Louie was put to sleep for behavior issues and wasn’t sure how welcoming Anne would be. This was one of a handful of times we interacted since our falling out when I left Pit Bull Project in 2004. She was very warm and saddened to hear the news. We exchanged baby pictures. I sent her a photo of Gigi with Buffalo and Chaney, and she sent me a photo of her grandson with Merlin. To my surprise, she asked me to come visit her. I never did.

And two months later, she included me on a mass email asking for help to keep Pit Bull Project operating. I knew the Web site hosting was always on the verge of being shut-off because I continued to receive the warning notices for some reason. I also knew that Anne’s health was not good. I didn’t respond to her email.

Anne’s memorial service was the following Saturday, July 25th, in Columbia City.  While I didn’t recognize most of the people at the ceremony, I did recognize Chris and Kip. They recalled meeting me the first time they visited Ideal Pet Stop. Here they are in the 2006 Pit Bull Project calendar. They are one of hundreds of families Anne touched through her rescue work.

Gaye Davies, one of Anne’s closest friends, was on the original Pit Bull Project board, and I hadn’t seen her in years. There were many tears when she arrived with Merlin, Anne’s go-everywhere dog.

Turns out Gaye was storing a truckload of boxes of Anne’s dog rescue stuff, stuff Anne’s family didn’t know what to do with. Gaye asked me to take it, and I agreed. Seemed right for Pit Bull Project to come back to me so two weeks later I went to Gaye’s house for pick-up.

Gaye and I went through the boxes. From thank-you cards to dog collars to Pit Bull Project t-shirts to dog tags with Anne’s name and address, I felt blessed to go through her things. I packed my Outback full and drove off blowing kisses to Gaye.

Driving home with Pit Bull Project: Another beautiful summer day, the sunroof open, the smell of Anne (cigarette smoke, perfume, dogs) swarming all around me, and Fleetwood Mac. Hold me.

I’m holding on to you, Anne. You’re just around the corner. Lovin on all those pit bulls you’ve embraced and kissed squarely on the nose.

Since moving to South Park more than 3 years ago, I’ve kept a map of the pit bulls I watch. There are currently 11 pit bulls within a 1/2 mile of my house. I drive by. I walk by. I route my once-in-a-while run by. I keep a pulse. Some of these dogs are chained up. Some of these dogs are loose in backyards 24-7. Some of these dogs have had litters of puppies. One of these dogs has reportedly bitten someone. And some of the dogs I watch come-and-go.

In 2008, I realized I wanted to focus more on the pit bulls in my neighborhood so I stepped down from BullsEye Dog Rescue and started volunteering at the Seattle Animal Shelter. Many of the dogs at the shelter are pit bulls, and my work at the shelter has connected me to the dogs in my neighborhood in unexpected ways.

Loca was a pit bull two blocks from my house that Animal Control fought hard to help. When she was finally euthanized in 2008, her owners kept Chato (the red male) and one of Chato and Loca’s offspring, Puppy (also a red male).  The family that owned and bred these dogs were evicted from their home after a drive-by shooting and a Child Protective Services intervention in May that year. I worried about the whereabouts of the dogs and didn’t see them with the kids who still hung out in South Park.

Several months later, I arrived for a volunteer shift at the shelter, and another volunteer said to me, “There are two really scarey pit bulls that Animal Control brought in today–go check em out.”  I knew which kennels they were in because of their barks, and I didn’t make eye contact with the two dogs as I approached. They were separated, in side-by-side kennels. Two red male pit bulls, out-of-their-minds, scared, and pissed off. I read the officer’s intake notes hanging on the kennel doors as they barked right through me.

It was Chato and Puppy. Some time after their owner was evicted, Chato and Puppy were left at a relative’s house tied to a tree. The relative couldn’t take care of the dogs so when their owner didn’t come back as she’d promised, they called Animal Control to come pick them up. Chato and Puppy were euthanized three days later.

Part of me was very sad for these two dogs who didn’t get what they needed from people and part of me was quite relieved these two dogs weren’t out there, whereabouts unknown.

What Chato and Puppy weren’t, so many pit bulls that come to the shelter are: Pit bulls that, despite not getting what they need, continue to trust people with an against-all-odds spirit, an endurance to be a good dog when so many people in the world want them to be bad dogs.

Penny is one of those pit bulls. She’s currently available for adoption at the Seattle Animal Shelter. Check her out.

When I wrote about Loca, I mentioned there are several pit bulls in my South Park neighborhood that I worry about. La Tigre is one of these dogs, and she’s a walk-through-a-field away from my house.

When I first saw her in 2006 (the year we moved in), she was in the front yard with no fencing, tied to a tree log. The house she’s tied up in front of 24-7 is on a dead-end street with million dollar, panoramic views of the Seattle skyline.

That first time I saw her, she charged at me when I walked past, dragging the log just a few feet and stopping. Scared the bejillies outta me. We named her La Tigre because of her brindle coat and because she’s more like a wild animal than a pet. Miguel has chucked hot dogs at her over the years in hopes she’ll warm up to us but that hasn’t happened.

I call Animal Control several times a year to check on her, and there’s not much they can do because she doesn’t need immediate medical attention. They’ve warned the owners about the importance of fresh water. One time she had no water and one time her water was frozen.

I haven’t seen her tied to a log since 2006 but I’ve seen her: Tied to a tree. Tied up using a stake in the ground. Tied to a lawn mower. Tied to the bumper of a car. Tied to furniture in the carport. 

Here’s a photo of her dog house and the carport where they sometimes keep her. In this photo, she’s in the dog house.

And here’s the photo I snapped of her when she came out of the dog house that day. It was mid-winter, and she was wearing a tank top that read, “What chills?” Probably a bad English translation for “What gives?” (I thought, “Well, she chills–she’s freakin cold!). My hands were shaking because I was scared someone would see me photographing her. 

In the foreground are bags of garbage she tore into and rummaged through for days. In the background is a mattress her owners dumped in the front yard.

During a late-night drive-by with my friend Stefaney a fews weeks later, we discovered La Tigre had dug a hole in the mattress and was sleeping in it. It was quite a sight seeing her come barking up-and-out of that mattress.

One Fall Sunday in 2007, we were out for a walk with Gigi who was riding in the baby backpack, and we did our usual walk-by to see how La Tigre was doing. As we walked back through the field towards our house, we came across 4 teenagers we’d never met drinking beer under a tree. They asked us if we’d been to church and were put off when we said no. I replied, “Next time you’re at church though, will you pray for that dog over there living in garbage?”

One of the kids jumped forward and said, “That’s my dog, and you’re the one that’s been calling Animal Control.” Miguel stood in between us as I said, “It’s not me but I can see why someone’s calling.” There were two girls with the two guys, and they got very nervous as the kid asked if we wanted to meet the dog. Miguel said, “We’d love to meet her if she’s friendly.” The kid bawked, “She’d eat you up.” We backed out of the confrontation, saying as we walked off, “Just give her some love, bring her inside, that’s all.”

I’ve learned from Animal Control reports that her name is “China”, that she’s been chained up for five years, and that I’m not the only neighbor that calls. In my mind, she’s the typical pit bull people have wrongly tied up as guard dogs. While I don’t believe any animal should be tied up 24-7 without exercise and socialization, pit bulls are not a guardian breed and are highly social dogs that thrive from human interaction. La Tigre is the pit bull that makes newspaper headlines–a neglected, frustrated dog that’s gone dark.

I can’t save her so I keep her front-of-mind. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day so I walked by to chuck some hot dogs at her. My aim was off, and the hot dogs fell well beyond the length of her chain. 

In 2007, I was the Pit Bull co-breed representative for Seattle Purebred Rescue (SPDR) and one of my responsibilities was documenting how many pit bulls were handled by local shelters. I compiled reports from several shelter checkers who either walked the rows or called the phone lines of Seattle shelters.

In 2007, we estimated there were 1,304 pit bulls across 8 local shelters. One of the shelters missed the first quarter of reporting and this doesn’t include dogs in quarantine. 

The Tacoma Humane Society is one of those shelters, and they handled the largest percentage accounting for 483 pit bulls that year. Tacoma is notorious for their pit bull euthanasia policy. There are rare exceptions (including a new pilot adoption program with BullsEye Dog Rescue) but overall, without regard for health or temperament, the shelter has euthanized all pit bulls since 1987.

The shelter reports looked something like this: Shelter ID, Sex, Age, Neutered, Origin, Name (unknown most of the time), and sometimes the shelter checker would include comments that I would include in my report. Here are a few of the comments from 2007:

• Female still lactating. No sign of pups.
• Buddy is 10 years old.
• 3 of 6 came in together. Owner in jail.
• Male being held for cruelty case.
• 3 females confiscated for cruelty.
• Outcome: Pit bull puppy was stolen from shelter.
  • And worth noting: The dog that was stolen from the shelter showed up at the same shelter 2 years later.

I’m looking back at SPDR’s other breed counts for 2007. German Sheperds accounted for 182 dogs with Labrador Retrievers as the next most common pure breed at 177. Golden Retrievers (145) were the 6th most common breed coming in with higher counts than Rottweilers in 2007.

Pit bulls top the charts of breeds handled for every shelter in Seattle since 2001. In 2007:  67% were under 2 years old. Only 15% were neutered. 90% were strays. 

Most of the pit bulls came in without a name, without a trace of a human to call their very own.

One day in 2007, a West Seattle Vet reached out to BullsEye about a pit bull they’d been seeing for years as a patient. They explained the family who owned him recently had a baby and that the dog’s separation anxiety was too much for them to handle. The vet needed help finding this dog a new home, and I agreed to go meet him.

Here’s the photo I took for the calendar. He’s about a year old in this picture. At 10 weeks old, Tye’s first owners took him in the backyard and cut off both his ears–another home crop job like Proud Baby’s. Tye’s ears wouldn’t stop bleeding so they took him to the vet. The vet wouldn’t give the dog back to them and released him to Pit Bull Project.

In November 2007, Cheryl’s best friend found two puppies in a parking lot as the sun was rising. She was out walking her dog when she spotted two creatures huddled together–she thought they were baby possums, lost. The puppies were so scared she was certain they hadn’t moved since someone set them on the wet pavement.  

I don’t know what makes it possible for someone to leave two scared, 6-week old puppies in an empty, dark parking lot in blustery weather and drive off. Is it faith? Faith that a good samaritan will find them, love them, and raise them to be good family pets. Is it desperation? Desperate to get rid of something that depends on you for life–because you already have too much that depends on you. Is it cruelty? A complete disregard for life.

A vet told these nice women they were pit bulls and referred them to BullsEye for help. I went to meet the two puppies with my friend, Stefaney.  

Here’s Elsie. She was a mess. Note her front paws lay almost flat. This is due to poor nutrition and lack of exercise. She also had weak, back hips so she didn’t stand very much, and she sat with her hips settled awkwardly to the left. She’s also wall-eyed like a fish and has an under bite that only mothers love. We tested her hearing given her white coat and pink skin. Seemed fine. We introduced her to Stefaney’s pit bull, Maggie, and she was scared instead of curious even though Maggie completely ignored her.
 
Dazie looked and acted more healthy overall but her brindle coloring disguised some of the same issues. We visited for two hours teaching Cheryl as much as we could about the breed and caring for puppies that had a poor start. She, like most people, was scared of pit bulls because she only knew what she saw on TV and heard in the news. She asked really good questioned and listened closely.

She was willing to foster if we agreed to find them a home–but she couldn’t keep them because she travelled for work and had cats. But I knew it’d be next-to-impossible to find them homes, and I thought of Fagen. Ultimately, I didn’t think it was responsible to find them homes given their health issues.

Cheryl got quiet when we recommended she put them to sleep. We asked her to think about the bigger picture: Why does the world need two more backyard bred pit bulls?

This was the last photo I took during our visit. Cheryl had a big decision to make, and I can see her thinking about that decision in this photo.

It’s now 2 years later, and I sent Cheryl an email a few weeks ago to check-in. I fully expected Cheryl to be without the girls and to hear their sad outcomes.

To my surprise, Elsie and Dazie are still with Cheryl and doing quite well despite some of the problems we predicted. So I’ve been asking myself about the bigger picture.

Because even if the world doesn’t need these two puppies, Cheryl does. I don’t know if they give her purpose or if it’s the promise of unconditional love. I do know that Cheryl is led by her heart, caring for these dogs that someone else just couldn’t care for. And for me, that makes the world a more hopeful place to be.

In 2006, friends approached us at a baby shower and said, “We’re breaking up so you’re buying our house.” We weren’t planning to buy a house but they convinced us with fish tacos and Sangria so we sprung for the cinder block hacienda in South Park, Seattle’s last affordable neighborhood.

South Park was a farming community in the early 1900s, providing fruits and vegetables to downtown’s Pike Place Market. In the 20s, Boeing moved in next door to build airplanes, and in the 50s, South Park was divided into residential and industrial land zones. The Duwamish River that runs through the neighborhood quickly became polluted and in 2001, this part of the river became a Super Fund site.

When we moved into our home in 2006, I knew South Park was a blue collar neighborhood that also included activists, artists, and the best Mexican food in Seattle.

What I didn’t know was the number of pit bulls I would come to worry about.

A few months after moving in, Miguel was taking out the garbage when he started shouting frantically over the fence, “Throw me the dog mace. Quick. Now!”  When I jumped onto a chair to toss him the mace, I was surprised to see a white pit bull with a black spot on her eye lunging at him.

A kid about 6-years old distracted her away, and Miguel chased after the kid to say, “Hey, here’s a leash if you need it.”  The kid ignored Miguel. As soon as they’d appeared, they were gone.

It turned out this pit bull named “Loca” lived just around the corner. She’d gotten loose. She was usually tied to a tree on a lot with an empty house, and she shared her 6-foot diameter space with Chato, a male pit bull that had full run of the yard.

Their owners lived in the house next door.

Chato fared better because he wasn’t chained 24-7 and because he got more human interaction. Sometimes I’d even see his owners taking him for a walk.

Loca was always chained up.

I walked and drove past the lot daily to check on her. Loca tossed her dog bowls. She knocked her dog house on its side and stood on top of it. She dug holes. She chased her tail. She stared into the sky. She chewed through ropes, chains, and jumped fences to escape. She did everything she could to fight against her situation, her helplessness.

I first called Animal Control to do a welfare check as the weather turned cold that year. She didn’t need medical attention so Animal Control couldn’t do much. They could only advise the owners to make sure she had water and to keep her shelter upright.

That winter was tough. It rained like hell. When the temperature dropped, I called Animal Control. When the storms howled, I didn’t sleep. I’d look out the kitchen window for hours, watching the trees and sheets of rain, heart breaking because I knew she was miserable. I knew she was suffering.

This wasn’t a dog I could steal or try to help directly. I couldn’t get access to her because she was chained up in the center of the backyard. I couldn’t even chuck a hot dog or dog bone to her from that distance. My best bet was to hound Animal Control because I knew her health would degrade to the point of them being able to do something.

Loca made it through winter and in the spring, my heart sank when I realized she was pregnant. Miguel took every opportunity to chat up the kids that owned her when he could. He found out she had nine puppies. They were excited to sell the puppies and were planning to keep a few.

I met two of the puppies one day when the kids were out walking them with Chato. Oh, what cute puppies!  How old? As I tried to pet the 6-week old pups, they squared off with me and barked, keeping their distance. Not at all what I’d expect from puppies.

About two weeks later, as I was getting into my car for the morning commute, I saw an off-leash pit bull roaming the field next to our house. I started to track this dog in my car but when I drove past Chato and Loca, I spotted two of their puppies–they’d slipped the fence and were two yards down.

I saw an opportunity and took it. I pulled over, lured the dogs with treats, bundled them into my arms, and drove off. My legs were shaking so badly I almost tapped the gas peddle instead of the brakes at the first street light.

I took them to work and because I couldn’t take the puppies back to our house, I’d planned to overnight them with a friend. But that day in the parking garage, as I was taking them out for a potty break, we came across a black lab puppy about their same age. The two pit bull puppies went after the lab with a mission to kill it. They weren’t sound.

Alarmed but clear-minded, I knew the right thing to do. As hard as it was to decide to put down two cute puppies, I knew these two dogs were not bred for good health or temperament. I also knew the world would not be worse off without two more pit bulls.

Dr. Heino at Rainier Valley Vet didn’t want to put them down but when the puppies went after another dog in their care, he agreed it was ultimately the best decision.

Spring turned to fall, and fall turned to winter. But Loca didn’t have another winter in her. Animal Control continued to do welfare checks, and eventually her health warranted immediate medical attention in December of 2007.  An infection in her uterus.

Here are some of the photos they took of her. She was euthanized in early 2008.

I cry for Loca now as I did on many nights. It was the people who made her crazy, the people who failed to do right by her, the people who’ve forgotten her.

There’s a higher bar for pit bulls. I think back to walking our pit bull, Chaney, in Madison Park–a wealthy Seattle neighborhood we rented a house in for several years–and how often neighbors crossed the street at the sight of us. Another time I was in front of the neighborhood grocery with Chaney on leash waiting for Miguel to pick up milk and bread. An offleash, yellow lab ran up on us. The owner scolded me when I had to body block Chaney from reacting and told me to keep my dog under control. 

Another time I was running with both dogs on leash, rounded a corner, and a startled man jumped out of the way yelling, “Get your pit bulls away from me!” My dogs hadn’t noticed him til he started yelling at us.

Buffalo’s best friend is a Golden Retriever named Conner. Conner and Buffalo have the exact same temperament: confident, hyper, goofy, and nutty about people. To me, they’re the same dog. To many others, Buffalo is an unpredictable, scarey animal, and Conner is a sweetheart who just needs to work on his manners. Here are the two of them playing rough-and-tumble alongside us goofing off in the woods.

This brings me to two BullsEye dogs from 2006: Peanut and Clyde.

Peanut came to BullsEye via a Veterinary Hospital up north. She was found in a dumpster. Zipped up in a baseball bat bag. A good samaritan walking down the alley heard whimpering. Peanut’s story made the News, and she was lucky to survive with only a broken leg. She was about a year old when this happened.

 Overall she was a sweet girl but she was very reactive and scared in certain situations. Her triggers included men, loud noises, and unpredictable movement like bikes and skateboards.
While we loved this little girl, we couldn’t responsibly adopt her. Life is full of triggers, and we didn’t want her to live a life in fear. She didn’t meet the bar so we put her to sleep.

Meet Clyde. He lived his first few years chained up in a yard, was picked up as a stray, and landed at the Camano Island Animal Shelter. We never figured out where he came from but we could tell from his muscle development, teeth, and overall health on intake that he was a yard dog. Staff adored this squatty, hugalicious guy from the start so they contacted BullsEye–and we adored him too. Well, I mostly adored him. He chewed up the back of my car but I got over it.

Clyde’s a charmer–he’s one of those dogs that melts your heart. He joined us at the rescue booth at the AKC show that year, and people lined up to meet him. It wasn’t long before he was adopted by a wonderful family that includes small kids. Clyde has appeared in numerous rescue calendars to raise money to help other pit bulls. He’s a star.

It’s tough to be a pit bull right now and that’s why our pit bulls have to be perfect. We can’t rescue every pit bull that deserves a chance, dogs like Peanut who are afraid because of what people did to them. Because as justifiable as it might be to be scared, a reaction would be another news headline about a vicous pit bull.

So we pass the bar over-and-over and hope that some day our pit bulls can be just dogs.

On MLK Day, just a few months after we got hitched on the beach in Mexico, we found out we had a bun in the oven. I’m 9 months pregnant in the photo below. While we were excited about welcoming another human being into our family, people started asking us what we were going to do with the dogs. Hunh?

We prided ourselves on being responsible pit bull owners and now we found ourselves in a position of having to defend Buffalo and Chaney even more. Since the baby hadn’t arrived yet, folks were quick to ask, “But how do you know your dogs won’t hurt the baby?”

Our family was scared. You’ll note they all live on the east coast, and no one in our family had actually met our dogs yet. My dad argued pit bulls are unpredictable killing machines. Just read the papers, right? No matter how many stats, quotes, research we cited, family members would reply, “Yeah, but we just don’t want it to be our baby girl.”

Our strategy was mailing our family copies of Pit Bulls for Dummies. My mom read every page and asked really good questions: What’s the difference between dog agression and people agression? How will the dogs know the baby’s not another dog? This was the kind of conversation I was happy to have. But most of the conversations–even with friends that loved our dogs–were irrational. But they taught me about fear and ultimately I learned a lot more about dogs as a result.

The hardest part is shrugging off the insinuations we’re not good parents because we own pit bulls. I imagine I’ll get asked this question less as Gigi gets older. But just last week, a co-worker asked–and this wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this punch-in-the-gut question: ”Aren’t you afraid they’ll drag her down the street and kill her?” 

No. I’m not afraid of my dogs. And pit bulls are just dogs. We’re good dog owners that happen to have pit bulls as our beloved family pets. And we’re not perfect, but we’re pretty good parents that love our daughter to pieces.

Gigi is just a few weeks old in this photo with Buffalo Sky. If you wanna see a family album of Gigi with our dogs, click here.

I’ve broken most of the rules I’ve made for myself. I swore I’d never get a tattoo, and I did that when I was 29. I swore I’d never get married. I also swore I’d never own more than one pit bull at a time. I broke these two rules in 2004.

I started photographing BullsEye families with plans of doing a fundraising calendar project and met Chaney during one of the photo shoots.

He was one of the few dogs Diane Jessup pulled from the Olympia Shelter and released to BullsEye. You’ll recall Buffalo Sky also came to me by way of Diane.

His name was Chainsaw when he was surrendered to the shelter because he wasn’t potty trained. I thought, atleast they were keeping him inside. Despite his name, he was a gentle dog with a shy but trusting spirit. And he was a dog that by no fault of his own was moved between too many foster homes and adopters–10 different households in his first year. Here’s a photograph one of his foster families took of him.

The first time he was adopted, it was by a young guy who passed BullsEye’s rigorous screening process. We were shocked weeks later when we got a call that he was found in a cow pasture basking in the sun. And we were more shocked when the guy that had adopted him didn’t even know he’d gone missing. He came back to BullsEye.

The second time he was adopted, it was by a family with two, pre-teen kids. The dad wanted a pit bull because his brother had a pit bull that wiped her feet before she came in the house. This was the family I met when I went to photograph life with Chaney.

When I arrived, the mom and kids were bathing Chaney outside in a big, aluminum tub. He didn’t like it much but he closed his eyes and counted the minutes. Then he played keepaway with the kids as he ran the perimeter of their perfectly landscaped backyard.

As I took photos, I asked questions to get a feel for family life. I learned they were bathing him twice a week because the dad thought he smelled. I explained this wasn’t good for his coat and asked if they’d had his ears checked. No, they responded, but they were thinking of taking him in for a hurt leg–he’d been limping for weeks. Hunh, okay.

Given it was spring, the weather was increasingly nice so the mom said they spent as much time as possible outside with Chaney–there were only a few rooms in the house he was allowed in. When I went in for a glass of water, much of the house had white carpets and furnishings. The couches and chairs were covered in clear, plastic covers.

I left that day with a butterfly of doubt but I didn’t expect things to go sideways. The mom called us several weeks later and said we had to come get Chaney because he’d dug a hole in the yard. She was very upset and was clearly being directed to do something about that dog. We discovered they were leaving him outside in the backyard most of the time because he was getting the house dirty. Turns out Chaney didn’t know how to wipe his feet before entering the house.

We agreed to go get him and then the mom called back and said they worked it out and wanted to keep him. Lorrie and Kirstan swooped in. While Lorrie rang the doorbell, Kirstan went in the backyard, leashed up Chaney, and packed him safely in the car.

It was right to pull him. He came back to BullsEye with a blunt edge cut on his nose. He still wears the scar.
I’d never fostered an adult pit bull so I was wary but willing to give it a try. Buffalo and Chaney were play bows, wiggle butts, and snuggle hugs from day one. Miguel wanted to keep every foster dog so it was no surprise he wanted to keep Chaney–even with his quarky, scaredy cat behavior. It took me a month to break my two-pit bull rule–I caved on the way to a meet-and-greet with a potential adopter in Canada.

And I caved on my marriage rule. Two months after adopting Chaney, Miguel and I were married on the beach in Mexico. Love’s a good reason to break rules.

As BullsEye Dog Rescue got off the ground, we wanted to do more with our own pit bulls. After Buffalo Sky earned her Canine Good Citizen with ease, I signed us up to become a certified pet therapy team through Delta Society.

I drove Buffalo north about an hour of Seattle every Saturday for an 8-week training class with Becky Bishop. Becky didn’t like pit bulls much. When I mentioned I volunteered with Pit Bull Project, she said, “Isn’t every pit bull a project?”

I ignored her comment, and she agreed to let us attend the first class to see how it’d go. Our classmates included: One old, fat beagle with a crooked grin. An unneutered Standard Poodle dressed for Gay Pride. A Yellow Lab like the ones you see in LL Bean catalogs. A chocolate lab. Two Golden Retrievers. And a mutt from a local shelter.

Turns out the Poodle had it out for Buffalo and went after her twice during class. Buffalo ignored him. So Becky kicked the Poodle out of class and explained, “Of all the dogs your dog could pick a fight with, the Pit Bull is not the dog to choose.”

By the time we had a few classes under our belt, Becky was a Buffalo fan. I don’t know that she ever became a pit bull fan but she was as proud as I was when we passed our Animal Assisted Therapy Dog Test. And she didn’t ding me for slathering my hands in hot dog juice. This is the photo that was taken for our team badge.

Not long after, Lorrie and I were invited to Beacon Hill Elementary to meet with 1st Graders about animal shelters. Lorrie brought Gretel, who is also a Canine Good Citizen, and she spoke with the kids about why there are animals that don’t have homes and what to do if you see a stray or injured animal. We were amazed at how many kids asked with wide, I-wanna-look-but-I’m-scared-to-touch eyes, “Is that a pit bull?” It was like we had an exotic animal on a leash from the zoo.

Here’s Gretel being such a good canine citizen that day at school. 

Not only did we do more with our own dogs, BullsEye helps owners do more positive and responsible things with their pit bulls. And at BullsEye’s Pit Bulls on Parade event this past summer, owners got to try agility courses, weight pull, and disc diving.

54 pit bulls earned their Canine Good Citizens that day. Now that’s a headline I’d love to see writ large in neon lights.

My last board meeting with Pit Bull Project included a new face, Lorrie Kalmbach-Ehlers. Anne was hoping Lorrie would be my replacement, and while I expected the meeting to be about transition, Anne wanted to re-hash why I was leaving. She sternly read my resignation letter aloud even though all the existing board members had already read it. It was a punishing conversation, and it’s one that suprisingly led to a really good thing.

As it turned out, Lorrie shared my concerns about Pit Bull Project and agreed with the recommendations I’d been making. After that night, we set out to create a new pit bull rescue focused on education and our own guiding principles.

With the help of Relaena and Kirstan, Lorrie and I founded BullsEye Dog Rescue in 2004. Our mission focused on public education, support for pit bull owners, and partnerships with other rescue organizations and shelters throughout the Puget Sound region. And we committed to not taking on more dogs than we could responsibly adopt. 

Meet Sirus, the first BullsEye dog. He typifies the pit bulls we wanted to help. Lorrie pulled him from Metro Animal Services in Puyallup when he was about a year old because he has a rock solid temperament.  

What wasn’t typical about this adoption was Alisha. She was only 19 when she adopted Sirus. She was a manager at Hotel Monaco. She had her own apartment and approval from her landlord to adopt a pit bull. She’d done her breed research. Sirus remains Alisha’s beloved family pet–and her family now includes two small children.

Alisha and Sirus, you make us proud.

If you want to meet more BullsEye dogs, check out Becky Meig’s beautiful photos on Flickr:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/28666245@N06/sets/

Pit Bull Project became the go-to rescue organization in Washington state. When a story about a pit bull made the headlines, reporters contacted Anne for comments. People as far as Texas and Georgia called Anne about pit bulls they found as strays. Area shelters released dozens of pit bulls to her. Pit Bull Project calendars, stickers, and t-shirts cropped up around town.

Anne kept meticulous notes about every phone call, every pit bull she met, and every news article. In 2004, Anne adopted 72 pit bulls and was contacted about 1,210 pit bulls.  

It was this year doing rescue with Anne that I came to deeply understand there are way more good pit bulls than there are good, responsible homes.

And the impact on Pit Bull Project was clear: Dogs waited longer for homes–the number of dogs that waited a year to be adopted tripled. Anne needed more foster homes so she started placing more than one dog in the same foster home at a time. In an effort to adopt more dogs, she began adopting 2nd pit bulls into homes she’d previously adopted to. The bar for pit bull expertise rose faster than most of these average dog owners could manage. Dog fights and euthanasia increased sharply.

This photograph is from a Seattle P-I article about the pit bull population. And for me, this photograph represents the vicious cycle of having way more pit bulls than we could responsibly find homes for. Puppies were in steady supply and the more puppies we took in, the longer it took for adult dogs like Angel to be adopted.

Anne and I heavily debated ways to get the rescue under control. Anne shot down every idea I had: 

• Don’t do puppies and focus on adult pit bulls because they’re the toughest to adopt.
• Only support 10-15 dogs in the program at a time.
• Don’t place 2nd pit bulls into foster or adoptive homes until the 1st pit bull was at least 3 years of age.
• Direct owner surrenders to their local animal shelter resources.

We were off track and had lost sight of our mission. But Anne didn’t agree. So in January, 2004 I resigned from the board of Pit Bull Project and that left a deep divide between us.

Miguel and I made a trip to Portland for a weekend getaway, and we crossed paths with Mary Anne and Fagen at their home. You’ll remember I took Fagen from a Seattle backyard when she was a few weeks old. It had been almost 2 years since she adopted Fagen from Pit Bull Project.

Mary Anne’s dedication to Fagen was heartwarming…and heartwrenching.

During our visit, we learned how well and how much Mary Anne managed this wonderful dog that was every bit a reflection of her backyard breeding history.

Her knees were bad, and Mary Anne spent thousands of dollars having them fixed. She had skin allergies so Mary Anne fed her a raw, homemade diet. Fagen was increasingly dog aggressive, and Mary Anne consulted numerous expert dog trainers. Her separation anxiety was managed with hours of daily exercise–which wasn’t good for her bad knees. Their backyard was full of kongs, tennis balls, and rope swings, and Mary Anne was excellent at re-directing Fagen away from people and dogs walking past their city fence line. Fagen had also became quite protective of Mary Anne as she matured. She gracefully coached Miguel on approaching and interacting with her throughout the afternoon.

Fagen was now a dog that had we temped her as an adult pit bull, she would have failed. And I still wonder if we failed Mary Anne because we knew Fagen would be a tough dog even when she was a puppy…

I have so much respect for Mary Anne’s fight to do everything right by Fagen. But it couldn’t change the fact that Fagen was brought into this world by people who didn’t care at all about health or temperament.

Mary Anne put Fagen to sleep a year after I took these photos because her health issues continued and her aggressive behavior escalated. This was the kindest thing she could for this creature she’d poured her heart and soul into.

I hold onto these two images of Fagen. Reminders of a human’s unconditional love of a pit bull. A reminder that it was only Mary Anne who would give Fagen her very own chair right next to her.

I imagined I’d be one of those people that grew old with a house full of pets and without a human to share life with. While I think Kurt Vonnegut is a jerk–and I spent a day with him in my 20s so I can say that–I agree with him: The more people I meet, the more I like my dog.

Nevertheless, I posted a personal ad in The Stranger, and the ad concluded with: And you must be comfortable with dogs, lots of dogs. My profile picture was a photograph of me with Buffalo Sky stretched out across my desk at work. 

We both caught someone’s fancy. I met Miguel for the first time at Three Dog Bakery–I was smart enough not to meet strangers in bars so I invited him down to the Pit Bull Project booth one Saturday in 2003. It’s a sugery sweet story–it was Valentine’s Day weekend.

He asked good questions about pit bulls and spent the afternoon meeting dogs and listening to conversations. By the end of that first date, he was answering tourist’s questions about the breed. It wasn’t long before Miguel was hooked on pit bulls.

And it was only a matter of weeks for Buffalo Sky to be hooked on him. This photograph was taken about 2 months later:  She was his dog.

 
We shacked up, and our life included fostering pit bull puppies–every one of which Miguel has wanted to keep. Here’s Blue, Miguel’s first foster.  

And this photograph was taken this past September at Pit Bulls on Parade, an event organized by BullsEye Dog Rescue.  Buffalo and Miguel are an impressive frisbee demo team–not bad for an 7-year old dog.

Here’s another action shot Becky Meigs took at the event:

Anne phoned me one day very excited. She reported the dog for me just joined Pit Bull Project: a four-month old female with a baked potato brown spot on her back from Diane Jessup. The dog’s name was Diane, and we joked it was a sign Diane was tired of naming dogs.

Diane is someone we look up to as a rock star in the pit bull world. She’s a nationally-respected pit bull advocate who lives in Olympia, and she worked tirelessly for Thurston County Animal Control. She also wrote two must-read books, The Working Pit Bull and The Dog Who Spoke with Gods, and is frequently quoted as an expert.  

I don’t know how Diane and Anne met. I do know they respected each other because pit bulls were more than just their passion. Pit bulls were their lives. 

I had a reluctant heart because of Tupelo Brown but I agreed to give *Diane* a trial run. I’m not clear where she came from. I remember something about her being smuggled out of a fighting ring in New York…Diane wanted to train her for schutzhund because of her drive but she chipped her front, right shoulder during training.

Here she is with Spatula, the Jack Russell I co-parented with an Ex. I re-named her Buffalo Sky. In my mind, a buffalo sky is a Montana skyline with fluffy white clouds against deep blue. But I think I made it up.

Over the years, I’ve come to describe Buffalo as being more of a working dog than a family pet. And remembering her early days with Diane Jessup, that’s no surprise.

Buffalo has attended countless public events with me, and we’re a Delta-certified Animal Assisted Therapy Dog team. She’s a frisbee daredevil, an acrobatic tree climber, and races snowboarders down mountains. She’s also a knucklehead that still jumps on people when they come visit and will lick you head-to-toe faster than you can say spaghetti pants.

Here we are at Three Dog Bakery one weekend.

Sweet Georgia Brown also came to us one of the usual ways: A kid brought her home one day to keep, and the parents said, “No way.”  She was a tubby, brindle puppy with classic pit bull markings. And she was snuggly! Instead of being go-go-go, she was a couch potato. Here she is with Dave and Relaena at Three Dog Bakery.

The Bakery is no longer across the street from Pike Place Market but for a couple of years, it was a place we set up a booth to raise money for pit bulls and to educate people about the breed.

This was one of the first Saturdays we were there selling calendars and chatting up tourists from the cruise ships.

A really tall guy walked in and started talking to me about Sweet Georgia Brown. He explained he had two pit bulls at home and that one his favorite restaurants was called Sweet Georgia Brown’s. I noticed people crowding around a bit, and when I dug into my backpack to give him a card, Dave explained he was Desmond Mason, a Sonics player.

He was really interested in adopting her but wanted to take it slow–he scored bonus points with us because of it. We immediately had ideas about how Desmond could help us do some education. We envisioned PSAs, half-time demos with pit bulls, posters about spay-neuter, a public figure that could really change the way people think.

We were planning an overnight with her to see how things went with his two dogs but it fell through. Desmond had a friend taking care of his pit bulls while he was travelling, and the friend fed the two dogs in the same kennel. A dog fight broke out that rattled everyone.  After several phone conversations, Desmond agreed it was too risky and that it was more important to get his two dogs back on track. 

We found this little girl a nice home, and while I don’t know exactly where she is now, I’m confident she’s a beloved family pet.

Nine 2-week old puppies were found in a motel room in Auburn in 2002. The motel manager found Anne like a lot of folks did–simply word of mouth. We set up a play pen at Ideal Pet Stop, and many volunteers helped feed, clean, and care for these pups whose eyes weren’t even opened yet.

Anne watched them round the clock. Bottle feeding, eye wiping, changing linens, and introducing them to every person to walk through the pet store door. Our goal was 100 people a week.

The puppies made us happy. Even though they didn’t have an ideal start, we believed we could make up for every minute they were away from their mom and for every minute they were left completely alone in that motel room. It was so fun to name them, try to remember who-was -who, and guess which ones would be goofy, laid back, and spazzy.

One of the puppies had a beautiful, brown coat with a silvery-blue tint. He was the bruiser of the litter, and Anne took a shine to him. Here she is with the puppy she named Silk. 

We all had our favorites, and I fell involve with a brindle female so it was time to move. It was the first time as a renter I had to ask a landlord if I could have a pit bull: Len said as long as I kept the grass mowed and paid the rent on time, he didn’t care if I had elephants as pets. I loved Len for that.

And the house was just a mile from the pet store so now I was in the neighborhood.

I named her Tupelo–bonus points if you can guess why–and I didn’t have her very long. I took her to Rainier Valley Vet to have her spayed when she was 4 months old, and they accidentally gave her too much anesthesia. Her heart stopped.

Anne called me at work. She couldn’t even say the words. All she could get out was, “MaggieP’s on her way to pick you up.”  MaggieP and I went down to the vet to say goodbye. I drowned poor Tupie in tears.

I thought it was ironic at the time: I tried to help pit bulls and when I finally got one of my very own, she was taken away. It seemed unfair–even though I don’t really believe in fair. This was the last photograph I took of her. Notice Lindel, my orange tabby, sitting in the background.

Remember I started collecting the pieces with MaggieP? A year or more had passed since I walked into her neighbor’s backyard. And like me, MaggieP spent Saturdays at Ideal Pet Stop walking dogs, washing dogs, and playing with as many pit bulls as she could. I took this photo of her one Saturday.

And like me, MaggieP really wanted to adopt a pit bull for her very own so she moved away from the house where she’d been watching over the neighbor’s dogs.

And about the same time that she bought a house in 2002, she fell in love with Baby, a 2-year old, squatty, hunka-hunka, red-and-white pit bull that came to Anne as an owner surrender. 

This little girl was shy when she first arrived but MaggieP brought her back to life. You’ll note her previous owner used scissors to crop her ears.

A few weeks ago, MaggieP reported: At the tender age of nine, she climbed up a 15-foot rock climbing wall at Camp Long because she wanted to do it with me.

You make us proud, Proud Baby.

I was still photographing families Anne had adopted pit bulls to, and we decided that instead of a photo exhibit we’d do a fundraising calendar. We agreed this was the perfect way to touch a lot more people–and a great way to launch Pit Bull Project as a new rescue organization.

This photograph of Anne’s son, Raphael, was taken at Ideal Pet Stop. The 5-month old, blue brindle is Merlin, the only pit bull that became one of Anne’s dog–he was her go-everywhere dog. 

This photo was included in the calendar that raised money to care for and find homes for many Seattle pit bulls. The picture was also included in the South Seattle Star.

The 2003 Pit Bull Project calendar was the first of 5 calendars. Here it is scanned in from the one remaining copy I have: http://www.pitbullnotes.com/?page_id=360

One day when I was Ideal Pet Stop visiting Anne, this wedding photo came in the mail. She received photographs like this with letters of gratitude, us-now letters, holiday best wishes.

I love this photo as much as I did then–about 7 years ago. I don’t know the people or the dog but I’m moved by the fact they included their pit bull in their wedding photo. I love these people who kneeled down to be right next to their dog without worrying the gown would get dity. The dog is also dressed to the nines to match the bride and groom. And simply put: They look happy and proud. I was so struck by the photo that Anne gave it to me.

When she mentioned the pit bull above was a mix, it sparked a conversation about how she wished she had more control of doing pit bull rescue the way she wanted. She was the breed representative for SPDR and because it was a pure breed rescue, they frowned upon Anne when she worked with mixes.

She talked about other ways she was constrained by SPDR and noted her relationship with the board was tenuous at best. My take was Anne had outgrown their organization–too much paperwork, too much process, and not enough influence. From phone inquiries to owner listings  to adoptions, Anne was handling about 900 pit bulls a year. The Rottweiler breed representative was a distant second, handling about 300 dogs a year. The Jack Russell breed representative handled 33 dogs a year. For Anne, it was a full-time job.

So that day I took the reigns on figuring out  how to create a non-profit so she could break away from SPDR and do rescue the way she wanted. I went to Barnes and Noble and bought a how-to book.

Here’s another photo Anne gave me. It’s a high school senior portrait that reminds me rescue is as much about people as it is about the dogs.

Louie came from Kent Animal Control when he was about 4 months old. They were reluctant to adopt out pit bulls but wanted to *save* him because of his striking good looks–he had a lightning bolt marking down his face. He was also a good dog with some basic skills, including walking on a leash without dragging you down the street.

And he was the first pit bull I really wanted to keep. He was goofy, loving, and had wonderfully sweet eyes. But without a full time job (remember I lost my job in the dot com bust?) and without a yard, it wasn’t the responsible thing to do.

He was very tall-n-lanky so we suspected he was a Dane mix but after watching him chase after squirrels, we agreed he was part Greyhound. A dear friend of mine adopted him–the same friend that first told me about Anne’s pit bull rescue at Ideal Pet Stop. I took this photo one Sunday morning. This was typical Louie: clowning around while his people are trying to read the paper and drink their coffee.

The more involved I was with Anne’s pit bull rescue, the more puppies I fostered in my 500 square foot studio apartment in Capital Hill. I lived over Fillipi Book and Records, and Brenda Fillipi didn’t bat an eye when I told her I was keeping pit bull puppies in the apartment I rented from her. Brenda was great like that.

Anne rang me up one day with a request to foster four, 5-week old puppies that had been left in a cardboard box outside the Humane Society in Bellevue. Here’s the Fab Four in my kitchen.

Three were adopted quickly. The 4th, Bandsaw Jackson, was shy and a little fearful. She stayed with me until she was 5 months old. I socialized her like crazy: riding the bus downtown; carting her through the grocery store; meet-n-greets at Volunteer Park; the Pride Parade; hiking in the mountains. Here’s Bandsaw at Ocean Shores.

Along came Danielle, a woman who grew up with big dogs. She fell in love with this beach photo of Bandsaw on PetFinder and after trying to talk her out of it, she proved she was committed to working with her quirky behavior.  This is one of several Christmas cards Danielle has sent over the years. She adopted Brooklyn, the white pit bull, about 2 years later.

This is the joy of fostering: You raise em like your own, send em off to become someone else’s beloved family pet, and then you see photos like this. All grown up and getting to eat the cookie dough right outta the mixer.

I continued to photograph families for the Pit Bull Project exhibit. These photo shoots gave me insight about pit bulls and family life because I asked a lot questions–first days together, daily routine, issues.

Meet the Hyman family. Emma, the cutie on the left, came to Anne when she was a year old. She’d just had a litter of puppies, was malnourished, and wasn’t well socialized with dogs or people. The Hymans smoothly made Emma just one of the family–they’d had her a few years when I took this photo in 2002.

Mrs. Hyman grew up with German Shephards, and they had beautiful oil paintings of her family’s dogs. This was the first family I met that talked about setting their dogs up to succeed. The dogs were never left together unsupervised–not because they had reason to believe something would happen but they wanted to make sure nothing could happen. They used the phrase *setting them up to succeed*, and it’s stuck with me.

This is the Hilliard family. Remember Blackie?  Blackie was picked up as a stray by Animal Control and released to Anne. A year later, the Hilliards adopted Blackie and very soon after they adopted Mocha, the puppy you see here. 

Blackie was an escape artist that repeatedly got loose and showed up at Ideal Pet Stop, which was just down the street from their home.

We joked that he missed Anne–having been with her for a year–but this family was my first glimpse of a family that had huge hearts but was in over their heads. They’d never owned a dog before and now they had two adolescent pit bulls.

I kept asking: How’s Blackie getting loose? What if he gets hit by a car? What if someone thinks he killed their cat?

Mocha grew more dog aggressive as she matured, and after many fights between the two dogs, the family eventually had to put them both to sleep.

These photo shoots taught me a lot about what makes a good home for a pit bull–and made me think hard about a rescue organization’s responsibility in re-homing dogs.

He came to Anne the usual way. Like me, someone heard about this woman doing pit bull rescue out of a pet store and looked up Ideal Pet Stop’s phone number. 

He was a big pit bull, 80 lbs or so, that a lady found curled up on her front porch one morning. It was the typical scenario: No tags, no microchip, no one looking for him. The lady was a little scared of him but thought he seemed friendly. She’d been keeping him in her garage and couldn’t keep him as a pet. She asked friends and family, and no one would take him. She thought Animal Control would put him to sleep. She didn’t want to give him to just anyone because she’d heard about people using them for dog fighting. And she needed him to go somewhere else asap because her cats were getting really stressed out.

I was at the store the day Anne took a look at him. She said she wasn’t crazy about him but agreed to try and find him a home. She also agreed that since he had no where to go that she’d make room for him at her house. The lady was relieved, bought some catnip, and left feeling like a good citizen.

We named him Shadow because of his Phantom of the Opera masking. 

I spent the weekend at the store taking Shadow for walks and observing him. I wondered where he’d come from, what he’d seen, who he’d been with. He didn’t gush with affection for people and although he made good eye contact–like he’s doing in this photo I took of him–there was no warmth in his eyes. They were vacant. 

After being with Anne for two weeks, he hadn’t warmed up to her or anyone else. No wiggle butt tail wagging. She just didn’t trust him.

Then one evening, in Anne’s backyard, Shadow was out for a potty break with two of her dogs. Up to this point, he’d ignored other dogs entirely. Fast as lightning, quiet as night, Shadow went after her dogs with fury. A terrible dog fight broke out, all three dogs were injured, and Anne was bitten.

Anne had Shadow euthanized the next day.

He was the first dog I knew that was euthanized for not being rock solid. And over the years I’ve thought about Shadow because of the hundreds of pit bulls I’ve crossed paths with, he’s the only pit bull I’ve ever met that had an eery silence about him. He’s one of the very few I can’t piece a story together for, and I hold on to that to remember that knowing why isn’t always the most important thing.

I wanted to help Anne do more public education. The pet store was a terrific hub for rescue but we wanted a way to start changing the public’s perception of the breed.

I was inspired by my friend, Robin–remember she joined me on the midnight mission for Fagen and Rodeo?

Robin is a terrific photographer who photographed Rose Hill, a woman in her 20s fighting breast cancer. She then organized a wonderful fundraising photo exhibit at the Rose Bud Cafe in Capital Hill. Her photos raised awareness about breast cancer in the lesbian community–her photos made a difference.

I pitched the photo project idea to Anne, she loved it, and we referred to it as *Pit Bull Project* from the start. Renuka loaned me her Canon SLR, and Anne selected familes from her growing pool of adopters.

I set out to tell the stories of pit bulls that went from bad situations into loving homes. Here’s the first photograph I took for Pit Bull Project.
Sunny was purchased on the streets of Tacoma when she was 4 1/2 weeks old. The owner kept her one night and then dropped her off at the Humane Society because he couldn’t take care of her. The shelter released the puppy to Anne, and Sunny was adopted by Nadine, a Vet Tech who could bring her doggie to work. Sunny is about one year old in this photo.

I started spending a lot of time at Ideal Pet Stop helping Anne do everything from bathing dogs to walking dogs to hugging dogs. Here’s a photo of me at the store one weekend.

Anne juggled managing the pet store, running a dog rescue, and taking care of lots of animals. There were the dogs, cats, and birds of her very own–Anne’s first passion was birds. There were the dogs she fostered while they waited for permanent homes. 2, sometimes 3 or 4 fosters. And there were the creatures at Ideal Pet that she cared for–mice, fish, turtles, snakes.

On most days, she pulled it off. But there were days that put her over the edge, like the day I called her with another dog.

My pit bull radar had turned on. I started seeing them everywhere: in the car next to me while I was driving, at the park lounging with someone in the sun, running alongside a jogger. And I started assessing the situation as good or bad for the dog.

One day I was walking down Broadway, and I spotted a street kid with a pit bull puppy asking for spare change. I assessed this as *bad* for the dog so I chatted him up and asked him if he’d sell the puppy. I swayed him with a hundred bucks and talked him into agreeing he didn’t need the hassle of caring for a dog.

At first I thought I’d done the right thing so I proudly called Anne. She pointed out she didn’t need me buying dogs for her to find homes for because she had way more free dogs than she could realistically adopt. She didn’t point out how disrespectful I was to the kid–I realized that on my own.

I was still grasping supply-and-demand. It would take me a while longer to understand there are way more good pit bulls than there are good homes.

Despite being thoroughly annoyed with me, Anne agreed to list the dog with SPDR–even though this dog was probably not  a smidge pit bull. Turns out not every brindle dog is a pit bull (and I’m laughing at myself when I write this). She was adopted within days. Here’s the one photo I have of her with my JRT, Spatula.