Pit Bull Notes from Seattle

I’ve been collecting the pieces since 2000. It was that year, over drinks at Linda’s Tavern, that Maggie P told me there were 3 dogs chained up in her neighbor’s backyard. It was a dirt pit with homemade shelters, empty water bowls, little human interaction, and barking at all hours.

3 pit bulls in an urban neighborhood. 1 red female. 1 red male. 1 young brindle male.

We met at Linda’s week in, week out and tried to make sense of it. Crying into our cocktails and chain smoking cigarettes, we couldn’t understand why they had dogs. And we tried to do something about it.

She called Animal Control. I called Animal Control. She called the Police. I called the Police. She reached out to neighbors who didn’t want to get involved. I contacted a lawyer who explained I had no grounds.

I mailed anonymous letters to the address and included tips on taking care of outdoor pets. Remember: Never leave your animal chained or penned up directly in sunlight. Provide a shady area where the animal can retreat, such as a proper dog house, porch or shady tree, and always provide cool water.

Maggie P watched over the dogs from her bedroom window, from her kitchen window, from her bathroom window. And one day she overheard one of the dog’s names: Ginger.

About that same time, I learned about a woman doing pit bull rescue out of a pet store. I didn’t know she received calls like this every day: There are these pit bulls, and they need help. Animal Control says they can’t do anything. Can you help?

Anne said there was nothing she could do and that she wasn’t in the business of stealing dogs. She suggested I try to get some proof of neglect.

The next day I lost my job in the dot com bust, picked up my camera, and went to get proof.

I took this photo that day with my Jack Russell, Spatula, watching quietly. And for a JRT, that’s blog-worthy.

This is the first puzzle piece.