Adorable and pit bull are two words I had never thought I’d bead together in a sentence
We own the sidewalk, my pal and I.
She walks five steps ahead of me, and like a snowplow clearing a path, people cleave to the left and to the right.
With a head as big as a cinder block, barrel chest of a draft horse, and hind quarters like an earth-moving machine, people get out of our way.
At distances of half a block, there’s instant wariness.
Mothers draw children closer.
Joggers arc off the pavement and onto lawn.
Cyclists position their bikes as a barricade.
Can’t say I blame them.
I had the same reaction when we were introduced.
When I first opened the door, it took a moment to marshal my response, to quell generations of instinct.
Don’t play with fire.
Watch for falling rock.
Beware the undertow.
Steer clear of pit bulls.
Her name is Belle and she’s adorable; an adorable 10 month-old pit bull. Adorable and pit bull are three words I had never thought I’d bead together in a sentence, but Belle has been an education. Belle is a puppy. Her owners are, shall we say, overscheduled? Overscheduled owners interfacing with a wellspring of energy make a lousy combination. The owners both work and prioritize their social life over all else. Belle gets waked on the weekends. Well, most weekends.
They paid $1,500 and she’s proving to be more work than they expected. If someone would reimburse them their out-of-pocket expenses, they might be willing to part with Belle … or not. It just depends on what day you ask them.
My daughter became acquaintances with Belle’s masters and — aghast — volunteers to take Belle on weekends when she can. It’s a two-hour round trip to collect her. The owners are happy to relinquish their charge whenever they can. My daughter’s reach exceeds her grasp and I am asked to pinch hit for her. When she brought Belle over for the fist time, I had to suppress a momentary terror. There’s no denying that, if she wanted to, Belle could do some real damage. Then again, any creature can turn on you. I’ve sustained minor injuries delivered by an unlikely Disney Death Squad that includes a rabbit, an ostrich, a rooster and a swan. As a child, my daughter was badly bitten by a neighbor’s dog: a standard poodle.
Belle sits on the doormat. Gunmetal grey, her coiled density making me default to weaponry synonyms. With my initial alarm tamped down, I sit alongside Belle and let her get used to me. Something about her seems … bashful, almost compensatory. When I scratch her head, she leans into me with her eyes closed and rests her toolbox of a head on my lap. My reservations start to recede.
The plan is a hike up Hollyburn Mountain. We load Belle into the car along with my daughter’s two rescue mutts. Together, they add up to one quarter of Belle’s weight. Once in the car, Belle sits attentively at the window. The two other dogs, having perceived no threat, giddily clamber all over her. Without saying so, I know my daughter’s heart is brimming.
How best to describe what happened next? How best to illustrate the overjoyed bafflement that was Belle’s response to the forest trails? We walked her for miles, taking up half the day, as Belle expended her pent up puppy-ness. Despite her boundless joy, she seemed to know intuitively not to pull on her leash. When we rested at viewpoints, she sat alongside us and seemed to be drinking in the view. Anvil-like, Belle sat quietly when we offered her treats and not once did she purloin the smaller dogs’ treats. She didn’t so much as bark and displayed an innate understanding of commands, spoken or implied. Most of the hikers we passed gave us a wide berth. Some went so far as to change direction. We repeated, “She’s friendly,” so often that we considered re-naming her, Friendly.
There’s some talk of me taking Belle for the Christmas holidays. Right now, I’m of two minds. What I’m trying not to be, is of one mind. Belle is so easy to love. Affectionate and eager to please, she’s a delight to have around. Sadly, each time she’s been returned home, she’s been reluctant to get out of the car.
The pitbull story is all too familiar. Once bred for bear- and bull-baiting, the breed became the unregistered weapon of choice of a variety of unsavoury characters, and tragic accounts of maulings still crop up in the news every so often. Some areas have made efforts to ban pit bulls — such as Ontario, with its 10-year-old Dog Owner Liability Acts, and prohibitions exist in many countries. But the dogs are not hard to find — a quick Google search can set you up with pit bull puppies for Christmas just as easily as having poinsettias delivered.
So what’s to become of Belle? It’s hard to ignore her circumstances; she deserves better and I wish I could do more. The choice of a pitbull, however, comes freighted with issues. Everywhere you go, you’re allaying fears; allaying fears and hoping your faith is well placed.
I can’t speak for all pitbulls, just for Belle.
So, we’ll continue to take Belle when we can.
And we’ll continue to understand when the path clears as we pass by.