3 posts tagged “pets”

Which breed of dog is your favorite? Post a picture of it. 
Submitted by Melissa.

Ha!

Like you had to even ask...the horrifying, terror of bloodlust and carnage...the monstrous and savage Am Staff/Pit Bull Terrier. And yes, that was sarcasm. A heavy heavy dose.

The American Pit bull Terrier, the pit bull terrier. The dog to hate, and fear. America's favorite canine villain of the last

decade. They are ferocious (not), ruthless (not), monsters (not). My owning one tells you I am an unscrupulous threat to society, wishing mayhem and destruction to my neighbors, children and wandering souls everywhere.

Or, it tells you I am a true sucker for the woefully misunderstood.

My lil Mecca is seven years old, 64 pounds of Am Staff Terrier. She's graying in the face, a lightened muzzle that stares at me from the other end of the hall while she snuggles in

her emerald green dog couch. I've had her since she was 8 weeks old. A chubby lil something with a stubborn defiance and aversion to excess sugary affection, she's always been a bit of a character. Always a sucker for the camera, she learned at a very young age to be fabulous.

Despite the breeds reputation, she is like most other pitbulls I know. A complete, and utter ham. She loves children, (and I don't mean for lunch) and she likes to be in the midst of any social happening. If it seems like a good idea to you, it sounds like a sound plan to

her. This works, except for when people decide to break some of the rules and she gos along for the ride, to be reprimanded later. Yes, I have caught her many times with her head in the trash can, or romping around on my bed as if she's supposed to be there. We even had a spell where if I was gone for too long, she would take it upon herself to snatch my linen from my bed and make herself a nest. Yes. Diva.

For all those who fear the big bad pit bull, I wish I could extend a visit to my crib, or better yet, to the vet. There's nothing like watching her ears peel back and plant firmly on her head when a dangerous, threatening, menacing kitten rolls by. Not to mention the way she trembles with fear at the sight of the vet technician, shedding hair as if she has a disease. I took her for her nail trimming, weigh in and review of allergy inspired hives, and the poor dog believes she's about to sent to the Chamber of Horrors. Sniffering, whining and doing her textbook "monkey chat" at the door of the vet office, she's a wreck until the ordeal. The only blood seen, is the scrape of blood across her muzzle, a self-inflicted wound from being tussled to the ground for a her nail trim. From what I hear, it takes two techs, and a third to lay on her. *RPM shakes head in embarrasment*

I wish the world knew the pitbulls I know. I wish they culd see what comical, gentle and loving (re: chickenshit) spirits they can be when raised with love, social interaction and reponsibility. Perhaps then I wouldn't have to worry about a day when they tell me we have to hit the border because she's being run out of town...again. I know what they can be like when they're not raised properly...but shouldn't the owners be punished for the abuse, and not the abused?

If I had it my way, Am Staff/Pit bull terriers would be the only dog for me. They are compact, but big enough to second think them laying in your lap. They're incredibly 

intelligent, affectionate, mischievous and personable. Not to mention, tres sexy. My Mecca has given me a good run. Sure we've suffered through thousands of dollars in surgeries, various medications and x-rays along the way, but she's been worth every bump, bruise, tear and sneeze. I would do it all again with one difference. I would have had two of her.

Please don't fear them folks. Fear the abusers who neglect, manipulate, terrorize and eventually destroy them. They require time, attention and nurturing and love. Even the sweetest child can turn into Ted Bundy if  the conditions are right.

I know I have an unhealthy love for my American Staffordshire Terrier, Mecca. We all know it - it's no secret. She is my heart and soul, my littlest, brightest star.

I've had her since she was eight weeks old, a chubby little sweet faced hazel-eyed baby with the heart and tenacity of a lionness. Everything I roll through, she rolls with me. Every high, every heart shattering low, she's kissed away tears no one knew I was crying but her. She knows my every weakness, and she loves me nonetheless.

I think I realized just how much she meant to me when she had knee surgery a few years back. Those were the longest three days of my life. I didn't sleep, I couldn't focus. I won't bore you with details, because if you're not in love with your animal, you just wouldn't understand.

Mecca is seven now. As I look at her gradually greying muzzle, her arthritis/hip dysplasia affected gait and her knowing eyes...I can't help but thank God for all the laughter and good medicine she's given me. All our moments of comedy, all the compliments I've been given on what an angel she is. I know they can't live forever...but I don't know if I'll ever be ready to be without her. So this weekend, when she pulled up limp after running to catch a toy, I panicked.

As she tossed and turned and struggled to get comfortable, I watched her. I felt every grunt, every whine, every whimper. I stroked her head intermittedly until she would get into a fitful sleep, and I wondered...if this was is it. Had she broken the leg? Had she done some damage that could not be undone? Was tomorrow going to be the day I had the hear something I don't ever want to hear? I slept 45 minutes on Sunday night, weighing the potential outcomes.

Folks who really know me. I mean, really have peeled back the layers of the onion that is me...knew where I was. So all day Monday, I got IMs, texts, emails, calls. "How's our girl?" "What's the prognosis?" "Heard anything yet?"

My secret heart was especially concerned. He reminded me that it was my responsibility to do what needed to be done - no matter what that was. And he reminded me that he would be there, and that life would go on, if the hardest decision had to be made. Ironic that I wanted to both shove him and thank him for always being the steady hand in the small of my back - even when I've wished I could hate him.

Turns out, those tough decisions didn't need to be made. Mecca was x-rayed, and other than arthritis and an

elbow strain - she's fine. Seven to ten days of bed rest, some anti-inflammatory meds and she'll be in good shape. As her vet said, "she may not be a pup, but there's plenty of strength, heart and willfullness in that old girl."

Amen on that.

My girl is sleeping tonight, after a long day of anesthesia, tests, teeth cleaning, x-rays and general annoyances. She's a little dopey from meds, but I can look over and see that sleepy face peering back at me. And there is nothing, nothing in the world as sweet to me as that little face.

I am going to sleep so well, tonight.