Pit Bulls Do Kill

A few weeks ago, a pregnant woman in Pacifica, California was mauled and killed by her male pit bull.

I have great esteem for persons who adopt animals from shelters. I'm not sure if the dog that killed this woman was from a shelter. It doesn't really matter. The woman's trust was misplaced. I'm sure this poor woman and her husband had endless stories about how loving and tame this dog acted-- before this tragedy.

I know, that no matter what, people will come out of the woodwork, praising their pit bull/pit bull mix animals for their loyalty and calm demeanor. "This is another attack on the breed," they'll say. "You know how many pit bulls there are that are great, friendly dogs? It's not the dog's fault, it's the owner."

Let's stop. It is the breed. Pit bulls are the most likely breed of animal to be involved in fatal dog attacks on humans. I can offer four cases of lethal pit bull attacks in the SF Bay Area alone. A thirteen year old boy was attacked in his basement in San Francisco by a pit bull and died. Two toddlers that I know of have been killed in the Bay Area by pit bulls. And finally, there is the case of the pregnant woman most recently. I won't count the little East Bay kid maimed and disfigured by a pit bull-- he didn't die but only suffered horribly.

I know people will despise me for questioning their right to own these animals that are the equivalents of loaded guns. It's the American way, and I've already been the subject of hate posts when I questioned the egos of people who own large, dangerous breeds.

Honestly, I think most people who feel they are capable of owning pit bulls without trouble (attacks on other dogs; attacks on humans; pits running loose in the neighborhood after escaping either from their owners or their yards) aren't capable. Isn't part of the mystique of owning a bad ass dog the fact that the dog is a bad ass? You ever see a t-shirt with a cocker spaniel snarling and looking like a tank ready to attack? These shirts are owned by pit bull owners.

I have a pit bull living across the street from me. He runs loose sometimes. Now I have to worry about my own dog in her own yard.

There are some towns and counties that insist that all pit bulls be spayed or neutered. I agree with that. Only reputable, licensed breeders should be allowed to own pit bulls for breeding. I think other laws could be enacted that might stem some of the problems. Pit bulls that attack humans should be destroyed. Period. Pit bulls that kill other dogs should be destroyed. Period. Any dog that has fought and been rescued should be spayed or neutered. Any pit from a shelter should be spayed or neutered. A two strike law for any pit bull that attacks other animals, dogs, cats, etc. should be enacted. Perhaps a three strike law for pits that run loose should also be on the books.

Here's the thing. I think pit bulls as a breed have been raised for their agressiveness. This is dangerous. Dog fighters and misguided owners have bred these dogs not for their tameness, but for their fearsomeness. These traits might be a good thing when these dogs fought larger creatures in the old days, but not now. It's a crap shoot today. If a pit reverts to its primal instincts, someone is going to get hurt. That's not right or fair to other dog owners or dogs.

I saw a segment on a television show about a breeder of foxes in Eastern Europe. This breeder started treating some of his foxes like pets. Within one generation, these foxes started looking and acting more like domestic dogs. Imagine. One generation. Pit bulls bred for friendliness and calmness could be changed as a breed fairly quickly.

We need to stop being naive and protect ourselves and our dogs. Pit bulls need to change. We don't need these dogs to be killers anymore.

This Blog Is Sticking to Its Guns-- With Apologies to Philip Levine

It's wonderful how I blog
I've got ivory-tower scruples
I will not kow-tow to the lure
of readers who read my every tweek

To the market, I will not bow
I'll not mention Lady Gaga
Sir Elton John
or type with my pudgy fingers

Of X-Men or X-Girls
Of Britney or Living Forever and Ever
Maintaining your beauty
or babies with IQs like Einstein

Oh, I dream of readers

Of steady eyes fastened to the screens

for fear they might miss

The latest greatest story about our Kate

You might think I'll cave

And drum upon the keys the tale

of Casey Anthony

and the Prince of Greece

discovering the fountain of money

or world famous freaks

to hook a reader by his teeth

I write about a dog. Yes. This blog.

With sincere apologies to Philip Levine

Check out his poem

Animals are Passing From Our Lives.

Enjoy the Fourth-- Leave Your Pets Inside

Happy Birthday U.S.A.

We love the Fourth of July. Our pets-- not so much. Remember, most pets get pretty skittish about fireworks. My dog freaks even at the explosions from the display five miles away. A few firecrackers can make life miserable for your pets.

There's more than a few sick humans out there who might hurt your cat or dog with fireworks. Don't let your animal be a victim. Keep them inside as much as possible. If your neighborhood is anything like mine, the explosions start a day or two before the holiday, and last a day or two after.

I just heard a news story last night about a "celebration" a year or so ago at Dolores Park in San Francisco. Someone decided to start tossing M-80s (is that what they're called?) into the crowd. It cost a girl one finger, the use of a couple of others, and countless surgeries. Let's be safe this Fourth. Protect your animals, protect yourself.

Remember, most places bottle rockets, firecrackers, M-80's, etc. are illegal. When you cut your kid loose with a string of firecrackers at the very least it's against the law. It may be dangerous, and it certainly sets a bad example.

Have a safe holiday.

Pablo Picasso the artist-- and Rover the Dog

I remember the names of all my dogs and their personalities. My memory of my old classmates from high school is a little hazy though. So there is a class reunion going on for my high school next month, and a classmate of mine, Shelley friended me on Facebook.

Shelley and I were never an item. She's definitely a dish, even now-- but something always seemed to interfere with spending time with her back then. Once I went to see her in my old Corvair. The cops gave me a ticket because my engine was smoking so bad. I had to drive the car home and get it off the road. Another time I saw her I was on the verge of quitting college, leaving home, and moving from San Diego to San Francisco. It all worked out. I've got a great family and a good life.


Last year I lost my job at the US Postal Service. I hated the Postal Service and my job. I had no respect for the management and they had no respect for me. Because of an on-the-job injury, I couldn't carry mail, so they booted me out of the office job they'd created for me. Employing me might have led to the insolvency of the USPS. Heaven forbid.

Being let go from a crappy job might be worse than losing a good one. When I lost my numb skull job, I wondered just how pathetic I had become. Depression set in. I slept, played Farmville, and sat in my hot tub and smoked cigars. I didn't do much even though I had a lot of time. I just marked time, and at near 60, my swagger disappeared. (I've always been way too needy I suppose.)

Consequently, I have begun to examine just what I have accomplished in my life. I admit to all the excesses of youth and more than my share of selfishness. But have I left anything of value?

I'm going to try to tie this all together now. My constant readers, all three of you, are aware of the leaps I take in these blogs. I'm asking you to accept another leap.

My wife and I went to see a Picasso exhibit at the De Young Museum in San Francisco last Sunday. I am not a fan of Picasso. I wasn't keen on him before the exhibit, and am even less impressed now. I like art. I love impressionist art. I love Renaissance art. I find Picasso's art mean-spirited and usually ugly. I know his reputation. I know his imprint upon modern art. He just angers me.

So, Picasso from Heaven can look down and feel fulfilled because he created I suppose.

I don't know what I've left to speak for myself. Some short stories, articles, some good feelings and love. I never cured cancer or volunteered at a soup kitchen.

I like Nabokov, who wrote the novel "Lolita." It is a brilliant novel, as are his other works. But despite all his brilliance, he will be known mostly as the guy who wrote about the love of an older man for a pre-teen girl. Does he get a pass to Heaven?

Is Larry Flynt accomplished because of his fight for journalistic freedom?

When he was alive, did J.D. Salinger feel accomplished, or did he wonder if the Great American Novel and a couple of handfuls of short stories really were all he could have done with his talent?

The tennis player, Bjorn Borg made his biggest splash in life by the age of 21. It's been all downhill for him since then.

I don't have the answers to the questions I might be asking. I wish I did.

I remember my dogs. They came through for me and others.

I remember Shelley from high school. And Jackie Landis and Ron Walashek and Karen Riggs and John Belik. Something special about them made an imprint on my feeble memory.

Some of these people remember me. I hope they judge me favorably. I guess that's the best one can wish for.

Bullying Dog Style-- Google's Ad Campaign

I don't bully-- I sleep and watch tv.

So, Google has an ad campaign on television now that is about bullying-- especially the bullying of gay persons. In my effort to at least mention dogs in each of these posts, I'd like to tell you about my dog, (now deceased) Maurice.

Early on, when we moved to the house where we live now, the dog next door came under the fence and chewed up Maurice. He had open wounds, needed stitches, and was altogether in a bad way. Maurice was a lab mix, on the small side-- not a fighter at all, even though he was a trifle grumpy at times.

After the mauling, while Maurice made a full recovery, but he could not be around loose dogs without taking grief. Some fear component in him made itself apparent to the dogs around, and running loose on a beach for example, led to him being bitten. I felt bad for him. He never had problems around dogs before, and here he was, suddenly a target.

I'd been the target of bullying now and again. It's pretty awful. I suppose a time or two as a teen, I'd even bullied some myself. I remember fighting some guy at the mall just because he was there. He cut my eyelid with his fingernail during the fight. I bleed like a stuck pig. Served me right. The next year at school I apologized to this guy for my being such an ass. That apology was probably as enlightened as I ever was as a teenager.

Bullying is a rotten, demeaning, miserable thing. You'd be surprised at my politics, so don't pigeon-hole me quite yet. I have a problem with gay politics, as much as I have a problem with Rush Limbaugh. Everyone gets bullied in high school. Every group has to endure bullying. That doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it easier for gay people, or any other group. It doesn't build toughness. It doesn't build character. It leads to heartbreak, depression, and even suicide.

Some people just don't want to fight. They don't want to defend themselves, or their characters just because they are perceived as different. Again, bullying does not build character.

There's a show on MTV2 called "Bully Beatdown." People who are the subject of bullying send an appeal to the show in an effort to stop their suffering. Always the bullies are totally deluded. They've broken the arms of the victims, thrown them down stairs, caused damages to eyes, skulls, and all limbs. Often they feel they are teaching their victims a lesson by toughening-up the always smaller, less aggressive, and usually unsuspecting victims.

A guy named Mayhem hosts the show. He was a mixed martial arts fighter who had won over thirty matches. He is a bad ass, and he had been bullied himself as a kid. Mayhem brings in one of his fighters to challenge the bully in the "cage." The deluded bully always thinks he's going to beat up the mixed martial arts professional, and if he can, he can win up to $10,000. I've seen some pretty bad ass bullies on that show. Even when they manage to win any of the money in the two rounds of fighting, they usually pay a heavy price in damage to their bodies. And always, the beating they take leads to an apology to the people they have bullied. Funny what changes a couple of serious kicks to the liver and minor concussions can bring about.

Unfortunately, when the bully gets his ass kicked on the show, it is again-- bullying. On one show, Mayhem, who is usually just a host, actually fights the bully himself. I've never seen anyone get their ass kicked that bad. The bully ends up losing the whole ten grand and gets beat senseless on top of it.

Look, even if you are a Bible thumper who detests the sin of gay sex, gay people don't deserve the scorn people heap upon them. Even if you think your victims are characterless, offensive, and miserable blots upon the universe, please, don't bully them. Hate the sin, not the sinner. Jesus only attacked the money changers at the Temple, not the prostitutes.

Being bullied has so many consequences other than a split lip. Do unto others etc. Walk a mile in another's shoes. Just stop. You don't have to be a teen to be a bully, but you can stop the cycle no matter what age you are. Don't judge. Don't cast the first stone.

Think those sarcastic comments to your nephew about his hair or dress is going unnoticed. They're not. Give the kid a break, he's going through enough just trying to fit in.

Kudos to Google.

Are Dogs the Perfect Humans

It's been nearly two months since I posted here. My mother, who was hospitalized in late January, is... well, alive and kicking. She had serious surgery that nearly killed her. Now she is in a care facility that luckily has two dogs. She misses her own dog, but at least she has friends.

This picture is of a dog that rode the Funicula on the Isle of Capri. The story of this fellow was the subject of one of my first blogs here.

So, I get the Dog/God thing. So are dogs more renaissance creatures than humans?

Certainly they're not cynical. They are always hopeful. Maybe, just maybe you'll drop that cube of butter or that rack of spareribs off the barbecue. They're always surprised when you come home. Well, maybe they're always happy to see you anyway. They forgive. They don't start wars or invade countries. While they may engage in dominant behavior, come on, it all makes some kind of doggy sense to set up a social network that is understandable.  

There's a show on television about how dogs changed the world. They were mankind's early warning systems. Thug the Caveman couldn't sneak up on your tribe if you had a dog around. They kept the camp clean. They were man's best friend since before recorded history.

I feel a little goofy writing this today. I've been writing on a novel which is long form, and I know this is disjointed perhaps, but I need to get back on the horse. So here I am.

What if dogs really played poker?
Ah, that reminds me of a joke my wife's father told me.
I'm sure I've used it here before. I don't hear a lot of new jokes anymore.

So my dog plays poker but he's not very good at it.
Why?
Because every time he gets a good hand, he wags his tail.

I know this anyway. If dogs played poker, after they won all your chips, I'm pretty sure they'd return them. Especially if they could fetch them.

How's Penny and Leaving Las Vegas

My mother wants to know how her dog Penny is doing. At this moment the doctors are feeding her oxygen. She's had ten inches of her colon removed, has suffered a post-surgical stroke, and her resting heart rate sometimes reaches over 200 beats per minute. She is holed up a mere three miles from the Las Vegas strip. When last I saw here, she had countless tubes inserted into her veins. She's definitely being tortured for her own good I suppose. Such medical care is undignified at best. A one-way trip to the pound for our pets is a better deal.

"We know you are suffering," we tell our pets. "We know you don't understand, and your chances for recovery are nil." We cry, maybe we even purchase an urn with "Fido" on it. A moment of fear-- a quick injection, and we weep.

Think it's better to fight the good fight? Medical care provides us miracles? Trust me on this. Better to go out like James Dean or Elvis on the toilet than the torture involved with being near 80 and recovering from years of self-induced bodily abuse and surgical miracles.

Think you can beat the odds of a torturous death by being the absolute ruler of more than half-a-billion souls? Stalin died without medical care because his underlings were afraid to act when he'd suffered a stroke. They didn't want to be murdered for doing the wrong thing.

Et tu, Brute?

Think your faith will save you from an ignoble end, whether that faith is religious or otherwise? Maybe being crucified upside down or burned at the stake rings a bell. Trotsky was dispatched with an axe.

Is it more humane to put us off onto an iceberg to make peace with our God and fall asleep? Should we all opt for a trip to the pound to be made into Soylent Green?

I'm trying to understand all this. My mother was always the prettiest mom around when I was a kid. I didn't know anything was odd about my upbringing. I thought every kid's mom taught them to play blackjack in first grade. I thought every mom drove a Corvette or a pink T-Bird. Wouldn't every mom who got mad at her husband throw a rock through his car window?

Penny is all right by the way. My sister has her. My sister too, despite being a woman of great ability, aptitude, and patience is kind of lost about our mom's illness.

We don't feel we're getting an idea of the odds of recovery. Oh, yeah-- this is Vegas. What's the odds of her making it? Is it like rolling a ten before crapping out? Like double-zero on the roulette wheel? What's a better bet-- is it that you'll come off the slots ahead after a wild Vegas weekend or that my mom's gonna make it? Maybe the slogan of "What goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas" isn't such a cool thing. I don't want to go in Vegas. Don't die in Vegas. Leave it.

Being human is a burden-- as is being humane.

I don't know the morale of this story. I don't know if there is one. I'm wandering about kind of lost right now. I know, for good or bad, that my mother was this unbelievable life force. She could as often be unreasonable and petty as kind. She regretted nothing I think, and yet spent some considerable time trying to make up for what she put her children through. She's borderline type-2 diabetic, missing a considerable portion of her colon, lost mobility even before the stroke, can't swallow, and is going to be fed with a tube. Yet I truly believe if you had told her all this 50 years ago, it wouldn't have changed her a bit. She'd have been travelling with her big gulp glass full of vodka and downing nary a vegetable no matter what. I expect she thought she'd die riding a motorcycle.

Penny is all right mom, and she misses you.