Ogre: A Pit Bull Story

By Walt Conte

"Ogre: A Pit Bull Story" begins with Tony Marsetti, a small, very intelligent adolescent trying to deal with all the problems faced by a boy in life- bullying, school work, infatuation, parental demands, and the betrayal of friends. It also confronts the conflict between what the world has struggled with since the beginning of recorded history- the desire of mankind to get revenge for real and perceived wrongs and the teachings of some of the great religions like Buddhism and Christianity. Tony comes to grips with this when he losses a beloved member of his family. Should he seek revenge as his father wants or should he "turn the other cheek" as his mother believes a Bible believing person should do? He discovers that although Christianity teaches non-violence and forgiveness, there are times when a person must not retreat. But he also learns that there are times when revenge no longer accomplishes much of worth. The novel explores the very real world of illegal dog fighting, of martial arts training, of school bullying, of young love and the betrayal of friends.

The setting for the novel is during the 1950's in the real town of Ambridge (combining the words from the factory- American Bridge), Pennsylvania, founded by J.P. Morgan as a "smokeless" community where the structural steel for some of the industrial boom in the U.S. would be completed.

The author's knowledge of the Pit Bull and the association of breeders/fighters, also known as the "Fraternity," goes back more than fifty years. Athough the writer does not approve of the fighting of dogs in the pit , the money contests are a reality and sadly there are more matches in modern times than ever before. Unfortunately many individuals have obtained the breed known as the Pit Bull Terrier and have used them as the extension of their egos just like the Doberman Pinscher, the German Shepherd and the Rottweiler were used in the past- if a man owns a "bad" dog then he must too be a "bad" man. The book attempts to show how the reputations of various breeds of dogs can be destroyed by the unscrupulous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walt Conte
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301154500

Walt Conte

Much like the phrase- Jack of all trades, master of none- I have done many things in life from being a teacher, an artist, a writer, high school principal, a student of the martial arts, driver of flatbed eighteen wheelers, and a home remodeler to name a few. My wife of forty-four years and I live on Lake Erie where our children and grandchildren are the center of our lives.

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Ogre: A Pit Bull Story

Ogre: A Pit Bull Story

Walt Conte

Copyright by Walt Conte 2013

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author or publisher. 

Permission to use the scripture quotations in Ogre: A Pit Bull Story, being less than one thousand verses, have been granted by the American Bible Society from the Contemporary English Version of the Bible (CEV) copyright 1995.

Cover design by the author. Illustrations in the deluxe edition of Ogre are by the author.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Conte, Walter R. Jr.

Ogre: A Pit Bull Story/Walter R. Conte Jr.

p.cm.

ISBN 978130115400

To my grandsons, Walter and Vincent

May you both lead lives of loving, caring and sharing.

May the world be better because you lived and were part of it.

OGRE: A Pit Bull Story

The Pup

Five puppies lay in a mound of fuzz, snuggling in each other’s warmth.  The smallest male was on the bottom, just waking up and deciding how to struggle from under the mass of his brothers and sisters.  Being the smallest, often called the runt in a litter of dogs, meant sometimes that the other pups would dominate, push the runt out of the way when it was time to feed, not allow  the runt to receive any attention when the other dogs in the litter could get in front of him or her.  Unless there was outside intervention, often the runt of the litter would not survive to adulthood.  At seven weeks of age, they were now weaned from their mother, lapping milk from a bowl and eating solid food.  They were of a mixed breed but mostly Border Collie. 

The farmer who owned the mother used the black and white female, Nellie, to herd his milk cows. Because she was such a good dog and had become a real part of the farm family, he decided to breed her to his neighbor’s Border Collie. That way he could continue to have her line for years to come by keeping a girl pup from each litter. The father of this litter was a champion sheep herding dog but very friendly with all people- not a usual trait of Border Collies.

This herding dog, often called a Border Collie, or in the past, Scotch Sheep Dog, would come to be considered the most intelligent and most trainable of all dog breeds. Descended from the animals that the Vikings used to herd reindeer, this thirty to forty-five pound, highly energetic dog could work all day. Used on cattle, sheep, reindeer, chickens, goats, it could herd any animal, even pigs. The Border Collie in decades to come would be used to sniff out drugs and bombs and often became a guide dog for the blind.  They were considered the geniuses of the dog world.

The little male finally pushed his way out from under the other pups. He stretched and trundled to the corner where he relieved himself. The rest of the litter were now awake and already tussling with one another.  The male bounded back to his brothers and sisters to join in the fun.  Although he was the smallest, his energy level was so high and his determination so great, none of the other pups could intimidate him.

The large pen the animals were contained in allowed the puppies a lot of room to play and play they did until all were exhausted. At that point the door to the room opened and the farmer entered with a large, dark haired stranger. Four of the pups bounded to the walls of the pen to greet the pair of humans but the smallest pup hung back, sitting on his haunches, just watching the two come forward.

They are all strong and healthy, a really good litter of pups,  the farmer said to the tall man beside him.  The stranger crouched down by the pen’s wooden wall and placed his hand into the mass of yipping collies, each one attempting to get the man’s attention by licking and nibbling on his fingers. He looked over at the pup still watching them from a distance.

Is that one sick?

Naw, like I said, they are all healthy. He’s just very reserved. The little fellow checks things out pretty carefully before he commits himself. Maybe a bit smaller than the rest of them but he’s goin to be a good one. And with pups, ya think one pup is the smallest in the litter but when they’re full grown, that one sometimes turns out ta be the biggest. Ya jest never know for sure.  Answered the farmer.

The large man moved away from the other puppies and sidled along the pen’s wall toward the pup who had not taken his eyes off him.  Three of the pups stayed by the farmer yelping for his attention, but one scampered along with the man.  He called to the sitting pup,  Come here boy,  and made clicking noises with his mouth and snapped his fingers.  The pup came forward steadily but not in a rush.  The other dog kept trying to get the man’s attention. When the smallest collie got to the pen’s wall, he sat and looked up at the man. The stranger put his hand down, palm away, and allowed the pup to sniff him. The little male then licked the man’s hand to see how he tasted. Not too bad, he decided and licked him again. The fellow scooped up the pup and held him to his face. Again the pup licked, this time on the stranger’s nose. That tasted better so he tried biting the big nose. The man laughed.

Well, Carl Yeck, I’ll take this one. I like his attitude, the fact that he just doesn’t plunge into anything without first checking it out…yet he is still friendly. I think he’ll make a good pet for my family.

Then he’s yours. I’m keeping one of the females, haven’t decided which one yet but all the males are going to be sold. Ya know this is a good litter, my neighbor’s dog, the father, is a champion sheep herder and my Nellie is no dummy either.  So your pup should have a lot of smarts.  Do you know about training dogs?

The stranger looked at the farmer for a minute before answering.  Carl, my people were farmers going back for generations and generations. My father did not have a farm as large as this but as a kid I worked with goats and pigs. I had a scrawny collie dog, not as good as these but he was very special to me. I will never forget him. Never.

The reverence in the big man’s voice, as he thought back on the memory of his childhood companion, was one more reason why the farmer respected this tall friend of his. He felt very sure his puppy would be going to a good home with someone who would treasure the animal.

How do you want to pay, check or cash?

Holding the puppy in one large hand, the fellow reached into a pocket and pulled out the agreed upon cash.

Thank you, Carl. I promise you, this pup will have a good home.

The man tucked the pup into his jacket, its head sticking out of the collar and moved from the room. The rest of the pups watched the humans leave, disappointed for a few seconds that one of them had not been chosen. Then they were back to tussling with each other- the now missing litter mate totally forgotten.

School

Phillip Sourwald rolled the saliva soaked piece of paper between his fingers and waited his moment. Any time now the teacher would face the blackboard with her back to the class and he could wing it. Being the class bully had many advantages. The boys around him would never tell that he threw the spitball. Everyone was afraid of him and he could do most anything he wanted and get away with it- as long as an adult didn’t see him do it.  If one of the kids in the class got up enough courage to rat on him then he would just deny, deny, deny.  His buddies would all swear that he did not do it and then later he would make sure the rat would pay for telling on him.  Yeah, it was great to be the bully.

The spitball bounced off of Tony’s head and dropped into the aisle between the desks. Tony pretended that it didn’t happen and didn’t even flinch when the second one hit him in the neck. If he didn’t acknowledge the spitballs, then maybe Phillip, three desks behind him and in the next row over, would begin shooting them at someone else.

So he slowly turned his head and made like he was looking out the window. Nothing was bothering him, he was cool, he didn’t even feel the spitballs because he was so cool. Then he really was looking out the window, were those snow flakes coming down? Yo. Was this going to be the first real snow of the year? Oh, man, Tony sure hoped so. 

A soft buzz went through the rest of the class as they too noticed the snow and attention was diverted from the lesson at hand to the windows.

Outside the drifting flakes became more and then still more until it was a real snow storm with the trees barely visible behind the white cloud. If you were in an airplane looking down on Tony’s school, the school was part of a town called Ambridge which was nestled onto the side of a long, long valley that was cut into the land by the powerful and ever flowing Ohio River.  All along that valley were towns that sprung up because of the coal and iron brought together by the easy transportation over the rivers and now combined by men who made  steel.  Steel that was used by America for its automobiles, refrigerators, washers, dryers, tanks, ships, airplanes and on and on, steel that made the United States the most powerful country on earth.  Ambridge was the combination of two words- American and Bridge. American Bridge was a huge factory that made steel structures for bridges like the San Francisco Bay Bridge and others as well as buildings like the Empire State Building in New York City.

Now the wind continued to pile the snow down the valley and against the steel mill town of Ambridge. It was the beginning of December and winter was late coming this year to Western Pennsylvania. Usually by now it would have snowed and melted and snowed and melted. Snow was fun when you were a kid, you went sledding and ice skating and built snow forts and fought huge snowball wars with your friends. The boys that hustled would have shoveled walks for their neighbors and accumulated a nice chunk of money for themselves. Or if you were born into Tony’s family the money went to buy Christmas presents for sisters or sometimes you gave it to your father to help the family. 

This was going to be the first real snow fall and the low buzz of excitement grew as the fifth graders whispered to their neighbors.  Now almost no one was paying attention to the math lesson.  Once Anthony Marsetti saw the white stuff rushing past the window panes, he never bothered to look again at his arithmetic lesson.  Anthony was a day dreamer...in fact, he was a great, magnificent day dreamer.  For him it was like switching the light knob that turned on or off the electricity.  One minute he would be staring at a math problem or the reading assignment, the next second he would be in a wonderful fantasy world.  It was a world much like the movies, the story books, and comic books he watched and read.  And of course, Tony was the hero of that world with his friends and enemies playing roles in those fantasies.  That lovely, tiny, Sandy Costanza with the long, dark brown hair sitting in front of him took the place of Becky in the book Tom Sawyer. Ahhh, he could see himself holding her hand, leaning over to kiss her. Then Tony, now as Sir Lancelot, the great knight in hard, shiny armor, was forced to protect Sandy from the villain, the slime ball, played by the class bully, Philip Sourwald. Or Tony was Robin Hood and Sandy was Lady Mariam, and naturally Philip Sourwald was the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.

But alas, in the real world, Philip Sourwald thrashed Tony and often made his school life miserable. But not in Anthony’s daydreams! There the tables were turned. Tony was top dog. He’d use judo to trounce the bully. Always the gentleman, Tony would turn the other cheek just like a good Christian was supposed to do. He would give the bully Philip every opportunity to mend his ways, but Philip never learned. Finally Tony would reach the breaking point, and very reluctantly would be forced, against his will, to teach Sourwald a lesson while the adoring Sandy stood on the sideline, cheering the magnificent Tony Marsetti.

Today Tony’s thoughts went from the anticipation of all he would do in the new snow to a more down to earth subject- his birthday! In two days! Sunday! What would he get? Plastic airplanes or tanks to build? A new sled? A really good baseball glove (his was a hand-me-down from his father and was coming apart)?  Or what he really wanted above all else...a dog, a real dog, a puppy to call his own.

Just then the harsh sound of Miss Beasly’s voice finally broke through his dreams. Suddenly Tony realized the whole class was staring at him, many with gleeful looks on their faces. Oh boy, Tony Marsetti was going to get it cause once again he was not paying attention! Tony knew that jug eared Philip Sourwald was laughing several desks behind him. The spit balls had stopped, the bully wouldn’t dare fire one at him with everyone watching, including the teacher. But that was small consolation when now Tony was the center of attention because he was caught daydreaming…again.

Well, at last, I believe I do have your attention Mr. Marsetti. Are you going to do what I told you to do? Did you even hear what I said?

No ma’am. Tony said in a barely audible voice.

What!! You are refusing to do what I said or are you saying you did not hear me? The teacher, Miss Beasley thundered. Students usually referred to her as Beastly Beasley. Of course, this was done well out of her hearing range.

Tony thought she would make a great drill instructor in the United States Marine Corps. Too bad she was a female. This line of thinking almost, but not quite, launched him into a new day dream with Beasley as the sergeant ordering him about the parade ground.

In a louder voice the boy tried again, I’m sorry Miss Beasley, but I did not quite catch what you asked me. Sandy Costanza was now looking at him, was that a look of sympathy for his plight on her face? He hoped it was.

Considering I asked you twice already, how is it that you didn’t quite catch what I said?

The whole class laughed.

You were daydreaming again, weren’t you?

Tony knew this was not really a question but the possible start of a lecture. A lecture aimed at the whole class but really aimed at him. So how could he stop her? Should he admit he was day dreaming?

Yes, Ma’am. I was looking out the windows thinking about how hard it must be to be a poor teacher with 26 students on a late Friday afternoon, with snow whomping down outside. It would be particularly tough because I’d know those 26 students couldn’t wait to get out in the snow and weren’t really paying attention to the lesson, even though I worked so hard and was such a good teacher. I also was imagining how worried I would be about driving home in the snow, especially since I hadn’t put snow tires on my car yet. That morning as Tony passed the school parking lot, he had noticed Miss Beasley still had summer ‘baldies’ on her old Plymouth sedan. In those days, cars had regular tires for the summer, spring, and fall but had to put on special heavy treaded tires or chains over the summer tires if the driver was going to make it on ice and snow.

The forty-five year old teacher frowned at the answering pupil. She replied with a stern voice that attempted, without complete success, to keep any humor absent from its tones. All right, that’s enough of your blarney, young man. You know your smooth talk doesn’t count for much with me. Come up and put word problem number six from the extra problem section on the board.

The extra problem section!  Yuck!  That was the part of the book that was for brains...it was a particularly hard part that usually teachers gave out for extra credit...and nobody bothered to get the extra credit unless they were brown nosers or their grades were so bad they needed the extra points.  Tony quickly read through number six.  He had no difficulty visualizing the problem and its solution.  He also knew most of the class would have trouble solving it.  Even better, Philip Sourwald didn’t stand a prayer of answering it…heck, he couldn’t come within even a whiff of the answer. 

Tony went to the board, raced through the multiplication and long division, jotted the final answer with the decimal point marked off and placed the right words beside the answer. Then he turned and looked at Miss Beasley, he couldn’t quite hide the smile of pride (and relief) from his face.

That is correct, Anthony. Very Good. You may sit down and in the future you WILL give me your undivided attention or you will be daydreaming after school in this room, by yourself! Do I make myself clear?

Yes, ma’am.

As the boy went back to his seat , Miss Beasley watched him walk down the aisle. She smiled sadly to herself. Such a good mind. He’s a nice, sweet, respectful boy. A bit smaller than some of the other boys but then he’s also a bit handsomer too. But I know how he’ll end up. Probably won’t get past high school. Nobody in his family ever went to college. He’ll work in one of the local steel mills. Probably never do much of anything. And what a shame with that fine mind of his.

As Tony passed Sandy, he gave her a quick wink.  She just looked away from him.  He was thinking but not quite sure there was a look of disgust on her face.  He sat down in defeat.  Several problems later a new spit ball bounced off the back of his head.  Turning quickly around, Tony saw Philip Sourwald looking at him with a grin of triumph.  The bully pushed his long sandy hair out of his eyes with one hand and held up the other with a spit ball between his fingers. 

Pay attention spaghetti head.  He hissed at Tony. 

The boys sitting near Philip grinned at their leader. 

Now why didn’t he just ignore the spit ball like he did before? Sourwald wouldn’t have had the opportunity then to gloat over getting Tony’s attention.

Tony turned back to his math book, his stomach churning. Man, I’d love to stomp that stupid look off his face. This thought started Tony onto a new daydream...

Philip Sourwald was a member of a karate school where 4th degree black belt, Anthony Marsetti was visiting for the first time.  He was there just to get a little practice and to see what kind of school the locals had.  The show off, Sourwald, had just finished breaking a pine wood board with his ‘knife edge’ hand while Tony was peacefully meditating in a far corner.

Hey, you!  You boy, what are you doing here?  The nasty student Phillip shouted at him. 

Tony slowly turned his head to stare at the loud, ill mannered boy. He watched him for a minute then looked over at the old teacher-master who was sitting on a raised platform. Finally, Tony started meditating again.

This angered the bully. I was talking to you! Don’t ignore me!! Master, did you see that? He has disrespected me! I demand a fight with him for my honor! How dare he ignore me!

Tony slowly stood up and with great dignity walked past the pine boards and over to a pile of cement blocks meant for the advanced karate students. Calmly, he placed four of the heavy slabs together. Then he rested the large mass between two separate stone blocks.  Next Tony stood facing the slabs and after staring at the stack for what seemed like minutes, he let loose with a piercing scream and struck the heap precisely in the center with the edge of his hand- quickly pulling it back from the slabs so that it looked as if his hand bounced off the concrete.  The blow was delivered with such great speed that Tony’s hand was barely visible though out the motion. The four slabs remained in exactly the same position as before Tony’s strike. 

Sourwald began to grin, then to chuckle, then he laughed uproariously.  The rest of the students joined their leader’s laughter.  Loudly they shouted insults at the small boy who just stood looking at them.  The only other quiet member of the school was the master.  From the raised platform, the sensei or master watched his pupils with a look of disquiet on his wrinkled face.  He stood up and raised his hands.  Quickly the students quieted, looking expectantly at their master.  The old man bowed formally to Tony and Tony bowed back.  Then with a slight grin on his face, the master nodded to Tony. 

Without turning to look at the pile of concrete blocks, Tony stomped his foot on the classroom’s wooden floor.  When the vibrations reached the cement blocks, they crumbled to the floor.  Each of the four blocks was broken precisely in the middle.  Again Tony bowed to the master...then he turned and calmly walked out of the building.

Sourwald hung his head in shame. Tony was pleased, real pleased.

The ringing of the school bell filtered through Tony’s daydream. No one dared leave their seats until Miss Beasley said, Class dismissed. She fiddled with some papers on her desk for a moment. Then she reminded the class to take their math books home and pointed to the math homework written on the blackboard. The class groaned. All right class, have a nice weekend. You are dismissed.

Within minutes the school yard was filled with laughing, shouting, running, falling, crying, youngsters. Snowballs flew everywhere. Tony involved himself in a battle with several of his friends. There were no sides chosen. Everyone blasted everyone. Soon, wet, cold snow was leaking down jackets, inside pants and shoes. As quickly as the battle had begun, it ended. The kids rushed home to change into snow clothes, grab sleds and head for Bunker’s Hill.

The hill was actually a road called Eighth Street but when it snowed no car could make it up or down the street with its very steep grade.  Not unless the driver had the courage of a fool.  Truly, the road had much in common with the famous hill near Boston.  In the American Revolution that hill cost the British many lives as they marched up its slope.  A journey on this modern road was almost as dangerous for a car unless it had steel chains wrapped around the tires for extra traction or had four wheel drive like a jeep from World War II.  But for the kids of the town, the road made a great  place for sledding. 

As Tony’s mind focused on the fun he would be having soon, sledding down Eighth Street, he completely forgot about the spit ball incident with Philip Sourwald. 

Unfortunately, Philip did not forget about him.

Tony moved quickly down the stairs outside and along the side of the school.  Then he took the path that opened onto his street.  Often he did not walk this way to his house because Philip and his friends took this way home.  But today Tony was in a hurry and this was the shortest route to his house. 

A snowball suddenly crashed into the back of his head, the cold, wet, slush caking on the back of his coat and shirt collar.  The boy turned just in time to see Philip gathering another hand-full to throw. 

Tony started to run but his way was immediately blocked by Billy Shieb, one of Philip’s favorite lackeys or suck-ups as Tony called him.  Well, actually he called him a suck-up only when Billy was far out of hearing range.  Billy quickly smacked him with a snowball in the chest.  Stooping, Tony grabbed snow and threw it at Billy, hitting on the top of his cap. Then Sourwald tackled him from behind and began stuffing snow down his jacket, laughing the whole time.

Maybe you oughtta pay more attention in school, Spaghetti Head.  This nice snow bath will help you remember that!  I just know it will! He shoved Tony’s face one final time in the snow, got off