Pit Bull: For Love of the Breed

By Michael Francis

These stories are true. They are for dog lovers of all
breeds. Some are reconstructed from conversations with
the actual participants, others from my own experience. I
do not promote or condone dog fi ghting but neither do I
tolerate the continual stream of deliberate misinformation
and blatant lies from the news media and government
agencies. I love these remarkable dogs and will continue
to own them as long as I am able.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483684321

Michael Francis

Michael Francis is an Australian born author who lives in Brooklyn, New York. He has written two books - Positively Pazzo: Learning Italian and Travels in Italy and Yards and Stripes: A Funny Book About Work, Business and Gardening. He hopes to return to Italy several times and write a series of books.  

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Michael Francis.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013914747

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4836-8431-4

   Ebook   978-1-4836-8432-1

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 and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 08/14/2013

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CONTENTS

1.   Dooley Dog And The Deacon

2.   The Stunt Dog Demonstration

3.   Black Lester

4.   Rahj

5.   Repair And Maintenance Of The American Pit Bull Terrier

6.   The Dogfighter

7.   Lonesome Farewell

8.   Fighting Peter And A Few Others That Have Passed

9.   My Last Rant

Dedicated To The American Pit Bull Terrier.

Remembered Fondly And With Respect

PIT BULL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For Robyn Bennett, much more than a friend over the years, and always a steadfast champion of the dogs.

To My son Ryan, a shining star in and out of the the show ring.

For all the fine folk in the dogs, and in the show ring. I remember you fondly. Long may you run.

To Rob and Debbie O’Byrne @ www.ebook-editor.com

Rob for finding and correcting my mistakes, of which there were many.

Deb for her patience. In spite of my help she still managed to produce two fine covers.

DOOLEY DOG AND THE DEACON

Southern California is home to many breeders of fine dogs. Exceptional animals have migrated from the west coast to make their presence known throughout the United States. Indeed, our remarkable Californian canines have graced the soil of many a foreign shore. That isn’t to say that good dogs aren’t whelped elsewhere, it just seems that a great concentration of above-average animals reside in this sunny state.

Of course, fine dog will mean different things to many people. Never was the quote one man’s junk is another man’s inventory more appropriate than when comparing dogs. My definition of fine dog is a 50-pound male, well muscled but not yet down to weight. This story centers around other dogs, and another fine dog description is more fitting to our tale. Robyn, my long-time lady and partner loves the dog shows. Her first interest has always been the show ring. As much as anything, I believe she delights in the people, camaraderie and the opportunity to compete on an even footing with the best our country has to offer. It was after the sudden death of my old dog, Bully, that an opportunity to acquire two excellent Pit Bull pups presented itself.

Both were honey colored with black face markings. Out of the two, the bitch was my favorite. The selection was scant, but this little girl would attract attention in any company. The male was remarkable for his size, dwarfing his sister. I was reminded of a sausage well stuffed, sprouting short stumpy legs.

My intent was to obtain two dogs for Robyn—animals with winning potential that she would undoubtedly take to the top. They arrived in our yard at nine weeks of age. Robyn now had two pups; fine show-quality animals to be proud of. All was well with the animals. Overfed pups were plump and happy in their new surroundings. Robby had such grand visions of chubby, well-mannered dogs strolling haughtily around the show ring.

Before these sweetly improbable images became reality, the dogs had to grow to maturity. In recent years, show folk have gravitated towards large dogs. Wide, heavy-set animals are the norm, weighing comfortably between sixty and eighty pounds. These mighty creatures are bred for large heads and wide chests. Most sport ear crops. Appearance and color is everything; gameness and ability are unknown concepts. It was into this questionable arena that Robyn intended to compete with her new pups.

There are many special qualities only infants possess. I believe the most pleasing is that, with a pup, one never really knows what the outcome will be. Pedigree and reputation are guidelines only. Many surprises await the anxious owner. As our pups grew, each embraced a unique and remarkable personality.

DOOLEY

Dooley the bitch was truly championship material and, for conformation purposes, the best in our yard. Here was a delightful animal. Wide, low, with a pleasing appearance and blessed with a charming, agreeable personality. The dog’s face was her fortune. With short muzzle and a slightly lippy mouth, her expression was absolutely serious. It was the demeanor of an animal staring into the great void and held no compromise or humor. So intense was her expression that many times I was hard pressed to refrain from laughing out loud.

As both offspring grew to maturity, they acquired unusual habits and behavioral anomalies that we were never able to understand. In doing so they unwittingly supplied sufficient material for this story.

Adolescence sat well with the dogs. All had grown into fine representatives of the Pit Bull breed. At about six month of age, Dooley embarked upon a terrifying career that was to earn her an unfortunate nickname—The Shredder.

Our dogs were routinely released from their runs two times every day.

Each animal was allowed into the house for about twenty minutes. At this time they were fed; then they would undergo much pampering, petting and grooming.

During these social interludes, runs were cleaned and water vessels replenished. Morning before leaving for work and evening upon returning were the times chosen for these sessions.

Before long, our arrival and departure routinely highlighted the opening and closing of each doggy day.

Our bulldogs reached a pitch of excitement upon release and, two times every day, would heartily greet us before racing around the yard. It was at these daily junctures that Dooley would practice her evil doing.

One summer’s morning about six-thirty I heard a scream from the garden. Peering from the kitchen door, I beheld a wondrous sight. Robyn, at first glance, had acquired a huge brown leach that dangled hideously from the middle of her tee shirt. Closer inspection revealed that it was Dooley silently swinging like a furry pendulum. Ignoring my suggestion to stop fooling with the dogs and get dressed for work, Robyn yelled at me to remove the wretched creature.

At first I was reluctant to disturb the fascinating scene before me, but Robby’s vocabulary was deteriorating to an unacceptable level. I shouted at Dooley, commanding her in a stern voice to let go. Cuffing her upon the top of the head and shouting proved to be as ineffectual as my verbal entreaties. Pulling the freely swinging rear legs went unnoticed, but caused a loud tearing sound from the shirt. A last, despairing cuff upon that terrible head simply caused the eyes to close and ears to fold. No release was forthcoming.

Robyn knelt on the lawn, hoping the feel of substance beneath her dog’s feet would entice it to unclamp. That was a foolish mistake.

Dooley now had sufficient traction available at all four corners to seriously pull the shirt, instead of simply hanging. Robyn pitched forward as Dooley heaved upon the garment.

Accompanied by a huge ripping noise, the little dog was at last able to flee from the scene, clutching sad remnants of a once-proud tee shirt.

For several days, morning and evening, this strange pantomime was re-enacted. Dooley would leap upon the hapless Robyn, seizing any loose garment above the waist. Suffering all manner of verbal abuse and buffeted by slaps and pinches, this canine crocodile with ears flattened and eyes tightly closed would lock down. Swinging silently, our little limpet would hang on until either the garment tore or she could be removed with a breaking stick.

Various distractions were introduced. Thick rope and old leather belts were offered as decoys. Shouting, thrashings with rolled-up newspapers, and the offer of cookies or biscuits were all to no effect.

Where was