What Dog Fighting means to me.

Jul 30, 2007 00:03

So I grew up, until I was 11, in the city of Detroit. I was born, raised, and schooled mostly in the city limits.
My first time witnessing the cruelty that man inflicts on animals, was dog fighting. Our neighbors did it, people in the parkways did it, there were pitbulls everywhere, my whole life growing up.
We saw them beat and put into trunks of cars.
We saw them hauled away in vans.
We saw them bleeding, scarred and ditched into parks to die.

Being who my mom is, she called the cops every single time. She cried, confronted the men who beat their dogs, and called the cops. After being threatened, and being confronted daily with ignorance and naivety by cops and offiicals, we moved out of Detroit because it was increasingly unsafe for us and our pets.

I didn't, and never will forget what I saw. Firsthand.

My work in animal rescue has been with all animals, however everytime GAAR took in a Staffordshire Terrier  (Pitt Bull) I felt that it was truly a miracle, because I knew exactly where they had come from or could end up again. Working with a rescue, I had to deal daily with people's misconceptions of these innocent animals. Even families wanting to rescue an abused or neglected animal wouldn't come close to a Pitt. Shania was the first Pitt I worked with closely. People looking for an animal would say that Shania was scary, unpredictable just not trust worthy. Shania had come from a horrible abusive environment, but our group had had her for years, trying to find the perfect home for her, and she'd never shown the slightest aggression to us. It became a chore to find fosters for her, because not even other members of our group wanted her around their dogs - not because of actual evidence of her aggression, but because of her face. We never gave up on her, and eventually after two and a half years, found her a perfect home - far far away from the inner city of Detroit.





Shania.

I remember during Pet-A-Palooza last year, Sandy, Ginette and I spent the night in a hotel near the event overnight, and we had Shania with us. All she wanted to do the entire time was snuggle up next to us in bed and play. This dog showed us all the miracle of love and rehabilitation. Sure, it took years and a lot of love and affection to show Shania that not all men desired to fight or beat her, but in the end all she needed was a warm bed and a warm heart that would look away from the statistics, misconceptions and pre-judgements.

When I joined the group, my first friend was Ginette, a vegetarian who I instantly bonded with. At the time, she was the group hero because she'd just adopted one of the most heart-breaking cases. Late one night in the dead of winter, our founders son John had been driving down a free-way in Detroit with his friends and noticed a pathetic, scared, on the edge of death animal that had been stabbed over 20 times and dumped to die. This dog was a pitt-bull mix. His face was bleeding severely, he had what looked like burn marks all over him, his ears were clipped, and he wasn't fixed. This was the typical scenario for a dog who has lost a fight. John scooped him off of the road and into the car, not hesitating for a second, and even though he was bleeding, freezing and scared, he was not aggressive. Ginette would adopt this dog soon after fostering him, and she would name him Champ. He now lives with three other huge dogs in a small house in Wayne Michigan. He lives with two little girls, Ginette and her boyfriend. He has never bitten or hurt anyone. He loves to play, snuggle, sleep in bed with his family, and enjoys life everyday because of Ginette's open heart and mind.



Champ on the right.

The latest personal case for me, and the one that's closest to my heart, is not the case of a dog who was used in dog fighting, but one that was very close to ending up there. When my ex-boyfriend and I broke up last year, I went to stay with my mom for a couple of weeks while figuring things out. She lives in a mobile home community on the border of Romulus and Inkster. Most of the people who live around her are elderly, single parents or families with very low incomes. The family across from her consists of two parents who are 23 and 25. They have three kids, ranging from 2 to 6. They're usually out of work, and when they do have work, it's usually waitressing or contract jobs. This family owned a pitt-bull. When my mom first became close to them, they had just gotten the dog from a guy who beat it, so my mom called me and bragged about how these people had done the right thing and rescued him. He was a puppy, a small brown Pitt bull/rottie mix. They named him Bubba. This was about a year before I would come and meet him for the first time.

The first time I met Bubba, he was chained up to a wooden pole driven right into their trailer floor. He was chained so closely to the pole that he could not even stand up or turn around. He was muzzled by his mouth to the ground. As soon as I walked into the door, He tried hard to greet me, wagging his tail frantically and moving his face around. I saw him, and tears welled up in my eyes. My mom was babysitting for their kids at the time, so there was chaos in the background, my mom looked at me for help. She said they'd started tying him up because he would rip up their carpet. I told them it was because he never got to go outside or have any fun, it was natural for him to look for things to do when he hardly ever gets off the chain. My mom said she'd told them about me working for animal rescues and tried to convince them it was the right thing to do to give him up. I knew it wouldn't work.

While my mom tried to get the kids to calm down in the other room, I knelt down next to Bubba, I put my arms around him and I looked into his eyes. I promised him that I would get him out of there, I promised him I would save his life. That day I left to go back to my mom's while she continued to babysit. I didn't want to call the cops because I knew he'd be taken and euthanized. I didn't know what to do. I had no place to take him or foster him at this time, so I spent some time writing up letters to try to convince his owners to educate themselves or treat him better. That night, after my mom came home, she said that after I left she'd unchained up and let him roam around the trailer, she said he got really excited so she put him in one of the bedrooms and closed the door. My mom's pretty feeble and ill so she couldn't chase him around. An hour later, she went back to check on him and he'd destroyed an entire peice of their wall. His owners came home, relinqished her from babysitting and she apologized for letting him off. She thought it was the only thing she could do for him and now he would pay the price. That night I sat on the porch trying to get an internet connection to work, and what I heard, I will never forget. I heard Bubba screaming, I heard him being hit, him crying out, and a man yelling at him continuously for almost ten minutes. I sat shocked for a few minutes, not believing what I could be hearing. It wasn't until I actually rescued him, that my mom admitted that the next day, Bubba had blood all over his head from the night before.

I tried for almost a year to convince these people to give him up. I said that he was a financial burden, I told them that chaining a dog like this could lead to his aggression and instability, and that he might injure one of their kids. They would not give him up. They insisted that they loved him, that their kids loved him, and that they had made changes to improve his life. My mom conceeded that they'd been letting him outside more (always on a lead), and that sometimes he wasn't muzzled.

Working with rescue had taught me that finding a home for an abused pitt bull isn't easy. Infact it's mostly impossible. Not even most rescues want to take in abused pitt, because they're years of work, and it's hard to rehab them. Not every rescue has the resources to foster an animal for years, and others don't want to try, knowing that one animal is taking the space of others who could be more easily adopted. Most humane societies automatically put pit bulls down. I just read that the statistcs are that 70% of shelters in the US won't even try to adopt them out. I was hopeless, I waited it out. My mom watched him carefully and confronted them about the way they treated him regularly, she's said that they hadn't beat him since that last time.

About two months ago, almost a full year after the incident, I finally got the call I'd been waiting for. My mom called me frantically and said the mobile home landlord had come over to them and told them to get the dog off of the property by the next morning or else he was sending animal control to seize him. My friend Josh and I rushed over to get him. The family was upset, all of the kids crying. I assured them that nothing bad would ever happen to Bubba, again. Bubba sat on the grass, and as soon as he saw me, I'd like to think he remembered my promise. He'd waited so patiently. They took his muzzle off to eat, and I saw the scars around his mouth that would never heal - He was completely missing fur in a circular pattern around his mouth. He was jumping and playing and eager to get in the car with us. The family said their goodbyes, and gave me a choke collar that they'd one used on him and a bunch of rusty chains they said I could use to chain him, they also gave me a dirty bucket of food (Which I would later find mold in). The father of the family insured me, "He's a good dog, He'll listen, when he acts up, just call him a dumbass, he knows that."

I threw away the chains, the choke collar and the food as soon as I'd found the mold. It was no wonder why he wasn't eating it. He was on the verge of being emaciated, his bones sticking out, and his hip which had been injured by the previous family this family had "rescued" him from, was still injured and you could tell because he ran funny. A girl from my animal rights group brought us a huge back of vegetarian dog food for him, and another guy from our group bought us a tie out so that way he could stay in the backyard with us. After a night on the lead, I let him off to run around the yard, I think it was his very first time ever being off of a chain or lead. The night we got him, we let him come into Josh's house and sleep upstairs with us, and he did. He was wonderful. No accidents, no aggression, no bad behavior. You could literally stick your hand in his mouth while he ate. He just wanted love and attention. When I would leave his side to go into the house and use the bathroom or make more phone calls, he'd bark at me to come back. He fell in love with me just as much as I did him.

I desperately called rescues. No one would take him. Not one single rescue wanted to give him a chance. Some even advised me that the only thing I could do for him was to take him to a shelter and let him be put down. I would hang up with them and look into this dogs eyes. There was no way I could let that happen. Not after I promised him a better life.

Joey and Jessica came over, and brought their dog Chandler, a small German Shephard/Beagle mix. He was at least 100 pounds lighter than Bubba, and yet he dominated every playtime situation. Bubba had passed every single behavior test I'd given him, and yet no one would give him a second chance.

The reason I work in rescue, is to give these animals, ones that have been beaten and used, a new chance at life. I couldn't desert this dog's life because of his breed. I couldn't.

Throughout the three days with Bubba, I'd posted numerous posts and bulletins on myspace about him. I'd only gotten one call, and it was from a girl who's friend was looking for a dog. They drove an hour to come see Bubba, and from the moment they started talking to me, I knew these people were genuine and understood Bubba, his plight in this world and just how badly he needed that second chance. He went home with him that day, and since then he's been nuetered, had his shots, and is now due for surgery on Monday at MSU's vet hospital to get his hip replaced.

I kept my promise. Thanks to a few people who truly understand life on this earth, second chances, and compassion.

So everyone wants to talk to me about Michael Vick. What I think about him and if I'm going to be involved in the PETA protests when I leave. I hope that I am. What Michael Vick has done is a tragedy, a horrifying reality, and a sliver of hope - that dog fighters can be caught, brought to justice and punished. What Michael Vick did is not rare, it happens in the cities of Detroit, only 5 miles from my home, in Chicago, in the south. And it's being glorified by hip-hop and the very people with the most influence in urban cities. This is yet another up-hill battle for animal rights activists, but now it's at least one with media attention. Hopefully Michael Vick will serve as a true example of punishment as well.

The dogs I've written about all had one common theme, people or sometimes one person who truly puts their heart on the line for their lives. Millions of dogs a year don't have that. Only through education, spaying/nuetering, and fostering with rescues, can we change the climate for injured, neglected and abused pitt bulls in this country.

Anyone who has visited a humane society, a shelter or used petfinder can see that the majority of dogs are pitt bulls, or pitt bull mixes. These dogs are stereotyped so badly that most will reach euthanasia before ever being looked at by an interested onlooker. These animals will die by hands they don't recognize, on cold steel slabs in shelters hearing other animals crying and barking in the distance, the smell of death and sickness al around them.

These animals die because of people like Michael Vick, people you know, and sometimes even you yourself. Is your dog spayed or nuetered? Do your neighbors plan on breeding your dog and you can't wait to see the puppies? Do you know of friends who breed Pitt bulls or even fight them? Did you buy your dog from a breeder?

If anything, Michael Vick is bringing this cruelty to light so that every single person can now be a witness to what is happening around them. I hope that people in Detroit watch the news and recognize the kennels in his multi-million dollar backyard as the same ones in their low income neighboorhood. I hope that someone who reads this decides they want to foster a pitt bull or even become involved in direct animal rescue.

There's a misonception that we "crazy animal rights activists" only advocate for farm animals or lab animals or fur animals. Really, we're also out on the front lines battling everyday cruelty as well. Unchaining dogs, bringing them cold water in the summer and hay in the winter, dealing with the tragedy of humanity and its effect on other living things, everyday.

Saving lives, making a difference, is easy.
Find a shelter or rescue in your area, using www.petfinder.com.
Volunteer. Raise funds. Educate.

All violence on this earth is inter-connected.
All peace on this earth is as well.
You chose which one you want to advocate.

There are millions of lives relying on yours.

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