RIP: Daddy The Pit Bull

Reader, I promise there is a new, non dog related post coming up very shortly, but before then I'd like to take some time and pay tribute to Daddy The Pit Bull who passed away on February 19th, 2010.

Daddy: The World's Pit Bull

I don't check e-mail over the weekend and I barely even browse the internet (it helps me keep my sanity by "unplugging" myself from the interweaving series of tubes that I love so much), so when I woke up Monday morning and read that Daddy the Pit Bull (from Cesar Millan's National Geographic Channel show Dog Whisperer) had passed away on February 19th the news was more or less a shock. Not a life changing, mind altering type of shock that caused me to sob uncontrollably while reassessing my place in this world, but the sort of quiet, calm shock that could only be reasonably expressed with a deep sigh and a shake of the head. "That's terrible," I whispered to myself in a vain attempt not to wake up my girlfriend, but she heard me anyway and asked me what happened. "Daddy died," I said. "Ooh, I'm sorry, baby. That stinks," was her pitch-perfect response before she rolled over and caught a few more minutes of shut-eye. My dog, Vinnie, was lying at the love of my life's feet, somehow taking up more space in the bed than I did the night before. I looked over at him, he looked up at me and I slid over to where he as laying and gave him a big hug and said, "don't you do that to me until I'm ready, buddy." He snorted, laid back down and slept until it was time for him to go outside.

My first impression of Daddy was that of a dog who would "mess you up," and not of the calm-submissive, perfect four legged friend that was actually on display week in and week out. I didn't know the intricacies of "dog speak" as well as I do now, so it was impossible for me to see anything but a giant, lumbering, block headed Pit Bull that was preternaturally blessed with a perfect demeanor. Six seasons of devoted fandom and several books later, I know now that Daddy was much, much more than a dog. He was an ambassador for the canine kingdom, but especially for one of the most ill reputed dogs in the entire world. Obviously, I'm referring to Pit Bulls and their heinous portrayal as vicious, man-eaters. While the pictures of Pit Bulls engaged in dog fights are horrifying, as are the images of people who have come into contact with the rare, wild and aggressive Pit, that doesn't mean the entire breed should be condemned as "second class canine citizens."

Daddy, with his amazing personality and slow, confident swagger had the ability to light up any room he sauntered in to, and after a while, and once the show's popularity began to sky rocket, it seemed as if the owners who contacted Cesar Millan for help with their dogs really just wanted to see Daddy. I don't blame them at all. Daddy was a force unto himself and rightly deserved the fan base he's accumulated over the years, because it's rare to see any dog act so perfectly. But, from personal experience with several Pit Bulls in my neighborhood - all of which have owners that put in a lot of time and effort with their dogs to balance them properly - I know that the great majority of Pit Bulls have the same confident self-awareness and calm presence that Daddy put on display week in and week out as Cesar's right hand "man."

Daddy never so much as growled at a dog that showed signs of aggression towards him, instead he would remove himself from the instability and wander around happily until the unstable pooch he was tasked to help calmed down, got into the right mindset and was ready to be a dog again. Then Daddy would work his magic, and it was always breathtaking to see a dog that could so easily intimidate the average human act like a meek, lovable pussycat in their presence - even, more remarkably, if they were nervous- because Daddy never seemed to mind. He always seemed to be looking up with those big eyes as if to say, "hey, man it's fine, I get it, I'll be here when you need me," and he was always their when he was needed. Whether it was rearing his protege Junior into another benevolent ambassador, or helping Cesar show other dogs what it means to be perfectly balanced and happy; Daddy always showed up, did his job and made the entire world forget he happens to come from a breed of dogs that is constantly and unjustly vilified for being people-aggressive. Which was his ultimate job and one which he did splendidly.

I don't have it in me to be long winded and overly explanatory, but if you want to read a great treatise on the mistreatment of Pit Bulls you can head over to Gladwell.com and read the brilliant article "Troublemakers: What Pit Bulls Can Teach Us About Profiling," by my favorite non-fiction writer, Malcolm Gladwell. It really sums up -perfectly- my feelings about Pit Bulls and other dogs that have been incorrectly labeled as "people aggressive," so, there you go. You're welcome.

In closing, let me extend my heartfelt thanks to Daddy for showing all of us what it means to be a truly balanced dog, and my condolences to the Millan family. I know what they are going through must be very difficult since Daddy has been with them so long and lived so closely with them. You are all in my thoughts, and again, thank you Daddy and Cesar for being such positive role models and helping to change the world one dog at a time.

Daddy and his protege, Junior. Perfect as always.


So long, Daddy. You will be missed.

Vinnie

If I seem a little dog crazy lately that's because I am. It's almost impossible not to be when you have a dog and you invest even the slightest amount of time and energy into fulfilling the relationship between you and your four-legged friend. Especially, since dogs live in the moment and the moment alone, when the reward is almost immediate and the accompanying sensation can often times be an overwhelming flood of pride and joy mixed together. While Vinnie, my girlfriend and I are on our daily walks together sometimes all it takes is a quick glance in his direction to see his smiling, determined face to know that she and I are doing everything we can to balance his existence and that he, in turn, has become much more than a pet to the both of us.

Aww...

I often wonder if I hadn't broken down and started watching The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan that fateful, hungover day with my roommates if I ever would have started thinking about owning my own dog. I'd thought about it, sure, but that didn't mean I was ready to own a dog let alone care for it properly and help it lead a balanced life. And, up until a few years ago, the only dog I would've considered owning would have been an English Bull Dog that I would have named Maximus; I would've adorned him with a spiked collar, sunglasses and a ripped muscle t-shirt and the two of us would have spent our afternoons together drinking beer, watching television, napping, eating potato chips and sitting on the front porch telling stories about the good old days when men were men and dogs were allowed to run for public office. Those fantasies quickly faded away as the ideal of the "lazy, couch potato" bull dog was quickly dispelled by more than a few episodes of The Dog Whisperer that dealt with bull dogs that were in the "red zone" state of either obsession or aggression. It didn't scare me that these dogs would go ballistic at the sight of a skateboard, basketball or obese man trying to ride a tractor, but it did shake me awake to the fact that hundreds of years of breeding for "bully tendencies" would not go away because I made my dog wear an ironic t-shirt. I knew, deep down, that if I owned my English Bull Dog before I was absolutely ready to own one I would hurt him more than help him; even though they can be a lazy breed, and they can be the ideal couch potato dog, I didn't trust myself to engender those characteristics in a dog just then. So, as is per usual, I focused my attention on focusing my attention towards something else and not a particular breed of dog that happened to aesthetically please me. (All of this, is in big part to listening to and absorbing the things that Cesar Millan teaches us every week on the National Geographic Channel) I stopped focusing on things like appearance and reputation and started focusing on energy.I waited for years before I knew I was ready to own a dog, and because I shifted my thinking away from a specific type of dog, I was free to go out into the local shelters in search of any dog that matched my energy; which is how I came to own Vinnie.

The first day I saw Vinnie at Lollypop Farm ( a fantastic animal shelter based in Fairport, NY) I passed him by. Another dog - a Great Pyrenees named Winnie - caught the attention of myself and my girlfriend because she looked like a polar bear, was laid back and very friendly towards us and anyone else that stopped by her kennel. Vinnie, on the other hand, just laid there looking miserable and wouldn't even respond when I crouched down to introduce myself to him; he wouldn't even look up at us. The love of my life and I were in a rush to get to a family party, but thought we had time to do a meet and greet with Winnie to see if she might be a match for us; however, the shelter was incredibly busy and all the handlers were off doing other pre-adoption counseling so we ran out of time and had to leave. As we were driving to my sister's house for a birthday dinner I fully expected to arrive at the shelter the following day to adopt Winnie and take her home. Still, the image of Vinnie laying in his kennel, looking sad, sore and out of sorts stuck with me and I couldn't get over his immense, natural beauty. "I think that husky was the best looking dog I've ever seen," I casually remarked as we drove away from Lollypop Farm.

The next morning I showed up at the shelter without my girlfriend (this much has gotten me into so much hot water I won't even get into the details about it, needless to say, men of the world, never adopt or buy a dog without the express -possibly written- consent of your loved one, it only leads to arguments and tension between you, I, for one, learned my lesson very harshly and still feel bad for excluding my saint of girlfriend from the decision making process thinking a "surprise" would be the way to go; learn from my mistake, reader) and, without even looking at other dogs, went right to the adoption counter and asked if I could visit with Winnie. "She was adopted this morning, but there are a lot of other, great dogs available that you can take home today," the very nice lady whose name I can remember informed me. I shrugged my shoulders, said "thank you," and went about walking aimlessly through the glass enclosed viewing/kennel areas of the shelter. I was not, in any way shape or form, ready for what happened when I made my way into the area where they were keeping Vinnie.

He was still there, in the same, miserable position I had left him in the day before and I wondered whether or not anyone had walked him recently. As I approached his kennel I said nothing and moved confidently without feeling bad for his plight and crouched down next to him without reaching out to pet him. I stayed like that for a few minutes, patiently waiting for him to react to me being in his space. The other dogs in his area were gradually quieting down - before they were going crazy, barking and yapping and jumping up against their kennels - and I made sure to wait until each dog in the room was, if not calm, than actively submitting to my presence (just like Cesar would do, I thought). Sure enough as soon as the room was ready and waiting, Vinnie picked his head up and looked at me. I looked at him. He stood up, wagged his tail and licked my hand in a very calm but alert way, and then he walked over to his water bowl to get a drink before coming back over to me for a little more attention. We spent a good five minutes there silently communicating back and forth before I stood up and went to the adoption desk to sign up for a meeting with what would be my future dog.

The second Vinnie entered the meeting room he was a totally different dog. I made sure to practice "no touch, no talk, no eye contact" while Vinnie sniffed out the room and, eventually, made his way over to me to say hello. He was limping around because he had spent so much time lying on his right hip that it had gotten sore, but I didn't let this bother me, and I knew if he walked it out a little more he would be fine. Sure enough, in a minute or two the limp was gone and Vinnie was sitting between myself and the two ladies who served as my adoption advisers waiting to see what would happen next. "He has a bit of a history," one lady told me wryly, "and he's scheduled to be put down this afternoon," she continued and at this point I perked up and said, "what do you mean?" She went on to explain that he and his old pack member - a 4 year old St. Bernard - were playing with a 3 week old Labrador puppy that one of the neighbors had brought over; which was a mistake. [*ATTENTION FUTURE DOG OWNERS - you should never, ever, ever buy a dog from a breeder that is willing to give it to you before it is, at a minimum, 8 weeks old. It's incredibly important for, among other things, their social and physical development! Puppies don't even open their eyes until they are about 2 weeks old, and any respectable breeder would never let her puppies go until they are, at least, 2 months old!* ] Anyway, the playing got out of hand between the two much larger dogs and the innocent little puppy, and without getting into the gory details, the St. Bernard accidentally killed the Lab while they were wrestling. Vinnie, in no way a completely innocent bystander in the whole situation mind you, was carted off with the St. Bernard as the aforementioned neighbors threatened legal action if the dogs weren't "taken care of." I stared directly at the shelter volunteers who were visibly tense around Vinnie and said, "eh, that's not a problem, but where's the St. Bernard?" I wasn't planning on adopting both, but I wanted to know how Vinnie's old pack member was doing, hoping I could get a read on his energy as well, the volunteers looked at me and said "he's getting prepped as we speak." Moments later, before I would walk Vinnie for the first time around Lollypop Farm's outdoor play area, I saw this poor, lumbering, beautiful dog walking the green mile to oblivion and my heart sank.

Here's the thing, future dog owners and pack leaders, you absolutely cannot let something like that sway your decision making process when you are about to adopt a dog. Whether they are brand new to the shelter or hours away from certain death should not alter your path at all. So, as hard as it was for me to block that image from my mind, I did my best to focus on the present while ignoring the emotions that were bubbling up inside me. I took a deep breath, cleared my head, attached the leash to Vinnie's collar and away we went, walking side by side for what would be the first of many, many times. It was an instant connection unlike anything I've ever felt with a dog before. Vinnie stayed on my side, rarely pulled and reacted when I corrected him, but he wasn't all sugar and spice and everything nice. He is, after all, a working dog with a tremendous amount of energy; which became obvious moments later when the leash was off and we started to play. I'd never seen a dog run like he ran and it was a gorgeous, edifying moment in my life, because as soon as I saw him running I knew he was my dog. It's one of those things that can't be explained, and I'm sure Cesar would agree that he felt an almost instant connection with both Daddy and Junior, but even the almighty Dog Whisperer can't account for the mystical moment when you know a dog is yours. It just happens and it's astounding the effect it has on a person mentally and physically. You just feel everything change around you. It really is magic.

Two hours later we were home together. I walked Vinnie around the neighborhood to get him used to the scents and sounds and after wards I went out to work in the backyard and Vinnie kept me company. My girlfriend got home, we argued and fought and I felt like a jerk for a while after, but eventually she came to love Vinnie as much, if not more than, I do. Now, almost a year and a half later the three of us are a very functional pack and I couldn't imagine living without him. Dogs are like that. You never really know what life is like until you try to live it with a dog. They have this uncanny ability to reflect your spirit. If I am in a bad mood, Vinnie is unruly. If I am frustrated, Vinnie is a jerk. If I am rushing around the house, late for work, Vinnie goes bananas and, usually, will knock down the gate blocking him from the kitchen the second we leave the house. However, flip that all around and the opposite is true. If I'm in a good mood, Vinnie is happy. If I am confident, calm and content, Vinnie is the same. If I take my time getting ready for work and go about my routine without rushing, Vinnie remains calm and usually sleeps until it's time to let him out for his morning bathroom break. It's truly remarkable that in order for me to be self aware all I need to do is look at my dog and see what emotional state is being reflected back at me. This has helped me immeasurably in my day to day life as it's allowed me to be much, much more in touch with what's going on inside my head.

This reflection tells me it's either time for a nap, or there is a piece of bacon on the window sill he doesn't want me to notice.

In closing: dogs are damn near perfect and can change your life for the better or for the worse depending on what you are willing to do to make sure they live a happy, healthy and balanced life. If you're wondering whether or not you're doing right by your furry best friend, all you have to do is pay attention to what he/she is telling you. Dogs are always communicating with us - even though we may not know it - and they pick up on everything we do, especially the energy and emotions were are projecting, so, if you're lucky enough to have a happy, healthy and balanced dog, the chances are you are a happy, healthy and balanced human! It's pretty much that simple, and so is your dog.

Inkie, Alex and Vinnie

When I was in second grade the neighbors across the street from my house - an incredibly nice, brilliant, Indian family whose patriarch and matriarch were both warm, kindhearted doctors, and whose sons were geniuses of the highest level - adopted a black lab puppy named Inkie that instantaneously took a shine to me and my dog at the time, Alex (an epileptic American Cocker Spaniel). Specifically, Inkie loved my shoes and would follow me around until she had the opportunity to bowl me over, pin me down and tear off one of my slip-ons, sneakers, sandals or whatever my chosen footwear for the day would be. If I was by myself Inkie had no problem whatsoever obtaining a brand new chew toy from off my very foot, but if Alex (a much smaller dog even when Inkie was only a puppy) was with me it was a different story altogether.

If I was alone, Inkie would find me in the middle of a field on my way back from building another fort in the woods or as I was walking home from my neighbors house down the street, and as soon as she saw me she would sprint towards me as fast as she could. When I was in range she would leap up and knock me down. While she was hovering over me she would sometimes sit on my chest while she tried to take my shoe from me, but other times it was just a quick "snatch and run" attack and the shoe would be gone before I knew what happened. I lost 4 good pairs of shoes to that dog and at least 5 others were chewed up and given back but were still wearable.

If my dog was with me, Inkie would see us from her spot underneath a pine tree atop the hill across the street from my house and slowly make her way towards both of us. Her head would be down, her tail would be low and slowly wagging back and forth and her tongue would loll gently out of her smiling mouth as she sauntered over to say hello. Alex, despite his obvious lack of size, never bristled at her appearance, never growled at her, barred his teeth or even so much as barked. They would greet each other the way dogs do (nose-to-butt-and-back-again), and after a few seconds Inkie would fall in line behind Alex and myself and the three of us would be off to play ball in the larger part of my yard. Alex in front, me in the middle and Inkie in the back.

As the two dogs played the Labrador Retriever would consistently give the ball to my epileptic Cocker Spaniel. If Alex so much as looked in Inkies' general direction, my furry neighborhood nemesis would move away from the ball immediately and Alex would pluck it up and sprint back to me. I noticed this little "glitch" in Inkie's behavior, so the next time I was walking through the field towards my house and saw Inkie charging toward me I would desperately call for my dog to come out and defend me; which he did, each and every time it happened until Inkie lost all desire to chase me down and drag away my docksiders. I didn't know then what I know now, but my old buddy the epileptic Alex was in fact a calm-assertive pack leader who didn't take much guff from anything, especially this upstart young pup who needed to be taught some manners.

Flash forward to 2004 and I'm sitting in the living room of the house I was renting with two of my friends after a night of drinking that would be considered criminal in 38 states, and we're watching this little Mexican guy named Cesar Millan on the National Geographic Channel "rehabilitate dogs and train people" and a light bulb went off in my head. "That's what Alex was doing!" I exclaimed loudly to my hungover and confused roommates who had no idea what I was talking about. "My old dog, Alex, he used to do that to my neighbors dog whenever it tried to knock me down and take one of my shoes," they looked like they were starting to get it, so I continued, "Alex would knock Inkie down to the ground just like Cesar does and wouldn't move until the other dog relaxed." I looked at their faces and saw what I can only describe as an ecstatic look of confirmation that all the time they had spent watching the Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan had not been wasted on a fairy tale world where dogs could be easily corrected by a look, or a noise (tssst is now my favorite word) or a gentle touch in the right place. "That's freaking great," my roommate Mike said as Cesar rolled an especially aggressive Pit Bull named Emily onto her side, "did it look just like that?" "No," I said, "Alex was a dog."

To watch Mr. Millan with dogs is what it must have been like to watch Picasso paint or to listen to Mozart play the piano, because he does it so effortlessly that it's almost impossible to comprehend how much is actually going on, and I always suspected there was much more happening in front of me than I was able to understand. It took a brilliant article by genius writer Malcolm Gladwell called "What The Dog Saw" from the May 22, 2006 issue of The New Yorker to open my eyes to what was actually going on. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, Mr. Millan exudes leadership on such a primal and poetic level that dogs almost have no choice but to happily follow him around, and the amazing thing, and the thing that always startles me no matter how often it happens, even the dogs that fight him the hardest seem to love him the most when their dance together comes to an end. It's truly beautiful to see, but something I hope I never have to experience first hand with my own dog.

Watching the show now, I'm sickened by the state of affairs in the pet world. A lot of owners, even those that claim to watch the show religiously, have no clue what they are doing and rationalize their behavior away as if it never existed in the first place. I can't say I'm the patron saint of dog owners, but I can say that I care enough about my dog to give him the most balanced life I can. Vinnie, my dog, and I are buddies for sure, but I work hard to establish my leadership role each and every day, and so, to her credit, does my wonderful girlfriend who walks him like a freaking pro, much better than I do.

I wish I could devote 4 hours a day to walking Vinnie, but that's unrealistic and would lead to me being out of work and destitute. To make up for it we bought him a backpack which we make heavy with weights so he can work off more energy while getting a good mental work out and tending to the nature of his breed (Siberian Husky) by making him feel as if he is doing a job. The walks last around an hour and cover just under 3 miles of territory, and my girlfriend and I try to make it "100% perfect" for the entire time we're out with him. We have our bumps, though, and every once in a while Vinnie starts to act up; which, thanks to watching Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan, we are able to identify as something we are doing incorrectly by not meeting one of his needs.

Luckily, Vinnie isn't an aggressive dog by nature, but he does get bored which could lead to problems, so even when it's time for a treat we try to challenge him as much as possible with a stuffed Kong or bone that he has to think about while he eats. I love my dog and he deserves the best life he can possibly have, and despite the "flaws" that I have which are projected onto him, I know that deep down I am doing a good job and that my girlfriend and I have a good dog that loves, appreciates and respects us as his pack leaders. Our pack isn't as large or tight knit as Mr. Millans', and Vinnie is no Daddy, Junior or Mr. President, but he is my best non-human friend and after having him more than a year now I can't imagine my life without him. Thankfully he is in perfect health, has a fantastic temperament and there are very few things we have to actively work to correct, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I wish more owners would take the time to not just watch Cesar work his magic, but to take the heart the example he sets and use that "magic" to their benefit. There is nothing better than a well-behaved, well-balanced dog to give you that unconditional love and respect that so many of us crave, but don't receive from the people in our lives, and those of us that are lucky enough have it both ways (like me, sorry, world) it's a blessing that can't be denied.



The more I think of the times Inkie stole my shoes the more I have to come to terms with the fact that it was all my fault from the very beginning, because I never corrected her (neither did her owners, mind you) or even made an attempt to stop her from dominating me; which is what she was doing. It took a tiny, little, epileptic dog to get her off my case and subsequently position himself as the leader of the Jimbolaya pack. As time went on Inkie, Alex and I spent a lot more time together trekking through the woods, playing in the snow, walking the trails near my house and, basically, doing what young boys and dogs do. When the three of us were together I'd always come home with a few scrapes here or there from getting stuck by a pricker bush and Alex would be covered in mud and burrs and Inkie would trot home happy, hungry and exhausted, but things do change.

I was growing up and growing away from Alex as I became more interested in talking to my friends than hanging out with my dog, and Inkie, sadly was getting flat out neglected by her owners who just didn't have the time or patience to take care of her, and, I suspect, didn't want a dog in the first. It wasn't long before Inkie became the "neighborhood dog" that depended on the kindness of her neighbors and their dogs to give her the life support she desperately needed, and Alex played a huge part in that. He would help her find mice in the fields and would run and play with her when she was out and about with us, and when it came time for Alex to come inside and sleep for the night, he always did so nearby the door so he could listen for his friend; on more than one occasion I woke up to see Alex sleeping on his bed in the mudroom of our house while Inkie slept pressed against the door on our deck directly opposite of him. It was heart warming and touching and nobody seemed to mind, but things change.

Alex's epilepsy became too much for my family to handle after one afternoon when he tumbled down the stairs to our basement and very easily could have broken several bones or worse, luckily my sister's friend's father was a vet who made an emergency stop at our house in a matter of minutes and helped us right the ship. My mother had the unfortunate job of spending the most time with Alex, feeding him, grooming him and the like and just couldn't take the added stress and worry as his condition became an issue, so she found a family willing to take him in and, with very little protest from me, handed him over on a cloudy Friday afternoon while I was at a friend's home playing football. She told me, when I got home, "that no boy should see his dog being given away," and that was that.

The next morning, patrolling the grounds by the deck in our backyard was Inkie looking for her buddy to come out and play as they had done so many times before over the years. She waited and waited, pacing back and forth the entire time until I came out of the house to say hello and let her know the bad news. She was sitting down as I approached barely able to contain her excitement, her tail wagging happily. I knelt down in front of her, patted her head and with tears starting up in my eyes I tried my best to tell her that her friend had left and wouldn't be coming back, but the words didn't mean much. My energy told her everything she needed to know. The two of us sat there for a time before she trotted off alone.