Poor T-Dog

This is Tucker, also known as Fucker, our sweet little 9-month-old pit bull mix pup that we officially adopted in April. He was part of a litter of 7 pups who were brought in to the Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter at 8 weeks old in January. They were going to be put to sleep because shelter policy has it that, no matter how old or young or cute or harmless, a pit bull cannot be adopted out to the public. It can, however, be released to an approved pit bull rescue organization . . . and guess who got suckered into getting these pups out alive!

Here's the first picture I was sent of the poor pathetic crew. See our little T-Dog top and center, taking what he perceives to be his appropriate place in the world--on top of the pile.



No one ever adopted Tucker, and we had him for months. One day in March, a very nice man and his wife finally applied for Tucker, were approved for adoption, and fell in love with him. Till they took him home and spent four days with him. Tucker revealed to them that he's part pit bull, part Satan's spawn, and they returned him to me. So, I thought, why fight it? I adopted the little bastard and he's been my shadow ever since.

Since Doc has come into our lives, though, poor Fucker has found himself thrust into a world of confusion. The Lady (me) no longer dotes on him hand and foot, letting him into the backyard, out of the backyard, into the backyard, out of the backyard every five minutes. She doesn't accidentally drop her breakfast crumbs on the floor around his nose so he doesn't have to move very far to lick them up. And no matter how hard he tries to will her to do so, the Lady does not spend hours following him around picking up the trails of fuzz left from his recently eviscerated stuffed toys.

No, now that the Great White Whale has come to live with us, the Lady is running herself ragged trying to tire out Moby Doc, who loves to flop himself around on the flirtpole in the backyard. Then the lady must drag 3 dogs--first old lady Reba, then Tucker, then Doc--out for tiring individual walks so they can piss on every pole and sniff for cat crap in the grass. Then she must feed, crate, and rotate all the dogs over and over and over again, till she finally falls into bed exhausted.

"This is stressful," Tucker says. "I can't watch the lady run herself into the ground like this anymore. It's so stressful, in fact, I pissed on the floor last night to make myself feel better. Twice."

Whaddya do with a dog like this?

Everyone talks about why they love pit bulls.

"I love their tenacity and their drive."

"They're so athletic."

"They are just so incredibly intense and game to perform any task you put them to. They never give up till the job is complete."

"Pit bulls are so bold and energetic and intense."

Problem is that all these people don't seem to actually want a pit bull that embodies all of these qualities they're always describing. Some of the things that make pit bull ownership so rewarding--intensity, boldness, athleticism, intellingence--are the things that create the greatest ownership challenges. An intelligent dog gets bored and into trouble easily. An athletic dog needs a ton of exercise. A dog with strong drive will probably have a strong prey drive and may try to chase/catch/kill cats and bunnies and other furry things that run fast.

So it's hard for me to tell a bunch of really nice dog-loving people that, despite the fact that they can provide love and shelter and all that, they can't adopt Doc. He's a pit bull, not a lab. He's not going to be able to go to the dog park with you because . . . well, he's a pit bull and pit bulls are just not good candidates for dog parks. He's not going to cuddle with your cat--this isn't a Walt Disney movie, it's a high-energy, driven dog. He's not going to be content with a couple of walks through the neighborhood every day. Try 2 briskly paces miles in the morning and another 2 in the evening, and then a half hour of hard play with the flirt pole, then maybe more later after he's had dinner.

I hear people all the time saying that they want to adopt a pit bull. But I really am starting to think that they say that because they just don't really know what a true pit bull is.

Wish I could tap into the world of real pit bull folks who know and understand the breed. They aren't exactly coming out of the woodwork to adopt poor Doc. Sad, really, because Doc was one of theirs before he was one of ours. He was a stud dog in Alabama, a breeder's dog, before he landed in a shelter, then rescue.

Poor guy.

Day 4--Doc doesn't sleep in

Generally my routine has been to get up around 7 to walk/play/exercise my dogs for a couple of hours before work. When Doc came here, I shifted the wake up time to about 6:15 to make extra time for play and exercise of a third dog . . . one that can't mingle with my other dogs.

Today is Saturday, and I don't have to work, so I thought I'd try to fool Doc into sleeping an hour late. I kept him up an extra hour last night, went to bed and set the alarm for 7. But he woke me up at 6:30, barking his fool head off.

Boo hoo, I miss my extra hour of sleep in the morning!

Now he's sitting out in the yard in the sun, while I sit on the back porch. He looks pretty damn content. Brat.

First real post . . . About Doc

This is Doc. He's 60 pounds of muscular, quirky, slobbery, nervous energy. He came to stay with me, my boyfriend, and my two dogs on Aug. 8 after his owner returned him to rescue because he was changing jobs and expecting a baby. It sucks for Doc, and it sucks for those of us who worked to place Doc in a good home because none of us were prepared to have to find a place for him to stay, more than a year after we had adopted him out. But what can you do? It's not like we could let the dog end up in a shelter. So I took him in, and he's living with me for the time being.

His first 24 hours here were tough . . . He was a ball of stress and nothing we could do for him made him feel relaxed.

But it's been a few days now and he's chilled out a lot; he's starting to show his goofy, weird, pit bull side. Not 5 minutes ago, he came racing into the room, dove onto the throw rug, went sliding into the wall, then tucked his rear end in and zoomed up and down the stairs.

Ah, life with pit bulls. Never a quiet moment.