In the Pits

It was absolutely a bare cement day on Thursday.

People who know me know that I’m not terribly fond of people. I don’t dislike ALL people, just the species in general. I won’t waste a lot of space on disclaimers which include relatives, friends, the meek and down-trodden, and most children. (Not ALL children, mind you.)

I will usually tell you that animals are my first love as far as things that breathe and live on the earth.

Usually.

But I must say I’m not terribly fond of pit bulls right now. I don’t dislike ALL pit bulls, just the species in general.

My nephew Poncho is a Chihuahua/ Corgi mix. He has the eyes of wisdom and the patience of a saint. At the shelter, he took it upon himself to look after a poor little shitszu who’d been kicked in the head by a large, evil human. The little guy was on IV’s and had lost most of his teeth. He had a jaw full of pins and wires. Poncho never left his side. They were inseparable. That’s how both of them came to be adopted by my sister, thus becoming my nephews.

Poncho is a caregiver. He’s probably a 7 in numerology. If I knew his exact birth date I’d figure it out. He looks after the dogs my sister baby-sits for extra income. He stayed with my Dad until he passed away. He’s what you call a “good old dog.” He wouldn’t bite if his life depended on it. And he didn’t bite back when a pit bull decided it would be a good idea to kill him.

Now Poncho is recovering from a couple of deep neck punctures and a jaw full of pins and wires. He wasn’t anywhere near the pit bull, or that dog’s family. Poncho was on his leash, happily on his way to the park to take a pee.

Emotions run high when one experiences a sister covered in blood holding the sweetest dog on earth who’s in total shock. I’ve never seen such fear registered in an animal‘s eyes.

Many people are very fond of the pit bull breed. I know this. I don’t necessarily UNDERSTAND it. But I can tap into my empathy by drawing correlations.

I love Siamese cats. There are a lot of people out there who will tell you they hate Siamese cats because they believe all of them are mean. I’ve never had a mean one, but I don’t doubt they can be difficult. Still, I don’t recall hearing about Siamese cats killing children or a neighbor’s beloved pet. I might be wrong. I’ll Google it. But I don’t think I’ve seen the local news time and time again relay a story about killer Siamese, Yorkies, or lop-eared rabbits. There’s always a tearful owner after they take the dog away who looks at the camera and says, “He’s NEVER bitten anyone EVER. He’s always been the nicest dog. We’ve had him since he was a puppy!!”

That’s what the pit’s owner, who was genuinely concerned, said to my sister. He was devastated for Poncho. And she would never in a million years want his dog to be destroyed. I don’t want his dog to be destroyed. I’m just making an observation.

So I pissed off a few people on Facebook.

Before Facebook, one could get drunk and angry in the privacy of one’s own home and no one would be the wiser. Five years ago I would have killed a bottle of wine and called a friend to vent, or just pass out. Now, with Facebook, I can piss off a whole mess of people. And since I don’t particularly LIKE people, I don’t usually feel too sorry about it.

This is how it went down. A good friend wrote a post to ask everyone to pray for my sister’s dog because he was attacked by a pit bull. That was nice.

Then there were subsequent posts from a person I don’t know extolling the breeds' virtues. I got a little testy. You see, I didn’t particularly CARE to hear about how wonderful pit bulls REALLY are. I wanted to be angry for awhile. It wasn’t the time to get a lecture about those dogs. And it didn’t help that the person wrote entirely in abbreviations. Most people on Facebook tend to abbreviate much less when posting. It’s not as though you’re texting a quick message to someone’s phone. People actually write in sentences. So in my drunken state of mind I’m seeing a woman with no teeth and blue eye shadow perched on the tailgate of an old, rusty truck with her arm around a dirty, drooling, chained up dog. So I told her to get fucked. Her reply-

"dont say fuck u to me u have no right to say that shit thats bullshit u dont even know me and dont have the fucking right, i love all animals and i understand ur anger but u have no fucking right to disrespect me !!!!"
So it goes in the Facebook world.

It’s the same with certain breeds of people. I don’t particularly care for the fundamentalist kind. Fundamentalists from any religion, anywhere in the world, bother me. I’m not likely to be friends with one. Now, that’s not to say that a fundamentalist can’t be kind to his children, or courteous in a long line, or an excellent cook. I’m not saying that all right wing rabid tea-bagger Christians bomb Women’s clinics. That would be ludicrous. But when one does bomb a women’s clinic, I might feel a tad cranky about the morons at the side of the road the next day carrying picket signs of fetuses. That’s all I’m sayin.

There are just certain human sub-species, like pit bulls, that I’m uncomfortable around. Republicans, Scientologists, packs of teenaged boys that throw rocks at kittens, super feminine women in two-thousand dollar shoes with boob jobs, dentists, people who love guns, people who drive fast, professional football stars, people who boast a lot, etc. etc.

We all start out as puppies I suppose. Then life happens and we either become good old dogs or we might bite just because we want to hurt someone. Our personalities are not black and white. We all pee on the carpet from time to time, or make too much noise when silence is the more honorable choice. We are not usually predictable.

Even pigeons don’t belong in pigeon-holes. There isn’t much room to grow in there, and you can’t see the whole pigeon.

So I’m sorry I said fuck you, whoever you are.