Don't Pity a Pit; Adopt One

Life always gives you what you need, and sometimes it'll give you what you specifically wish for too.

Maripat, who I had done the Millie transport for a few months ago, called me about fostering a pit bull she wanted to pull from the Camarillo Shelter.  However, the morning I was supposed to pick her up, Maripat said to hold off as Lillie, the black pocket pit (a short pit bull mix), had some health issues they were looking into.

When Lillie was assessed a week prior, Maripat's people had seen a few little bald spots on her, and advised the shelter that she might need to be tested to make sure it wasn't mange.  That request was only fulfilled the day before, and there was a chance that if it was mange, it could be the contagious kind--the kind contagious to even people.  It could take over a week to get the results back, and as much as Maripat didn't want to spend money on medical boarding, she didn't want to put her fosters at risk, and she didn't think the shelter would hold Lillie that long before euthanizing her.

While all this was going on, I had seen Maripat's list of the seven pits she wanted save from Camarillo on the Yahoo groups.  I scrolled through and one picture, which looked to be taken at 3:00AM, piqued my interested.  Maripat named the brindle and white pit who sat regally tied to a fence in this night shot, Fiona.  Her poise, something in her eyes (even though she had dog red eye (which appears to be blue-eye)), made me really wish I could foster her.

 

Lo and behold, two days later Maripat called to tell me Lillie would be put into medical boarding, and asked if I could take another of the pits she thought might be put down any minute:  Fiona.

See: wishes do come true.

I made the drive to Camarillo (50 miles) to meet up with Maripat's fellow rescuer, Kathleen.  She was springing Lillie and driving her to the vet's, and signing off on Fiona's paperwork so I could take her home.  The drive there wasn't so bad, given that it was three hours before a major storm was scheduled to hit, and five hours before holiday weekend traffic would really begin.

I arrived before the shelter opened at 3:00, and was surprised to see people already there. What a fantastic shelter!  People actually lining up to adopt dogs!  Oh wait.  No, I'm sorry.  They're all here to adopt one dog in particular: a purebred Golden Retriever.

When the doors opened, I watched the fate of one dog's life be determined by a lottery.  Raffle tickets given to all interested parties, and then an animal control officer pulling out a number.  And as the losers walked away, it saddened me that none of them considered looking at any other animal that day.  A few weeks ago, forty-two (that's 42) pit bulls were put to death for lack of anyone wanting to adopt them; but this Goldie had six people who wanted her, only because of her breed.  When I look at the dog who sits beside me now, still seeking her home, I wish all those people knew the joy they're missing by not giving a mutt a chance.

An hour in line, and another forty minutes waiting for my newest houseguest, I watched the skies, hoping that I could outrun the storm eastward when I finally got to get back into my truck and drive the fifty miles home.

I did not get a chance to meet Lillie; Kathleen was still waiting when Fiona busted out through the doors, a compact yet powerful bundle of brindle pit bull excitement.  She was even more gorgeous in person than her picture showed, and that personality that shown through in that midnight picture was here in stark brightness, even under the cloudy skies.

Fiona had come in as a stray, so there was no background on her at all.  But she was beautiful, six or seven months old, and as I've gotten to know here these past few days, the more I'm beginning to think she really was once someone's dog.

She took to the car ride just fine... after she and I battled out who would be in the driver's seat.  She sat in the passenger seat, but the moment I opened the driver's side door, she leapt onto my seat and refused to leave.  Even me practically sitting on top of her, did not deter her from claiming this seat as her own, as if she was playing a life or death game of musical chairs.  She tried licking my face to get me to move, pushing me with her front paws, and eventually our little silly scuffle led to me inadvertently lean on the car horn.  It was not a graceful beginning.

Once I got her over into the passenger seat, (I could not believe she was only forty pounds; she felt like eighty), she leaned over the console and rested her head against my shoulder, staring up at me with her beautiful amber eyes.  How could anyone not love this dog?!?!

Two hours later, in the driving rain, we arrived back at my place.  Not knowing if she was housebroken, and remembering that once Hannah peed on a spot, that was forever her spot, I wanted Fiona to pee outside before going in.  One hour later, and sopping wet from the rain, I had to give up.  She was shivering, and giving me the look of, "If this is how you're going to be, just take me back to the shelter."  So we went in for an evening of me carefully studying her every move, and each time she appeared to squat, bringing her outside yet again.

The skies cleared up some, but it was close to 40 degrees at midnight when I finally sent my wish into the universe to please, oh please, just please pee, Fiona.  I was tired, but there was no way this girl was going to make it through the night without an accident.  She had already gone eight hours without so much a tinkle.

At 12:20, my wish was granted.  Pee and poop, and Fiona wondering why I was so darn excited about it.  The one good thing about the experience was I learned that she can, if needed, hold it for eight hours.

In all my studying of her, I realized "Fiona" just wasn't her name.  It's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl, but when I looked into her eyes, the words, "Your name's Tia, isn't it?" came out of my mouth.  She hadn't been responding to Fiona anyway, and when I shortened it to "Fe," is sounded like I was yelling at her to "pee."  So Fiona became Tia.

Tia is a fun, tough, teenager.  She is still a puppy, and I don't know who had more fun: her playing with the toys, or me watching her play with the toys.  She loves fetch, but can play on her own as well, flipping the toy around and dive-bombing into the dogbed or pillow on the couch.  She's high energy, and I'm looking forward to clear skies so I can take her hiking with me.

She is also a snuggle-bug, as most pits are.  They're nicknamed "kiss-bulls" for a reason.  Samone had very little desire to sit on my lap, and yet Tia here will get as much of her body on my lap as possible.  That first night she scooched herself up the bed until she could rest her head on my shoulder and snore in my face.   And again, I do have to wonder how all dogs know exactly where they shouldn't be.  I'm beginning to believe they think, "Oh, look at this nice blanket with the pawprints on it.  I shouldn't lie on that; I might make it dirty."

 

Pits have no personal space.  There is no "us" and "them."  And even though she has powerful jaws, she is the most gentle player.  She even seems to understand, "Drop it," when she returns with a toy for me to throw.  The 2 for $5 Petco toys are only proving to be cheap, as she's not destroying them but the seams are coming undone.  Not bad, given the aftermath of Pit Bull + Tennis Ball has been in the past.

Tia is a special soul.  At times, I see her as a Therapy Dog, as she has such a great love for people.  However, if she is to be successful at that, she needs to control her excitement when meeting people.  She tries so hard, sitting down when they approach her, but then the joy overtakes her and she springs up like Tigger.  Other times, as she races around the apartment, flipping toys and bouncing off dogbeds, I think she deserves an agility yard.

I don't know which way her life will lead, if either of those paths.  One thing is for certain though: she deserves a special best friend, one who appreciates her intelligence and humor; her high energy and her snuggly, snoring sleep time.  She's supposed to be on the next transport to a rescue in Eugene, Oregon, but I told Maripat that maybe she can find a home here in LA.  She turns heads when we walk down the street (it sure isn't me people are looking at), and I know the more she and I get out there, the more people there will be that fall in love with her.

Admittedly though, the first sunny morning I took her for a walk, and other people were out walking their dogs, the reality of dog racism (or breedism I guess), hit me.  I forgot what it's like to walk down the street and have people cross a block away, just to avoid a pit bull.  That's the thing about this breed: you either love them or hate them.  But the hate, for the most part, comes from ignorance and fear.  For those who get close enough to see Tia's smile and the white tip of her tail whipping back and forth in a frantic wag to greet them get the reward of meeting a fine soul who makes them smile.  And for those who avoid her, well, I pity them.