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Illustration by Drew Shannon
I can’t say if it was love at first sight but her large, erect ears, her liquid brown eyes, her scrawny body and combination of bursting energy and shyness captured our hearts. That’s why we welcomed this rescue dog into our home.
My son had been working at an animal shelter and he talked to us about adopting one of the dogs. He wanted to know if we would support it since, as we all knew, my husband and I would be the prime caregivers, given the demands of his education.
Dixie had been found on a country road. She was extremely thin and showed signs of having had a litter of pups that were nowhere to be seen. Was she abandoned? Was she part of a puppy mill? How long had she been roaming? Was she simply lost? The last question was answered soon enough when no one came to the shelter to claim her.
We agreed to adopt this dog, relying on my son’s experience with her at the shelter and the next night she arrived. Dixie bounded into our home, racing from room to room, upstairs and down, sniffing every nook and cranny, a bundle of nervous energy.
We gave her a safe place to sleep, her own area for food and water and took her for long walks to establish a routine. Thankfully, Dixie was house-trained. We began to take note of her temperament, her behaviour and her quirks as she became more comfortable with her new surroundings.
She liked to sleep under something: a towel, a blanket, a sheet, as though in a tent. She had to have something in her mouth at all times – a ball, a toy – we still don’t know why. Mouse-hunting was a favourite past-time and I was ever watchful to steer her clear of ones that I spotted on our walks. She found joy in being able to run free and play with other dogs, the bigger the better.
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We wondered what kind of breed or mix she was. Dixie certainly had terrier characteristics and when she yawned, she had the unmistakable jaw of what I believed was a pit bull. But I kept that thought to myself, as I was not willing to accept this possibility. Her ears and the size of her body and colouring suggested to me she was a mix. We researched pit bulls and American Staffordshires (making a mental note that this was a different breed name I could use). We learned that there was no specific recognized “pit bull” breed but instead some characteristics shared by several bulldog and terrier breeds. Pit bull covers a range of features. However, at the end of the day, there was no mistaking that Dixie had these characteristics and features in her.
I am at an age when definite opinions have set in, latched on, dug deep. One opinion I had – after reading horror stories of dog attacks – was that pit bulls were innately aggressive and a danger to society. It was not their fault, I reasoned, they had been bred to fight. I applauded legislative bans, muzzles or whatever it took to remove this danger.
But there I was, trying to reconcile these beliefs with the lovable, timid, happy and mischievous animal who had wormed her way into my heart. This contradiction took some time to process.
At first, I was circumspect when people asked about Dixie’s breed. “I am not sure; she is a rescue,” I said at first. That progressed into, “she is some kind of mix with American Staffie.” Who was I kidding? What was I afraid of? When I ventured that she might have some pit bull in her, some neighbours recoiled: “A pit bull? Oh, dear!”
I was not alone in having some trepidation. The pit-bull reputation has found its way into our lexicon, as in: “she attacked her opponent like a pit bull” and I noticed a politician described as a “partisan pit bull” in the newspaper. In the dictionary, pit bull is an adjective described as “aggressive and tenacious.” Sadly, there are places in Canada where Dixie would be prohibited by legislation.
But I adored this animal! Dixie did not exhibit the nasty characteristics so widely publicized. The most difficult reality that I had to face was owning up to my obvious concern about “what people would think.”
I would never want to diminish the terrible physical and psychological effects, even traumas, people have suffered from dog attacks. I also acknowledge the cruelty pit bull-type dogs have faced when raised solely to take part in the blood sport of dogfighting.
What I have learned is that the broad brush I had used to paint pit bulls was ill-founded. Dixie and I have befriended many dogs and their owners who love her spirit, playfulness and, yes, friendliness. She has also taught me a lot about myself, my false assumptions, my biases and my misguided beliefs. And she exposed one of my human frailties: the need to be judged well by others.
Now I can say, unreservedly, I am a proud owner of this pit bull-type dog. I am indebted to her. There is no doubt Dixie has shown me that it is never too late to teach this old dog new tricks.
Leslie Shikaze lives in Calgary.
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