We work with pit bulls.
And some people will never be okay with that. And that's something myself and each of the honorable people with whom I work has chosen to accept.
One some days I am acutely aware that we work with pit bulls. Someone will tell me to get a useful hobby, a volunteer will relay to me a story of a rude encounter, I'll receive 10 emails from people trying to offload their "problems" onto me.
But, most of the time, I forget.
Because most of the time it is so irrelevant what breed or type of dog these poor, forgotten creatures are that there is no choice but to forget.
When I hold a tiny puppy in my arms and comfort her while she shakes because she's so very sick, I forget.
When we chose to euthanize Bear because he was suffering from the late stages of distemper, I forgot.
When I slept nights with my phone in my hand while Kirby was fighting for his life, I forgot.
When I fall asleep on the couch with a furry head snoring away quietly next to mine, I forget.
When I look into the eyes of the shelter dogs and force myself to choose just one, knowing most of the ones I leave behind will not make it out, I forget.
When I see a dog first crippled with fear wag his tail for the very first time, I forget.
When I watch a family hop in their car and drive away with a dog I knew so well for so many weeks, I forget.
In the grand scheme of things, when looking back at all those years of paramount moments, it really doesn't matter that we work with pit bulls because that in no way changed those experiences.
And so, we forget.
Life is so much more profound than arbitrary and ridiculous labels. Life is a struggle. Life is painful. Life takes courage. I have watched countless dogs choose that struggle, feel that pain, have that courage. And I cannot imagine that this journey feels any different for a pit bull than it does for any other forgotten dog.
We work with pit bulls, probably. But we are really in the business of compassion. The business of healing. The business of love. We work with love.
