The pit falls and potential positives of labeling a rescued "pit bull"

I recently stumbled across a post on happypitbull.com that talked about the general nature of the term "pit bull" in today's world. The post was dead on, but got me thinking about the liberal use of the term in shelter and rescue environments and its impact on these dogs, the "pit bull" term itself, and breed legislation.

I believe a breed label is marginally useful no matter what breed we may be labeling. I wholeheartedly believe that every dog is an individual, and that, particularly in adult dogs, breed itself is far less relevant and consistent than people may believe -- especially when looking at behaviors relevant to potential adopters (tolerance with children, sociability, activity level,  for example). In the abstract, any individual dog of any breed may thrive in any one particular environment.

At the government shelters I work with, each dog is labeled by predominant "breed," something I take issue with, although I certainly am not alone. A shelter volunteer at Pima Animal Care Center in Tucson, AZ, has expressed concern over the shelter's labeling practices -- concern that has been ignored by her superiors, who continue to label just about anything a "pit bull mix." Such munificent labeling certainly is inappropriate.

Perhaps such labeling simply follows a public trend to know the breed they own. Petfinder.com, adoptapet.com, and rescueme.org require a dog to be labeled a specific breed -- preferably two -- and, although "mixed breed" is an option, it does not attract hits. People seem to like "breeds," and I want to get my dogs adopted. So I label.

All these dogs were labeled "pit bulls" by shelters from which we pull.

Historically, shelters simply labeled dogs of uncertain ancestry as "mixed breeds" or "mongrels," and adopters chose a dog based on the physical and personality characteristics they appreciated. This seems, in theory and devoid of context, wise. But, we live in a world where your dog legally can be taken from you and killed if an arbitrary actor sees fit to label him/her a "pit bull." Is it really fair to surprise adopters in this fashion simply because we hate what the label has come to mean?

At a seminar for rescue workers I recently attended, we were told never to guess or make assumptions about a dog's past or a dog's present preferences, and simply to list the facts: what we'd observed, what background information may have been given or confirmed. Ideally, this also should be the case with breed descriptors.

When a dog is labeled a "pit bull," the dog often is automatically stripped of its individuality -- even by reputable pit bull rescues. Some, for example, will not adopt "pit bulls" into homes with dogs of the same gender as pit bulls have a greater propensity to aggress toward other dogs. But many "pit bulls" likely have no ancestry tied to a particular breed. All "pit bull" rescues want to set their dogs up for success. How do we make sense of and balance these complications?

Unfortunately, even for a rescue like my own, where we know the pit falls of labeling, it is hard not to label. Indeed, the label is often in the name of the rescue itself, something I struggled with when choosing a moniker. Ultimately, I decided I wanted my organization to be readily identified as a safe harbor for any dog unfortunate enough to be labeled a "pit bull" by a shelter, as, really, all those dogs, no matter their breed, are that much less likely to find their way into loving homes. Tough Love Pit Bull Rescue does not assist American Pit Bull Terriers or American Staffordshire Terriers. We assist the dogs in greatest need of help. And these dogs are pit bulls.

The "pit bull" is a very popular type of dog in America. Imagine how many "shepherds" or "retrievers" or "spaniels" there would be if we grouped all distinct breeds and their mixes into one generalized category like we've done with pit bulls. It is not surprising then, that "pit bulls" make up the bulk of dogs killed at many shelters, or appear more frequently as the actors in bite incidents (yes, I know this is a loaded statement, but for simplicity's sake, let's assume media bias is irrelevant). Last week a shelter employee told my co-director that a full 50 of the dogs at their facility (which houses 300 dogs at capacity) were "pit bulls." That's a lot of pit bulls.

The problems with labeling "pit bulls" in shelters are twofold (1) As discussed above, "pit bulls" are much less likely to be adopted than other "breeds" and (2) liberal labeling of mixed-breed dogs as "pit bulls" leaves these dogs susceptible to breed discriminatory legislation and gives BDL proponents an argument to expand the definition of a "pit bull" legally. We certainly do not want to give teeth to any discriminatory movement by handing them a very large, very general conglomeration of "pit bulls" that they now must control. So, really, is the problem with such generic labeling simply an issue of attached social implications?

In the long run, though, I think the "pit bull" generalization will backfire on BDL proponents and prove legally useful in contesting BDL. That is, if the term is used as liberally as it is, it eventually will lose all appreciable meaning or significance. It will no longer be solely attached to the American Pit Bull Terrier or American Staffordshire Terrier, or any other breed with a history of baiting or fighting (a point courts continue to cling to). If this were to happen, there would be no viable legal argument that a "pit bull" is distinct from other dogs based on a set of historic and present-day characteristics.

So, I posit this: Is it possible for the "pit bull" label to be dually helpful and detrimental?

At the end of the day, at least here at Tough Love, a "pit bull" is still a dog and will always be treated as an individual. So, even if every dog of every breed were labeled a "pit bull," it wouldn't change how we interact with our rescues. Thus, concerning our interactions with individual dogs, the label matters only when we allow it to matter.

And when dealing with everyone else, perhaps the solution is not to discourage labeling, but to educate and to transform the label into something different than it is today -- something positive.

Foster Mom Christina tells Duke's Story

One Friday night, Brian was headed out to pick up some takeout. A few seconds after he walked out the door I got a phone call saying, "Honey, there's a dog outside the house." I went out front and there was Duke lapping up sprinkler water in our front yard. He was skinny, didn't have a collar, and had a patch of fur scratched off his face. We fed him and brought him into our backyard and he perked up right away. 

Duke, soon after we rescued him 

Duke is all puppy - he'll sleep for a few hours then want to play. He loves to run around with other dogs - one of his favorites is a young female across the street. They will run around together as long as you let them. He loves rawhide bones, dental bones, stuffed animals, floppy toys that he can shake around, and pretty much anything that makes noise - including empty water bottles and soda cans! He likes tug-of-war, but hasn't figured out how to fetch yet. He loves to play in the sprinklers, but is not a big fan of baths! 

Duke and Duchess with Christina

Since he has been in our house we have taught him to sit on command and how to walk on a leash. He has also gotten all his vaccinations and been neutered. He still needs help learning more doggie manners since he's just a big rambunctious pup. He's a quick learner though!Duke is a big lover. He loves to sit in laps and will climb into bed with you if you let him. He gives lots of kisses - especially on faces and toes.

Some of Duke's famous kisses!

Duke also knows how to use his doggie door to go potty and he is crate trained. We put him in his crate when we aren't home and at night. The only time that he fusses in his crate is if he hasn't gotten enough attention during the day or he has to potty.

I think Duke would do well either as the only pet or in a household with other animals. He is not dog aggressive and loves to play. Ultimately the most important thing to me is that he find a forever home with a family that will give him lots of love! I think his sweet face and disposition would be a positive addition to any home.

Duke today! Still looking for that perfect forever home!

What Harry Potter Can Teach Us About Dogs

Oh yes, I did go there...! After a decade-long relationship with Harry Potter, I admit I’m not quite ready to let go. As I’ve aged along with Harry and his friends, my interests have developed and I can’t help but notice that JK Rowling’s commentary applies to so many facets of life. Also, I really like metaphors because I'm a huge nerd at heart. As you’ve probably figured out by now, I’ve become involved with dog rescue and welfare issues. Even here, I can apply Rowling’s lessons. Here’s what I think the Harry Potter series can teach us about man’s best friend.

1. Pure blood does not always correlate with aptitude.

Snobs like the Malfoy family gauge the worth of their friends and family members on their ability to track their lineage via old wizarding blood lines. But some of the most competent wizards in the series are muggle-born – Hermione Granger and Lily Potter come to mind – or are half bloods  – Severus Snape and Dean Thomas fit the bill here.  As Sirius points out, wizards had to marry muggles, or they’d die out – the gene pool simply wasn’t diverse enough to support a growing population without inbreeding. And, in the wizarding world, inbreeding can lead to pretty big problems – just ask the Gaunts.

No offense to whippet fans, but I see a definite resemblance...

2. Big black dogs get a bad rap

An omen of death in the wizarding world, only the highly logical Hermione was quick to scoff at the idea that a big, black dog was one of the worst things a wizard could hope to encounter. As it turns out, the spectral dog that haunted Harry through much of the Prisoner of Azkaban was none other than his soon-redeemed godfather and best friend of his dad. Turns out, black dogs can be good news and faithful guardians.

To fear or revere...judge by personality not color 

3. A tough exterior can house the biggest heart

Let’s face it: Hagrid is the pit bull of the Harry Potter world. He’s brawny, he’s misunderstood, and he’s got a heart of gold if you bother to give him a chance. Hagrid’s highly sensitive to human approval – remember how long he hid out in his hut after Rita Skeeter published that nasty article about him? Raise your voice at a pit bull and watch his goofy smile slide right off his face and dissolve into a look of utter shame. Although Hagrid might be a bit unorthodox, he is the symbol of loyalty throughout the series, with Dumbledore entrusting him with critical errands and information.

If Hagrid were a dog, he'd totally be brindle...

Of course, Hagrid’s part giant, and heaven forbid you be even part giant, because, as Ron explains, “they’re not very nice.” And although there’s nothing wrong with Hagrid, and once you meet him you’ll figure that out quickly, Hagrid isn’t exactly keen to have his heritage scrutinized before he’s even given a chance to prove it wrong. Turns out Hagrid’s brother, Grawp, a full-blooded giant, can be a pretty stand up fellow as well, if you’ve earned his loyalties.

4. If you get bitten, it was probably your fault 

In the Harry Potter series, you’re liable to get bitten by animals, plants, and objects that would qualify as inanimate in the muggle world. As Malfoy found out the hard way, failing to follow proper procedures when dealing with non-human critters can earn you a trip to the hospital wing. But, even in the wizarding world, the law seems to use some sort of strict liability scheme for animal bites, and an animal caught up in a legal battle generally is blamed for acting exactly how an animal should behave, and poor Buckbeak was sentenced to death for scratching up Malfoy’s arm.

5. Indifference and neglect can cause as much damage as abuse

Hermione was first to point out a sentiment later echoed by Albus Dumbledore himself – treating non-human creatures like objects, starving them of affection and basic respect – can ultimately bite you in the butt. Perhaps Kreacher was a foul little house elf, but it was Sirius’s callous attitude toward him that inspired Kreacher’s betrayal.

6. Love is the greatest power of all

I’ve worked enough with rescued dogs to know that, almost always love is the key ingredient needed to fix a dog. A new foster asked me the other day, after she picked up her new foster puppy, “What do I need to do for her? I don’t know what I’m doing!” And I said, “Just love her.” Within hours, she was sending me pictures of a joyous puppy rather than an utterly defeated little creature. Time and time again I’ve seen simple acts of human compassion and kindness completely rehabilitate a dog. Harry Potter conquered Voldemort using this deceptively simple power. Let’s remember to use it with our own dogs. 

Why I Rescue (And Always Will)

When I was preparing to get my first dog – waaay back when I was 20 – I didn’t know much about rescues. I wanted a purebred dog and that was that. So I made a list of breeds I wanted and scrutinized the breeds in true Type-A fashion. I knew I wanted a big dog – a very big dog; my favorite breed was the Doberman Pinscher, but I was afraid that wasn’t quite big enough (90 pounds). I seriously obsessed over this list. But that truth was, any time I saw a puppy anywhere, I wanted it. And I really do think that’s how most people are – we get some notion in our heads of what we want without stopping to consider if that’s what we need or what we will want in 5 years. But the fact of the matter is, we want a dog who will love us and comfort us and just be there. And, really, any dog can do that – that’s what dogs were built for. 

So I’m going to delve a little deeper into my story in the hopes that my experiences will inspire you, when looking for your next dog, to go to a shelter or a rescue instead of a breeder.

My Rescued Dogs

I never got the chance to buy my first dog because my first dog found me. Ted was a stray; fortune tossed him in my path. I’d delayed my scheduled gym session because I was immersed in the freshly-released Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. So, thanks J.K. Rowling. My then boyfriend finally death-marched me into the car and we set off. It was July and sweltering out. As we zoomed down Stone Avenue in Tucson, we saw a lonely black shape lumbering across the road; cars were veering to avoid him. I begged Ex-Boyfriend to stop. He did. I called the dog over, and he immediately came, tongue lolling and tail wagging. We loaded him into the truck and headed home. I never did make it to the gym that day.

Ted's first picture, July 2005 

I decided to call the dog Ted – the first name off the top of my head – and started looking for his owner. We never found that owner. Ted’s been with me for over six years now. He was my first dog and, thus, my guinea pig; through trial and error I learned how to be a responsible dog owner. I bought books on training dogs and explored various techniques together with Ted. I think I did ok. Ted’s getting older and grayer, but so am I. In those years, we’ve shared so many memories. He’s traveled across the country with me more times than I care to count. He’s seen two boyfriends come and go and one come to stay (probably hehe). He’s put himself between me and danger. He’s made me laugh every single day with his ridiculously expressive eyebrows, his “talking,” and his various quirks and habits.

Ted in 2010 

My second dog was a Doberman – my dream dog. Only the dream turned out to be a nightmare. Aiden was a 100-pound red, cropped and docked show stopper. I loved him. My sister loved him. Ted hated him. I had to watch them like hawks the first three weeks because Ted was constantly trying to dominate Aiden; fortunately Aiden put up with it, because Ted certainly wouldn’t have come out top dog otherwise.

Aiden, March 2007

But Aiden was riddled with problems. He was very underweight and bore the signs of a dog who had lived outside, unloved and uncared for. We soon discovered that he was unpredictably aggressive toward humans. I tried and tried to work with him but his problems got worse. I consulted behaviorists and they all told me his problems were extreme and that he’d always be unreliable. I called the rescue and asked what to do. They told me I could bring him back and he’d spend his life in an outdoor cage by himself or I could choose to put him down. I choose to put him down. I couldn’t stand the thought of him there, alone, every single day until he died. I also knew, if he ever seriously injured someone, he’d further jeopardize the reputation of his breed. I know some people will judge me for my decision, and I’ve accepted that. But I also believe that death is a very personal thing, and that we should try not to judge people acting from their hearts. 

It was the most difficult decision in my life, and I regret it. Killing an animal is a terrible, heart-wrenching decision to make. Sitting with that animal and watching him die is worse. I remember sitting there, with his head in my lap, my sister sitting with us, and both of us bawling our eyes out. He had been sedated and his movements had gradually gotten clumsier. I couldn’t stand it – this magnificently beautiful dog, reduced to an uncoordinated mess. They administered the lethal dose of anesthetic, and about 15 seconds later, told me he was “gone.” But as his last breath left his body, he convulsed and jerked around before he lay still at last. I will never forget that.

It’s been over four years since I killed Aiden, but I still can’t tell his story without crying. I run over and over in my mind what happened, wonder if I’d tried one more method or talked to one more person, he could have been saved. I feel like I gave up on him. I killed my own dog. And I will never get over it. Aiden didn’t deserve the life he lived; he no longer trusted humans and reacted violently when he felt it was appropriate. That was not his fault. It was a human’s fault. Looking back, I am comforted only in knowing that when Aiden died, he was sleek and had put on over 20 pounds, he was loved, and he left this world in the arms of people who cared about him. Although I’ve often questioned my decision to put Aiden down, I’ve never regretted adopting him. He deserved a second chance. I only wish I could have given him a better one. Although Aiden's story is sad, I prefer to remember his moments when he showed us the shadow of the dog he could have been. Because he could be very loving and he had hilarious habits: he had a whole barrel of stuffed bears and he'd carry the barrel outside and carefully arrange his bears then sit among them like a proud mother (then one day he ate all the bears...!). Aiden was a good dog. He was marred by bad people.

If I could speak to Aiden, I'd tell him: Aiden, I am sorry. Sorry I could not help you and sorry I gave up on you. I was not ready for you and that cost you your life. The work I do now is in your memory. You are always in my heart. 

Aiden, with my sister, the day after we adopted him.

I’d like to stop here and note that, in all my years in rescue, Aiden was the only dog I could not rehabilitate. He was the only dog with severe human-directed aggression issues that I encountered. It was such an unlikely situation, so sometimes I can’t help wondering if it happened for a reason. I know Aiden’s death is a big part of what inspired me to rescue and to work with a misunderstood and ostracized breed: the pit bull. Despite my experience with Aiden, I stand by my belief that saving a life is a risk worth taking. Every time. 

After Aiden passed away, I was broken. My sister was broken. I contacted the founder of Arizona Poodle Rescue and confided in her what I had done. She responded with genuine sympathy and empathy and for that I am eternally grateful. She asked me if I was ready to foster. Three weeks after I killed Aiden, she gave me Dylan.

Dylan was a 5-month-old puppy at that time. He has been rescued with his littermates from the backyard of a breeder (a breeder of show dogs who is still recommended by the Arizona Poodle Club) who had simply left these dogs to fend for themselves. And he was a mess. He was terrified of everything: he wouldn’t walk through doors, ran when someone tried to pet him, and wouldn’t be in the same room with a child. Shortly after I rescued him, I walked into the kitchen to find him standing on the table – I reached for him and, terrified, he bit me soundly on the arm. He needed so much work and I wasn’t sure what I could do. I had failed Aiden and I was sure to fail Dylan. But I started working with him. And it eased my pain. Perhaps, if I could help this new dog, I could forgive myself for what I did to Aiden.

But, slowly, Dylan got better. And I got better. And I knew I couldn’t let him go, so I adopted him. And today, he loves people and, especially, children. He is confident and struts proudly around. He is calm and well-behaved in public. Dylan constantly receives compliments for his behavior and stops traffic with his looks. He is every bit a show dog and he knows it.

Dylan swimming in the ocean in Louisiana 

My Foster Dogs

Over the years, I’ve opened my home to dozens of dogs, each with their own story to tell. These dogs all have been loving, affectionate, entertaining individuals. Many of them have been traffic-stopping gorgeous. Most of them enjoy walking and hiking and being outdoors. And they’ve all become fabulous best friends. Now, maybe rescued dogs are damaged goods. And maybe some of them come with some baggage. But so do we. It gives us character, and it does the same for dogs. I think it makes them even better companions than brand new puppies – they’ve lived life and they don’t take things for granted. Maybe I’m anthropomorphizing, but I don’t think so. I’ve experienced this gratitude time and time again from rescued dogs.

Jade, with her head in my lap while I work

After working with Arizona Poodle Rescue for a couple years, I was trusted to do just about everything, and that included visiting the high-kill shelters and pulling dogs. The work was smelly and dirty and just plain depressing. But that’s when it really hit me: these dogs were dying because no one came for them. These dogs, just about all of whom would make perfect pets for people like you and me, were dying by the dozens every single day. At that point I knew, I’d never buy a dog. Once you step behind the scenes at a shelter, you can’t really justify it. The dogs on the kill lists were usually young and often purebred. Death does not discern between pedigrees.

Sweetie, just after rescue 

It’s funny. We want purebred dogs because they look unique and because they possess a uniform set of character traits. But the reality is, they’ve been breed to all look the same and, really, breed only supplies a small percentage of a dog’s character traits. Sure, many Heelers will herd and many labs will fetch. But just about every dog I’ve met loves a good game of fetch – and I’m not really sure why any of us regular people needs a dog that will herd. In fact, the reason so many purebred dogs end up in shelters (about a third of shelter dogs are purebred) is because people failed to consider these variations, and failed to consider what made sense for their lives. At its most basic level, buying a purebred dog is a very shallow decision.

Dylan snuggles with Mya and Meg 

With my own rescue efforts, especially because I am constantly battling breed stereotypes, my mantra is: “every dog is an individual and deserves to be treated as such.” So, I urge you, go check out the individuals at your local shelters, talk to the workers, and let them help you pick out a dog that truly fits who you are. And I hope that rescuing a dog changes you and impacts your life for the better like it has for me. And when you do find that perfect rescue dog – because you will – walk with your head a little higher, because you just made a very real difference. You just saved a life.