It started about two weeks ago when I spotted a man and a woman playing with their pit bull in the grassy area across the street from our house. “I’m going to go meet that dog,” I told my wife Liz as I headed out the front door. Liz and I have a pit bull/lab mix named Martha, and ever since we adopted her from the local shelter more than two years ago, I’ve been intrigued by the breed.
When I crossed the street and headed toward the couple, who were seated on the ground, the large, loose, black-and-white dog came bounding up to me. He wore that goofy expression that every dog lover recognizes as the canine version of a smile. I spent a few minutes petting Mufasa and chatting with his owners before returning home.
There was a repeat performance last Sunday, but in a different location, and with a different dog. As Liz and I sat in a cafe in Freeport, Maine, a man with a brown-and-white pit bill took a seat on a low wall outside. I headed out for a closer look, by which time a woman had joined the man and the pup, whose name, it turns out, is Dante.
After determining that Dante was friendly (a wise thing to do before touching any strange dog), I squatted down to pet him, and spoke his name. He immediately stuck his nose in my face with a look that seemed to say: “I don’t know you, so how do you know me?”
I told Dante’s owners about Martha and complimented them on how handsome and well-behaved Dante was.
“They get a bad rap,” the man said, referring to pit bulls. “It’s all about the owners.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I replied, patting Dante atop his large, flat head. “It’s a real shame, a crying shame.”
“It sure is,” the woman said with emotion. Wishing the couple well, I told Dante he was a good-looking boy and headed toward the cafe. With any luck, I'll encounter more pit bulls in the months ahead who, like these two dogs, are goodwill ambassadors for their much-maligned breed.
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