We have a couple of birthdays coming up at our house this month. Mine is on the 22nd. (Yes, I know, President Kennedy was assassinated on that day in 1963; thanks for reminding me.) But we’re saving the big celebration for Martha, who is a year old this month.
Martha is a dog. Or, more precisely, a pit bull/lab cross. We adopted her from the Kennebec Valley Humane Society last January, when she was eight pounds of black fur, floppy ears and soulful brown eyes.
Almost a year later, she weighs in at 35 pounds or so. Our vet calls her a “pocket pit” because, although she has the face of a pit bull and she’s about the right height and length, she’s very slim, with long, thin legs and tiny paws.
Liz and I know a thing or two about dogs, having owned many of them over the years. But until Martha came along, we’d never had a pit bull, and never considered getting one. I guess we bought into the stereotypes - that pits are unpredictable at best and aggressive at worst.
But Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, needed a pal last winter and the shelter had a litter up for adoption. So we did what we do best, and gave a home to an animal that needed one.
At first, Martha resembled a lab more than a pit bull, but that changed somewhat over time. Thanks to her lanky look, some folks are surprised to learn that she’s part pit. Others, if they have personal experience with the breed, look into her eyes and immediately recognize her ancestry.
So let me tell you a few things about our “ferocious pit bull.”
Martha clearly has a lot of terrier in her. She’s extremely stubborn and willful. She’s very powerful despite her size, and can pull, when leashed, with the strength of a dog at least twice her weight.
Martha is excitable. When she and the 75-pound Aquinnah engage in a bit of roughhousing, they go at it with gusto. At such times, Martha strikes me as the canine equivalent of a rugby player.
But after 10 months of daily observation, I know that Martha does not have a mean bone in her body.
Martha loves anyone and everyone, adult or child, male or female, friendly or indifferent. It’s hard to walk her because she desperately wants to run up to every stranger she sees, tail wagging feverishly.
When Aquinnah barks angrily at the mailman for having the audacity to walk onto our front porch, Martha does not join in. Instead, she looks around with a confused expression on her face, as if to ask why any dog would try to antagonize a potential friend.
Martha is fond of our cats. (The photo above was not posed; it's just Martha being Martha.) She has never acted aggressively toward them, and they clearly like her. The cats touch noses with her from time to time, and even rub up against her. The other day, when coon cat Teddy muscled in on Martha's food bowl and started wolfing down Martha's lunch, Martha just sat there, quietly watching Teddy until I intervened and sent him on his way.
Martha is terrified of any and all loud noises - leaf blowers, trucks rumbling by on the street, people talking loudly as they walk past the house - you name it.
Martha places a premium on staying warm. She insists on sleeping under the covers of our bed, only emerging from her burrow at 5 a.m. when it’s time to go out and take care of business. In the cold weather, she loves nothing better than lying on the forced-air heating grate in our dining room.
So, the next time you’re tempted to cross the street to avoid an oncoming "bully dog" and its owner, or you hear someone say the breed should be banned, think about Martha. Because if she could talk, she’d tell you what I already know.
Aggression is not about the dog. It’s about the owner. It’s not about genes. It’s about upbringing. It’s not about instinct. It’s about training.
If racial profiling is wrong in the human realm, as it surely is, then breed profiling is wrong in the canine realm. It’s not about the breed. It’s about the individual. Whether she has two legs, or four.
Martha is a dog. Or, more precisely, a pit bull/lab cross. We adopted her from the Kennebec Valley Humane Society last January, when she was eight pounds of black fur, floppy ears and soulful brown eyes.
Almost a year later, she weighs in at 35 pounds or so. Our vet calls her a “pocket pit” because, although she has the face of a pit bull and she’s about the right height and length, she’s very slim, with long, thin legs and tiny paws.
Liz and I know a thing or two about dogs, having owned many of them over the years. But until Martha came along, we’d never had a pit bull, and never considered getting one. I guess we bought into the stereotypes - that pits are unpredictable at best and aggressive at worst.
But Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, needed a pal last winter and the shelter had a litter up for adoption. So we did what we do best, and gave a home to an animal that needed one.
At first, Martha resembled a lab more than a pit bull, but that changed somewhat over time. Thanks to her lanky look, some folks are surprised to learn that she’s part pit. Others, if they have personal experience with the breed, look into her eyes and immediately recognize her ancestry.
So let me tell you a few things about our “ferocious pit bull.”
Martha clearly has a lot of terrier in her. She’s extremely stubborn and willful. She’s very powerful despite her size, and can pull, when leashed, with the strength of a dog at least twice her weight.
Martha is excitable. When she and the 75-pound Aquinnah engage in a bit of roughhousing, they go at it with gusto. At such times, Martha strikes me as the canine equivalent of a rugby player.
But after 10 months of daily observation, I know that Martha does not have a mean bone in her body.
Martha loves anyone and everyone, adult or child, male or female, friendly or indifferent. It’s hard to walk her because she desperately wants to run up to every stranger she sees, tail wagging feverishly.
When Aquinnah barks angrily at the mailman for having the audacity to walk onto our front porch, Martha does not join in. Instead, she looks around with a confused expression on her face, as if to ask why any dog would try to antagonize a potential friend.
Martha is fond of our cats. (The photo above was not posed; it's just Martha being Martha.) She has never acted aggressively toward them, and they clearly like her. The cats touch noses with her from time to time, and even rub up against her. The other day, when coon cat Teddy muscled in on Martha's food bowl and started wolfing down Martha's lunch, Martha just sat there, quietly watching Teddy until I intervened and sent him on his way.
Martha is terrified of any and all loud noises - leaf blowers, trucks rumbling by on the street, people talking loudly as they walk past the house - you name it.
Martha places a premium on staying warm. She insists on sleeping under the covers of our bed, only emerging from her burrow at 5 a.m. when it’s time to go out and take care of business. In the cold weather, she loves nothing better than lying on the forced-air heating grate in our dining room.
So, the next time you’re tempted to cross the street to avoid an oncoming "bully dog" and its owner, or you hear someone say the breed should be banned, think about Martha. Because if she could talk, she’d tell you what I already know.
Aggression is not about the dog. It’s about the owner. It’s not about genes. It’s about upbringing. It’s not about instinct. It’s about training.
If racial profiling is wrong in the human realm, as it surely is, then breed profiling is wrong in the canine realm. It’s not about the breed. It’s about the individual. Whether she has two legs, or four.
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