Yesterday offered a lesson in the dangers of stereotyping, and a reminder that people aren't its only victims.
Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, was out on his first early-morning jaunt of the new year when I happened to turn around and look behind us. There, just a few feet away, was a large, muscular, incredibly handsome male pit bull that I’d never seen before. When I say large, I mean large. The dog had a collar, but he was loose and alone, with no human in sight. And he had his eye on us.
I don't judge dogs by their breed, and that certainly includes pit bulls. Our other dog, Martha, is a pit bull/lab mix whose demeanor is more terrier than lab, so we know a thing or two about these supposed bad boys of the dog world.
But I also know that an unexpected encounter between any two dogs that don't know one another can take a nasty turn, and I was dealing with two big, powerful pups in this case. Dogs don’t always hit it off when they first meet. Aquinnah was leashed, as he always is in public, but that can create its own set of problems because a leashed dog sometimes resents being restrained in the presence of a loose dog. Plus, there’s no way of controlling a dog you do not know, especially if you’re simultaneously trying to rein in an 85-pound lab.
So, not knowing what to expect, I said hello to the black and white pit bull in what I hoped was a pleasant and calm tone of voice. He ignored me, but walked right up to Aquinnah (aka, Quinn). The two dogs sniffed each other amiably enough for 30 seconds or so, but I decided not to tempt fate.
As I slowly pulled the curious Quinn down the street toward our house, the pit bull followed, but at a respectful distance. If Quinn and I stopped, the pit stopped. When we resumed our walk, the pit resumed his as well. He followed us all the way back to the house - a distance of almost two blocks - and stood at the far end of our sidewalk, watching as Quinn and I walked up the stairs and onto the porch. Then, he was gone.
What makes this story interesting is that the pit bull, whose breed has such a bad reputation that some communities prohibit them or require that they be muzzled in public, never ran toward us. He never barked or growled or made any sound. He showed no sign of aggression, or even excitement. He was inquisitive, but calm.
Quinn, whose breed is legendary for its friendly disposition, barked and jumped and tugged at his leash as I pulled him home. He is not an aggressive dog; I’m sure he acted out because he was frustrated that he could not spend more time with the pit bull. Yet despite Quinn’s noisy antics, which might have been expected to agitate the stranger, the pit bull remained tranquil the whole time. I'm anthropomorphizing, but I'd have to say this guy was a perfect gentleman.
The moral of the story: a dog, like a book, should not be judged by its "cover."
Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, was out on his first early-morning jaunt of the new year when I happened to turn around and look behind us. There, just a few feet away, was a large, muscular, incredibly handsome male pit bull that I’d never seen before. When I say large, I mean large. The dog had a collar, but he was loose and alone, with no human in sight. And he had his eye on us.
I don't judge dogs by their breed, and that certainly includes pit bulls. Our other dog, Martha, is a pit bull/lab mix whose demeanor is more terrier than lab, so we know a thing or two about these supposed bad boys of the dog world.
But I also know that an unexpected encounter between any two dogs that don't know one another can take a nasty turn, and I was dealing with two big, powerful pups in this case. Dogs don’t always hit it off when they first meet. Aquinnah was leashed, as he always is in public, but that can create its own set of problems because a leashed dog sometimes resents being restrained in the presence of a loose dog. Plus, there’s no way of controlling a dog you do not know, especially if you’re simultaneously trying to rein in an 85-pound lab.
So, not knowing what to expect, I said hello to the black and white pit bull in what I hoped was a pleasant and calm tone of voice. He ignored me, but walked right up to Aquinnah (aka, Quinn). The two dogs sniffed each other amiably enough for 30 seconds or so, but I decided not to tempt fate.
As I slowly pulled the curious Quinn down the street toward our house, the pit bull followed, but at a respectful distance. If Quinn and I stopped, the pit stopped. When we resumed our walk, the pit resumed his as well. He followed us all the way back to the house - a distance of almost two blocks - and stood at the far end of our sidewalk, watching as Quinn and I walked up the stairs and onto the porch. Then, he was gone.
What makes this story interesting is that the pit bull, whose breed has such a bad reputation that some communities prohibit them or require that they be muzzled in public, never ran toward us. He never barked or growled or made any sound. He showed no sign of aggression, or even excitement. He was inquisitive, but calm.
Quinn, whose breed is legendary for its friendly disposition, barked and jumped and tugged at his leash as I pulled him home. He is not an aggressive dog; I’m sure he acted out because he was frustrated that he could not spend more time with the pit bull. Yet despite Quinn’s noisy antics, which might have been expected to agitate the stranger, the pit bull remained tranquil the whole time. I'm anthropomorphizing, but I'd have to say this guy was a perfect gentleman.
The moral of the story: a dog, like a book, should not be judged by its "cover."
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