tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77738655841491300632023-11-16T04:30:30.659-06:00T2 - My Life with Pit BullsIn 2008, my husband Chris and I adopted our first pit bull, Toni. A little more than a year later, we brought home Téa, also a pit bull, as a foster dog. We never gave her back. This is a little insight into what life is like with Toni and Téa and what it really means to own pit bulls. (FYI: it's nothing like what you read in the news.)A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-73877900182079405592011-07-01T13:15:00.000-05:002011-07-01T13:15:51.897-05:00Ummmm, I have a confession to make....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7flpoBj-T9nbSMf_TgHoAGTvDHXEGPbzaWVhx21GEWxqGwiwAMJLc9TOdrHdg90MuqczY5Q1oOOUiH0m81BXKAEtiVzew4sHZSHJByXq-dGt2m2Bee5_BV6DTDWJCC3hCQOMzxBonwR9y/s1600/Strut1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7flpoBj-T9nbSMf_TgHoAGTvDHXEGPbzaWVhx21GEWxqGwiwAMJLc9TOdrHdg90MuqczY5Q1oOOUiH0m81BXKAEtiVzew4sHZSHJByXq-dGt2m2Bee5_BV6DTDWJCC3hCQOMzxBonwR9y/s320/Strut1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">To get the full story, you'll have to hop over to my new blog, </span><a href="http://confessionsofapitbulladdict.wordpress.com/" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Confessions of a Pit Bull Addict</a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">.</span>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-10249199208045541822011-06-28T17:32:00.000-05:002011-06-28T17:32:24.985-05:00Toni's report: How I Spent my Summer Vacation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b>How I Spent my Summer Vacation</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">This summer I went to Michigan with my mom, my dad, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">my two human sisters and one of their husbands. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">We had a lot of adventures, but my favorite things included:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbPDADKs44zsGuIn7VQr_En36Jyzbo4gjp5meyavFMfb_9JKwN1p6MZKytl7oVGann1ZwwJhFoQeisAGO8NGjy6K2JlY1InixpndLalrhdh3-MFcxnX12aepiya_vUXjpewknIEqLkBOF/s320/Asparagus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="230" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Visiting farmer's markets—especially the one where I got to play dress-up. I don't actually like asparagus, but I liked pretending to be one.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Going to the beach every day. I love the beach—I love chasing seagulls and finding driftwood in the waves and I especially love all of the crazy new smells!</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTktPMCLEi8DBlFyGOxzxAUPfSCb7lbO5vZhD4I_K2IBJc74zGeWrtHzq7mRi8rDZBy6gbJJjLN_vgURd9XAhfuG_qoD0yA06F3GJ_AgB8bipiu8YOyqpySZKeucum8tU0zHgU6BYj1R8/s1600/Horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTktPMCLEi8DBlFyGOxzxAUPfSCb7lbO5vZhD4I_K2IBJc74zGeWrtHzq7mRi8rDZBy6gbJJjLN_vgURd9XAhfuG_qoD0yA06F3GJ_AgB8bipiu8YOyqpySZKeucum8tU0zHgU6BYj1R8/s320/Horse.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Visiting my friends Bob and Butch at the farm they live on. They introduced me to this guy—his head is even bigger than mine!</span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">I hope I get to go on a summer vacation again next year! </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The End. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbkqBLlHoTg9GjK29Y406lVGcUpRS1iyg7boSSrk88DJNreKayms-4Ov-MbZVD7oB4B6dy5rjX0Y-6R4JOzMXLG7Lu0ip3UVUMASqSWHgW3xScXr5PR0ooMw19ZBdcDrcjR9k4eJUjwAai/s1600/Water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-58220400469794689562011-06-15T16:51:00.000-05:002011-06-15T16:51:00.253-05:00Who will teach them?<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We all stand against the inhumane treatment of animals. That's easy—it doesn't take much more than a drop of compassion to understand what's wrong with deliberate animal cruelty. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We also lament the inadequate care provided by those who may be battling mental health issues or who simply may not know any better. This is a harder conversation, I think. For as much as we do stand against what happens to animals in these situations, the perpetrators may not be able to do a better job than they are doing. In the case of hoarders, the law <i>must </i>intervene when mental health affects the lives of animals who cannot help themselves. But what about those who don't know any better? What about the people who <i>don't</i> look at a bucket full of dirty rain water and think, "I wouldn't drink that; neither should my dog." Or the people who think, "Well, dogs come from wolves and wolves can take care of themselves, so I'm sure my dog who got out of my yard in Chicago is doing just fine. If he doesn't come home, I'll just get another one." Or the people whose approach is, "My dog is being bad on purpose. She chewed my shoes to get back at me, so I'll give her a beating so she'll know she was bad." If these are the lessons that parents teach their children by example or by direct conversation, then where will these children learn otherwise? And what will happen to the animals they bring home when they become adults themselves?</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was fortunate enough to <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/09/peace-love-and-understanding.html">volunteer as part of a program</a> aimed at teaching sixth graders about humane animal treatment, most specifically that dog fighting is not only inhumane, it is also a felony in all 50 states. We had interactive learning games that centered around the damage that dog fighting does not just to the animals, but to the families and communities involved. This is where I learned that it is possible to have pets, to love your pets and to still have to be taught that your pets have feelings: love, fear, concern, happiness, anger, joy. No one had taught these children that their pets had feelings, so the wagging tails, lolling tongues, play bows, curled lips and so on meant nothing beyond the actions. Once we got across the lesson that animals have feelings, the other conversations seemed to mean more to the students—and hopefully made a lasting impression.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This year I was asked to put together an ad hoc program for freshman in a Chicago public high school. The sessions, maybe four or five of them, would be voluntary after school events that would last about an hour. I assumed that the conversations would have a heavy dog fighting focus, given the demographic and age of the students. I made a rough outline, planning to start with animal cruelty facts and figures; move on to dog fighting; bring Téa in to demonstrate a what a well behaved pit bull is like and use that session to talk about dog care. After that, the students were to put together a project, which I thought maybe they would present back to me as a wrap-up so I could figure out which points I made well and which I should pound a little more if we decided to do the program again.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So the first day I went in my stats:</div><ul style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><li>6-8 million animals go into animal shelters each year just in the US. Of these, half are placed in homes and the other half are killed.</li>
<li>We do not use the word euthanized...can anyone give me a definition for euthanasia? We do not use the word euthanized in this case because we are not talking about the animals that are sick, suffering or have been abused to the point that they are miserable. We're talking about 3-4 million animals that could have lived a happy life in a home, <i>if only there were enough homes for them</i>.</li>
<li> Over 70 percent of people who abuse animals also abuse people in their lives, usually women, children and the elderly. What does this tell you about people who abuse animals?</li>
<li>All 50 states have laws against dog fighting and 46 states have felony provisions against animal cruelty in general. In Illinois specifically, it is a felony simply to watch a dog fight...even if you're trying hard not to watch because it makes you uncomfortable. If you're there, you're responsible.</li>
</ul><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I could have gone on for hours (possibly days) along these lines. There are plenty of shocking facts out there just waiting to be shared. Luckily, I do sometimes remember to check in with my audience to ensure they're still along for the ride. So the teacher for the class collected questions for me after I left that day. Here is what I learned (and should have known already): Just because no one has taught you what is right, doesn't mean that you don't wish you knew what the right thing is.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I didn't g<span style="font-size: small;">et questions about dog fighting, or laws, or punishments and fines. I got a lot of questions about animal welfare and what constitutes animal cruelty:</span></div><ul style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><li><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">How many dogs have been abused in the past year?</span></b> </i>I think a lot of people would like to know the answer to this question. The truth is, it’s impossible to know. So many animals live and die each day in horrible, inhumane conditions that we never even know about. This can be because no one knows the animal is there. It could be because the people around the animal don’t understand that what’s happening to the animal is abuse. It could be that someone knows the animal is abused, but doesn’t know what to do about it or is afraid to get involved. So we just don't know.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="color: #cc0000;">Why do people have dogs if they do cruel things to them?</i></b><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span>That’s a very good question. Sometimes people don’t know any better. Sometimes people don’t have a good handle on their anger or maybe they’re just plain lazy. I think often it is because people don’t understand dogs. They don’t think about it as a living creature that has thoughts and needs and feelings. When we can empathize with an animal, it becomes very easy to do the right things for it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="color: #cc0000;">Who are the most common people to hurt a dog?</i></b> Anyone can be cruel to a dog. Anyone at all.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="color: #cc0000;">How often are dogs abused?</i></b> Dogs are abused every single day. And dogs that are abused are probably abused every single day.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> That is no way to go through life.</span></li>
</ul><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I got even more questions about animal care and training:</span><br />
<ul><li><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Is it unhealthy to give dogs food that we would eat during the day? Can dogs eat all human food?</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></i></b></li>
<li style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">What should you feed dogs? What food should you give the dogs? What food should we avoid giving them?</span></i></b></li>
<li style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">If you give your dog a beer, is that animal cruelty?</span></i></b></li>
<li><b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">How can you take care of a dog?</span></span></i></b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> (Of course, how does a person even begin to answer a question like that in such a small amount of time? I tried to keep it simple and memorable: </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There are only four things that our dogs need from us: 1) Proper food and shelter, including shelter from the elements and from having to take care of themselves; 2) Discipline; 3) Exercise; 4)</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Affection.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">How do I adopt a dog?</span></b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">How do</span></b></i></span><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> I teach a dog to stop being hyper? </span></b></i></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Why might a dog turn on a person?</b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">How do</span></b></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>I teach my dog tricks?</b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Why </b></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>is my dog afraid of storms?</b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>What do I do if my dog gets lost?</b></i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"><b>How much water does a dog need?</b></i></span></li>
</ul><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: black;">And on and on and on. Two students in particular will stay with me for a long time. The first, Vincent, was a huge, tall, quiet boy. His grandmother had a small dog who hated everyone, but seemed to taking a shine to Vincent. His grandmother told him that if he learned to work with the dog, he could have it. I brought him pages and pages of handouts and stayed late nearly every week to talk to him about how to help the dog feel more comfortable and find out how he was doing with the dog. We also talked about his neighbor's dog who had a broken leg that was never set—he wanted to know what to tell him neighbor to do so the dog would be more comfortable. The second boy waited patiently each week until I had finished with Vincent. He would inch over as I was packing up my papers talk to me about how to handle his dog when his dog showed aggression on walks (this was a new issue for him, as his dog had previously been well behaved on walks). We talked about leash aggression and I brought handouts for him as well. I learned that his father was the only other family member who cared about the dog or was comfortable around it, so we talked about how he and his father could work together with the dog to properly socialize, train and manage the dog and its issues. These boys loved the dogs in their lives, they just had no idea how to go about caring for or interacting with the dogs. And no one in their world had the resources to help them.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: black;">I have a lot of ideas for next year's program. We'll still start with animal cruelty and neglect facts as I did this year, but from there I think we'll focus on the fun side of the animal issue: how to care for our dogs, how to understand our dogs, how to give our dogs what they need, how to allow our dogs to be our friends and our family rather than our pets. It's time to give these kids the information they need to change the cycle.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y1yddYYJckZPTr6bGg_71j0YwwJWA3BlqOLL2DOBvSJ1g7dw23IyJ_OJUGw4ldxTpuy_QBhPKEX7JgpfrOv4hLFvcxOwDNLfOsCPmzRiYPXMXfGbrVGmESuLyHv_P3U9Pi2jzFjawNuP/s1600/Yawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y1yddYYJckZPTr6bGg_71j0YwwJWA3BlqOLL2DOBvSJ1g7dw23IyJ_OJUGw4ldxTpuy_QBhPKEX7JgpfrOv4hLFvcxOwDNLfOsCPmzRiYPXMXfGbrVGmESuLyHv_P3U9Pi2jzFjawNuP/s320/Yawn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo has nothing to do with this story. It's just gratuitous pit bull cuteness.</td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-2526011687612073562011-05-31T17:05:00.000-05:002011-05-31T17:05:19.327-05:00Profiling pit bulls<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If only this is what the phrase "profiling pit bulls" meant....</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-25103087011295165082011-05-24T17:11:00.002-05:002011-05-24T19:36:34.632-05:00Spring, please forgive us<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't know what we've done here in Chicago to offend Spring so, but clearly we have. Otherwise, it would not keep blowing off the plans we had together for gardening, biking, hiking and all of the other activities that kept our hopes alive during the dead of winter. This year, Spring keeps standing us up. We wait and wait, margarita mix and blender ready to go on the kitchen counter, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">sunscreen stationed hopefully near the back door, sunglasses polished and perched on our heads. But Spring has been a no-show...or worse, a "gotta run, I have an early meeting" kind of date.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">However, it looks like Spring is finally ready to forgive us. Phew! Whatever it was, I hope we don't do it again. I never get these silly pit bull grins on rainy days when we're stuck inside.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rrxXWsp4rQNYYJL0YLksGgICmPs3i33g12a8SpAoDkKnVMUvZ7fiwHiieNVosusjZaVXuHBW4RJmBZOW_7610rk2MS3prg7kO__dtmXNDSa9RbFIwyIfKKWP6yWZ0AqbiL7T6oS-u5jG/s1600/Tea-Grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rrxXWsp4rQNYYJL0YLksGgICmPs3i33g12a8SpAoDkKnVMUvZ7fiwHiieNVosusjZaVXuHBW4RJmBZOW_7610rk2MS3prg7kO__dtmXNDSa9RbFIwyIfKKWP6yWZ0AqbiL7T6oS-u5jG/s320/Tea-Grass.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm never going inside again."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2ItXHVa85w2bBV8HNAO1WWF2QNVC1X6YIyW9zNEb1jEz2J1yK9ifhJw8rRUX8hgr9GHIFViCxnNSN_Ud3TsxUzpAP9L_6bRLvzgf_BOMxT4D4ck8J7IZLtuZoMeBXC6Wl7ijMoxecS8k/s1600/Toni-Grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2ItXHVa85w2bBV8HNAO1WWF2QNVC1X6YIyW9zNEb1jEz2J1yK9ifhJw8rRUX8hgr9GHIFViCxnNSN_Ud3TsxUzpAP9L_6bRLvzgf_BOMxT4D4ck8J7IZLtuZoMeBXC6Wl7ijMoxecS8k/s320/Toni-Grass.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pass the sunscreen, please."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-24817360834660403632011-05-20T10:04:00.000-05:002011-05-20T10:04:50.928-05:00My hiatus<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I haven't had a chance to post in a while, though I have lots of things to post about, because I was focused on planning and hosting a silent auction for one of our favorite rescue groups, <a href="http://www.projectrescuechicago.org/">Project Rescue Chicago</a>. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm happy to say it was even more successful than we had hoped, thanks in large part to a lot of really amazing people who contributed their time, talent and sweat. You can read the <a href="http://prcchronicles.blogspot.com/2011/05/going-once-going-twicesold.html">full overview</a> and connect to a few sneak peek photos on <a href="http://prcchronicles.blogspot.com/">PRC's Canine Chronicles</a>.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNmq4DTjSv-gZw5yK2bEDKUjAZmv1ZOXd5PmRlajwqzkhfp3_obIt643rDGoV2uXgRcIaMzngOqOUtHeWr8kKI28IxXHPEyzzlXX-8T-NkFz8XNg_khaT60bkfQeoFd8v2gDKVKnKM9zb/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="55" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNmq4DTjSv-gZw5yK2bEDKUjAZmv1ZOXd5PmRlajwqzkhfp3_obIt643rDGoV2uXgRcIaMzngOqOUtHeWr8kKI28IxXHPEyzzlXX-8T-NkFz8XNg_khaT60bkfQeoFd8v2gDKVKnKM9zb/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-60999888806237489902011-04-26T19:01:00.002-05:002011-04-26T20:18:45.985-05:00The strange conversations we have - Part IV<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">T2 and I were out in the yard this weekend as I tried to get a leg up on our garden before the flowering weeds (known as wildflowers to some) begin their treacherous assault on the flowers and herbs I actually like. We did not own our house last spring, so this is our first opportunity to make some sense of what's there, what gets to stay (nice flowers that don't irritate my allergies, herbs, rose bushes) and what must be relocated to the trash bin before it has a chance to turn on us (about 75 percent of what's growing there).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyQjpkVRRphx9QVc2-LJDixYKb63ucMgKWOGdoVJh7ptBDPysSY9NJMGGyLyPWNz1qanQqhwsE9fk3rgd59JpTBY5cs-1EOZpFBliWXU837hJJdnhCumBThSWl90A2pWQWJWelZn06hQF/s1600/DSCN6166.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyQjpkVRRphx9QVc2-LJDixYKb63ucMgKWOGdoVJh7ptBDPysSY9NJMGGyLyPWNz1qanQqhwsE9fk3rgd59JpTBY5cs-1EOZpFBliWXU837hJJdnhCumBThSWl90A2pWQWJWelZn06hQF/s320/DSCN6166.JPG" width="208" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyQjpkVRRphx9QVc2-LJDixYKb63ucMgKWOGdoVJh7ptBDPysSY9NJMGGyLyPWNz1qanQqhwsE9fk3rgd59JpTBY5cs-1EOZpFBliWXU837hJJdnhCumBThSWl90A2pWQWJWelZn06hQF/s1600/DSCN6166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was up to my elbows in dirt and <a href="http://www.easywildflowers.com/quality/phl.div.htm">phlox</a> while T2 worked on their tans on the deck. We have a bit of privacy from the street, so people on the sidewalk, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">though they have a clear view of the deck,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> cannot see me as I work in some parts of the garden. Because if they could have seen me, the woman walking by with her husband, two small children and a set of grandparents would have had more sense and manners (I hope) than to say, "Oohhh, look at them. They look mean." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now, I imagine that at some point in my life it would not have ever occurred to me that anyone could say anything disparaging about the people or animals I love so dearly. At some point. But I have pit bulls now and I am always ready with a polite response when misguided, ill-mannered people say horrible things to my face about the clearly loved-and-cared-for dogs at the end of the leashes in my hand. So of course, I knew this woman was talking about my sweet girls and I knew it didn't occur to her that they would never be left out in the yard unattended (who worries about their vicious dogs being stolen, right?).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Up I popped like a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marionette">marionette</a>. I felt ridiculous even as I was doing it. I could not stop myself and yet in my head I thought, "Well, that's it. You've become <i>that </i>woman. There's no turning back now."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Nope," I said, as if I were already a part of their conversation. "Not mean at all. In fact, they go to daycare each week to play with other dogs and they're great with children. Actually, they're the most affectionate, well-behaved dogs we've ever had." I could see the grandparents smirking a little, though I am not sure if it was at me for being a crazy dog lady or at the woman for being called out in her remarks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Oh. Um. Are they pit bulls?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Yes they are. Really stellar family pets when given the opportunity to live in a loving home. No different than people."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"We have a friend who has a pit bull. It's a really nice dog."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Right. So you know what I mean, then. Have a good day."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That's what I said, because that's how I have chosen to handle people's rude behavior toward my girls—with a chipper voice, a big smile and a firmly positive message.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyHhcOuiay5dpja9wIjifRnxeXJiSZmvkAw3EkuDttJ2I0y_2q_ovYJxIQY4-1D8oW3VwTR9y-mrbW5BnnxcZ4FwBSVg1JynAKf3wvwKImNFW77xKMb07WX0ByBlyo24nthpUJClwcZTz/s1600/DSCN4828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyHhcOuiay5dpja9wIjifRnxeXJiSZmvkAw3EkuDttJ2I0y_2q_ovYJxIQY4-1D8oW3VwTR9y-mrbW5BnnxcZ4FwBSVg1JynAKf3wvwKImNFW77xKMb07WX0ByBlyo24nthpUJClwcZTz/s320/DSCN4828.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In my heart, though, the conversation goes more like this:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Oohhh, look at them. They look mean." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Huh. Your kids look stupid. I guess we're even."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-42815618522110873282011-04-19T16:35:00.001-05:002011-04-19T20:14:16.440-05:00What's better than one pit bull pup?<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I recently had an opportunity to attend a "pittie party" at the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001511927319">Chicago Animal Care & Control</a> (CACC) facility. I went willingly, if apprehensively, as a volunteer with <a href="http://www.projectrescuechicago.org/">Project Rescue Chicago</a>. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/why-we-cant-say-no.html">all for attending any number of outings, events or meetings</a> that will help educate people about the many stellar and admirable qualities pit bulls bring to the table. But I also knew that there would be many, many sad, confused and frightened faces looking out from the kennels. I knew the conditions, though a step up in quality for some of those sweet pups, would not be up to my hopes and expectations for basic decency. And I knew that the signs of abuse and neglect would be far too plentiful and far too obvious. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Still, you cannot love pit bulls without also addressing what is happening to them in the current social and political climate. To be a truly strong advocate for all of the pit bull breeds currently victimized by criminals as well as misinformed, misguided upright citizens, it is critical to be painfully aware of what is happening to pit bulls who are not in loving homes. This is why I went willingly, though apprehensively, to the pittie party.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfJINdc24Ovs18hX_P4oGQ1nFgH0rwNBlkCNjoIfs2Eq40eQdrJcfFbf77-BlGM8lRPcD6SRYZcKYr6C0LQKTOzsVKLjZsMrZ-Uc7qRIs3fjRUvQ4jOT0GH2UEENv5dEHR7UywBQyBzo7/s1600/Shy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfJINdc24Ovs18hX_P4oGQ1nFgH0rwNBlkCNjoIfs2Eq40eQdrJcfFbf77-BlGM8lRPcD6SRYZcKYr6C0LQKTOzsVKLjZsMrZ-Uc7qRIs3fjRUvQ4jOT0GH2UEENv5dEHR7UywBQyBzo7/s200/Shy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shy/Khloe</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I had the good fortune, however, to know that we would not leave CACC empty-handed. <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/">Two Pitties in the City</a> had written about <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/2011/01/pooches-kindess-of-dog-people-and-story.html">Shy, a diabetic pit bull who had been saved from euthanasia</a>. In addition to needing a home and a family to call her own, Shy also desperately needed cataract surgery, so Two Pitties began a <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/2011/02/pooches-shys-cataract-surgery-pet.html">fundraising campaign</a>. And although Shy did find her forever family as well as a new name (Khloe), and although Two Pitties was able to raise a substantial amount of money to cover the costs of her surgery, little Shy/Khloe <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/2011/03/our-favorite-things-animal-rescue-and.html">passed away unexpectedly one night from unknown causes</a>. Two Pitties offered to return all donations to her cause, but the many generous contributors were set on doing a good deed, even if it could no longer be to Shy/Khloe's benefit. "Luckily" cataract surgery is quite expensive, so I happened to know that there was a good chance that we would leave CACC that day with not just one but two lucky (if temporarily broken) pit bulls who might otherwise be overlooked due to medical conditions.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I won't lie. It was hard walking through the facility. There were so many beautiful dogs there. Some were as happy as if they were hanging out in someone's backyard, but most were resigned or, harder to see, depressed. There was one handsome white pit bull/boxer mix with brindle spots who still puts a lump in my throat when I think about him. He sat in the middle of his crate shaking, shrinking into himself from sheer misery. When I reached out to him, hoping to give him a little comfort, the most he could do in response was lift the tip of his tail off of the ground, drop his eyes and lower his head. I never saw <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> in her crate at the shelter from which we adopted her, but I've seen her in confined spaces. This boy <i>was </i>Toni—except his hell was just beginning (he'd been there just one day), whereas we work hard every day to ensure that her hell is far in her past. People need to know that this is the reality of unwanted animals. They need to know <i>because </i>it's hard, not <i>even though</i> it's hard.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">For the broken dogs—dogs with illnesses, injuries, unattractive yet treatable ailments—the likelihood of making it through the system and into a home is even smaller. For these dogs, there is a better chance that they will be killed in the near future than there is that they will find a home. So walking through all of that misery was a little more bearable knowing that we were changing the odds that day. And we not only changed them, we multiplied them by two. Because really, if there's anything better than one pit bull pup, it's <i>two </i>pit bull pups!</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtca4tbKhu7feWNbVfy8Y4iw3g6l1VZgdqySiqKvLfLwr0BgqrlqZhsPQEwStqSV3X88d2ADtRcHQ8bQeU73fR0acLRl1Uhp4X8Orjgdm-6cz0ri7ykbm_MgcdJkAg0Uy_apztRzSFBglg/s1600/HoldingHands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtca4tbKhu7feWNbVfy8Y4iw3g6l1VZgdqySiqKvLfLwr0BgqrlqZhsPQEwStqSV3X88d2ADtRcHQ8bQeU73fR0acLRl1Uhp4X8Orjgdm-6cz0ri7ykbm_MgcdJkAg0Uy_apztRzSFBglg/s400/HoldingHands.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I think everything's gonna be okay now!"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Follow their journey through <a href="http://www.projectrescuechicago.org/">Project Rescue Chicago</a>'s program by reading their stories on the <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/">Two Pitties in the City</a> blog, starting with <a href="http://pittiesincity.blogspot.com/2011/04/two-special-pooches-in-memory-of.html">this introduction</a>.</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-17882682595456931982011-04-12T19:58:00.003-05:002011-04-13T14:33:06.562-05:00Sweet Georgia on my mind: The happy ending<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_UoB_Xhoy4_23ICDb20Uf2pOs5lw3A791Cy9_K-ltk-Ts6UdKVszwShLImXKaLvrNknSbwQXXUrCWuEgJu39oyn6-k9vwtZTTGCJIvf6vzk0zdoAY6UFJMXbRD30qO4R7zojNRBOwDsp/s1600/GeorgiaFlier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_UoB_Xhoy4_23ICDb20Uf2pOs5lw3A791Cy9_K-ltk-Ts6UdKVszwShLImXKaLvrNknSbwQXXUrCWuEgJu39oyn6-k9vwtZTTGCJIvf6vzk0zdoAY6UFJMXbRD30qO4R7zojNRBOwDsp/s400/GeorgiaFlier.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is the flier we put together to help publicize Georgia, her adorable charms and talents, and her need for a home—pronto. It reads:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><blockquote style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Hi. My name is Georgia. I am about 10 months old. I used to live in a building in the hallway. No one fed me very much or paid much attention to me. But some guys in the building gave me to some nice people who are supposed to help me. I am very affectionate and happy, even though I have no idea what’s going on right now. I know how to sit and shake and am learning how to stay and lie down already. I am housetrained, too! I’m not crate trained yet, but I’m a quick learner and am very food motivated so I think with a little more training I will really learn to like my crate (so far I think it’s just for eating and I don’t mind it then).</span> </span></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Unfortunately, the people who are helping me right now have two other female pit bulls, and that seems like a lot of ladies all in one condo, even to me. So they can’t come home until I find a new place to stay, either for a while or forever. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you can help out, please call XXX.</span> </span></span></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If I were writing that flier today, I think I would include something about how when she ran down the hallway of our condo building after a ball, she looked like a miniature deer bounding through a forest clearing. I would maybe throw something in about how she was a dainty and well-mannered eater, despite the fact that she probably had more food in the week she was with us than she had in the whole month prior to that. I might add that the little lamb in the photo above was in serious danger of drowning in dog saliva, but that it might remain intact for years since she was not a stuffie slayer. I would still not include the part about how she was definitely condo trained (as in, she did not have accidents in our condo) but that she was having trouble getting the hang of building trained (as in, she sometimes confused outside of the condo with the real outside, though in her defense she was experiencing about 12,000 new things that week and a mistake here and there was entirely understandable). I would also not mention how tempting it was for us to fall for her, for fear of discouraging a potential adopter.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2011/04/sweet-georgia-on-my-mind-middle.html">The day after I posted the flier above at our vet office</a>, my phone rang.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hi,it's Ymelda...from the vet. I was off yesterday, but I'm wondering if you still have Georgia."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As a matter of fact I did have Georgia, right at the other end of the leash in my hand. She and I were just getting ready to take food rations over to <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> and <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>. As it happens, the vet was exactly halfway between the condo we lived in and our dog sleepover camp</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">. Would, um, <i>right now</i> be a good time to stop by so Ymelda and Georgia could meet?</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatiiPLRJT2lurfEI2uEFGevQkNLBKXzwu5ZSuwt83nx5Iga2E1YBsvrsacQ-Ynn5yS9791rAfJR-R897JUliO49mJEd5otBbra42j9F5U4GeCkmEcV1DDTnvA_Q9Y7AT8GhXeaH3p6gjd/s1600/Georgia-BW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatiiPLRJT2lurfEI2uEFGevQkNLBKXzwu5ZSuwt83nx5Iga2E1YBsvrsacQ-Ynn5yS9791rAfJR-R897JUliO49mJEd5otBbra42j9F5U4GeCkmEcV1DDTnvA_Q9Y7AT8GhXeaH3p6gjd/s400/Georgia-BW.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"You want to meet me. You know you do."</span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This exact moment is the beginning of the end of my part of Georgia, sweet Georgia's story, but it's really just the beginning of her story. Because it turns out that Ymelda, whom I have always liked, loved Georgia. She was moving to a dog-friendly building in just two weeks. Her friend and co-worker, Jackie, would live just downstairs and they were already sorting out joint dog walking schedules. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ymelda was even pre-approved as an adopter through <a href="http://www.chicagolandbullybreedrescue.org/home0.aspx">Chicagoland Bully Breed Rescue</a>, which is the group we worked through to begin some sort of paperwork and accountability for her welfare. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"My friend Lucy is kind of fluffy, but I love her anyway."</span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I sometimes see Georgia when I am at the vet. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She and Ymelda walk to work together when the weather suits</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">—a canine version of <a href="http://www.daughtersandsonstowork.org/wmspage.cfm?parm1=293">Take Your Daughter to Work Day</a>. She met Toni and Téa once. As expected, Toni liked Georgia just fine but Téa felt that perhaps she wasn't really a dog we wanted to hang out with, effective immediately. (Téa can be very particular about who she wants as a friend, even though it means she misses out on meeting some very cool dogs.) I got to hear about Georgia's reaction to the <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2011/02/memory-lane.html">Great Blizzard of 2011</a> (pro-snow but not a big fan of snowbanks</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">—thank goodness she had a new winter coat!</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">). I know that, like </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Téa, she can be particular when choosing friends. And I heard that she just celebrated a birthday, complete with her very own cake:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPD0klw5R_Gw0f1YkBfaumDZdzGHZA4ZmRqktZAU4mSFPm9mguafKW8xgYI-Z6kuidfY3R3a_G8zQCCvgf6rnBqHndfjdROsXY2Rt9StJxV0n-ifTgSn5ZXmKK9E7lmkplGjvYXqvUbAOm/s1600/GeorgiaBday.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPD0klw5R_Gw0f1YkBfaumDZdzGHZA4ZmRqktZAU4mSFPm9mguafKW8xgYI-Z6kuidfY3R3a_G8zQCCvgf6rnBqHndfjdROsXY2Rt9StJxV0n-ifTgSn5ZXmKK9E7lmkplGjvYXqvUbAOm/s400/GeorgiaBday.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"If I can just get my paws on that cake, all of my wishes will have come true!"</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;">We are grateful that our friend took Georgia when a stranger offered her up, even though our friend had nowhere to keep her. We're grateful that we were able to play a small part in helping sweet Georgia along the way. We're grateful for the timing, mishaps and dumb luck that brought Georgia and Ymelda together. But I think we are most grateful every time we hear a Georgia story from Ymelda because it is clear that she is loved and protected in a way she might never have known otherwise. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">Still in peaceful dreams I see</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">The road leads back to you</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">Georgia</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">Georgia</a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">I said just an old sweet song</a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMSQBfNVh0o">Keeps Georgia on my mind </a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Many thanks to Ymelda for contributing the photos included in this post and for opening her heart and her home to sweet Georgia.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-78970575636616825192011-04-05T19:59:00.000-05:002011-04-05T19:59:55.826-05:00Sweet Georgia on my mind: The middle<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2011/03/sweet-georgia-on-my-mind-beginning.html">Having just been given a bundle of pit bull in need of some rescuing</a> and learning that our two favorite rescues were full-up, we found ourselves lacking a clear vision for next steps. Additionally, since this had come up a bit suddenly (as in, "I'm on my way with a dog I need to give you. Where are you?"), we hadn't even eaten our lunch and I was getting a bit testy due to the hunger pangs. So we headed home.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As we walked into our condo, I mentioned that we might do well to at least give poor Smelly (as we were temporarily calling her) a bit of food. I was certain she had gone a long while since her last meal and wouldn't turn her nose up at anything we had to offer. Chris announced that while that he thought that was a good idea, he was giving her a bath first—no arguments. We were only going to have her around for another hour or so, but it could at least be a more pleasant hour. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Chris has a whole routine that he goes through with T2 and baths. Lots of talking and finger massaging and "good, good girl" comments are included. The canine lady on the receiving end gets a lift in (whether she wants it or not) then gets wrapped in a warm, fluffy towel at the end and lifted back out again to commence the zoomy, air-drying portion of the process. I wish I had thought to take a photo of this little girl's bath (most likely her first bath ever). You could just see in her face that while she might not entirely understand what was going on or why, she was willing to let us do what we needed to do and be a good sport about it.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After a little running around when she was finished, she came over (smelling delightful!) to the kitchen area of our loft where I was putting together a little kibble and ground chicken for her. Not enough to make her sick, since who knew what or when she had last eaten, but enough to stop the grumble in her belly and buy a little more affection from her. I set the food down and watched her wander up to it for a sniff. I'm not sure she entirely understood what I was putting on the floor. She was just beginning to realize that it was food and that the whole bowl was for her when she heard Chris coming toward us, having finished cleaning the tub. Bless her heart if she didn't completely abandoned that bowl of food immediately, prance over to check on him and give his hand a little lick before finishing her meal.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1iK4zBr5rAr6VoxIZ2Cb6s12GNxXo42VBdP0AbY_1z9_0aWCzWq4ITf2O_FBWNT-w6GozAWCljj7A4PFxUWUR9oxxLKN4cH0nq_JvTAgRrQnGsj3OpV3xWJu1uBSCTVq1doM93EIP4_bO/s1600/DSCN5633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1iK4zBr5rAr6VoxIZ2Cb6s12GNxXo42VBdP0AbY_1z9_0aWCzWq4ITf2O_FBWNT-w6GozAWCljj7A4PFxUWUR9oxxLKN4cH0nq_JvTAgRrQnGsj3OpV3xWJu1uBSCTVq1doM93EIP4_bO/s400/DSCN5633.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"What luck—someone has left a fluffy bunny for me to nibble on!"</span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Somewhere in the process, I texted a friend who had a connection with one of the larger shelters here in Chicago. I was hoping she had insight into their policies on taking strays. She did. Without going into the gory and disappointing details here, I'll cut to the chase: The shelter publicly states an open policy for animal drop-offs and relinquishing. The catch is that if the animal brought in is a stray, it goes immediately to Animal Care & Control. I have yet to see that fact in any of their literature—and believe me, I've looked. So that was the end of that option.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Apparently this next step in the process was going to take a little more thinking than we had anticipated.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The next day seemed to bring no further ideas, insight or options other than the acknowledgement that T2 would be staying for an indefinite time at sleepover camp. As the owner of our daycare/sleepover camp facility put it, "Three bitches in one home is too many." (We later revised that to "Four bitches in one home is too many," which I continue to quote every once in a while when the occasion suits.) The other realization that came was that we couldn't, if she was staying for more than a few hours, continue to call her Smelly. This is how she came to be known as Georgia...sweet Georgia on my mind.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The next several days were a whirl of activity and stress. I took little Georgia with me every time I walked out the door, extolling her virtues and need for a home to anyone within listening distance. We posted on Facebook. We made flyers and tacked them up at Starbuck's, pet stores, the lobby of our building. We drove to our daycare/sleepover camp each day to drop off a day's worth of food for <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> and <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>. (Yes, I know it would have been easier to take it over in bulk, but I felt like I wanted to do something for my own girls every day as well and taking them food was about all I could come up with.)</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I just met a cat! I am pretty sure it didn't want to be my friend—even though I think I would have liked it. Exhausting!"</span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As you may remember, we love our vet and our vet loves us. I just knew if I took Georgia to the vet with me to post a flyer, someone there would click with her, either adopting her themselves or sending a friend or family member our way who would fall in love with her. As I was pulling up, I got a call from a potential adoptive family (actually, the friend who gave me the down-low on the shelter process I mentioned above). They had fallen for sweet Georgia, but well-meaning friends/volunteers (from the shelter mentioned above) got involved. My friend felt compelled to explain (aka, drag out in great length in the hopes that she would feel better delivering this difficult and unfounded message) her explanation for what we suspected from the minute the well-meaning volunteers laid eyes on sweet Georgia: She <i>seemed </i>fantastic, but gosh, you <i>just never know with a pit bull</i> so there was no way the friends/volunteers could give their approval of her...since she wasn't part of <i>their</i> program. So the recommendation was, if this friend wanted a pit bull, skip Georgia (apparently now known in their minds as The Loose Cannon) and take one of the shelter pit bulls. (For the record, it has taken me a long time to tell this story because of this particular part of it. While this family may not have been the right family for Georgia, neither she nor we deserved the behind-the-back treatment and excuses aimed at her pit-bull-ness that the volunteers brought to the situation.)</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">With that on my mind, I walked into the vet's office with my "dog available" flyer...and stopped dead. No one I knew was at the desk (I basically thought I knew everyone).<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> So I</span> hemmed and hawed and stammered out my story and handed over my flyer to the new person. And then I just stood there. I was done. I had no more ideas, no other places I hadn't paraded her sweet face and posted a flyer, nowhere to take her little self except back to our home</span>—<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">while our girls remained in sleepover camp purgatory (comfortably so, of course, but Glenda the Good Witch had it right when she said to Dorothy, "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJ6VT7ciR1o">There's no place like home</a>.").</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So I did what I am certain anyone in my position would have done. I took Georgia back to the car, had a good cry and then drove her home. </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVRUtoOt8zg">Georgia, Georgia,</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVRUtoOt8zg">No peace, no peace I find</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVRUtoOt8zg">Just this old, sweet song</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVRUtoOt8zg">Keeps Georgia on my mind</a></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-13474981489267882912011-03-30T18:10:00.002-05:002011-03-31T15:14:28.642-05:00Sweet Georgia on my mind: The beginning<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I've <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/08/houseguest.html">mentioned before</a>, we have a friend who seems to stumble onto pit bulls in need all of the time. We appreciate the good intentions and we certainly appreciate anyone who's advocating on behalf of pit bulls, particularly in such a hands-on way, so we try to be supportive.... And by "be supportive," we initially intended that to mean, "Yay you, friend! You did a great thing here for this dog! You saved it's life! Let us buy you a pint!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It turns out that our support was required in a much more active manner. We were sitting in a restaurant one Saturday afternoon waiting for our lunch when Chris' phone rang: "Okay, you're where? You have the dog? We're in Andersonville.... Uh, okay sure. Call us when you get closer." Our well-intentioned friend lives in a decidedly non-pet building. Apparently we were her back-up plan...or possibly her Plan A. It's hard to know for sure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fast-forward 20 minutes. Our lunch was in our car in to-go boxes. Rescues-of-choice one and two had already responded that they were full-up. We were definitely in brainstorming mode, though not quite in panic mode. At least T2 were at sleepover camp for the night since we had a party to co-host that evening—that gave us one less pair of things to worry about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Our friend pulled up and rushed around the car to open the door. I couldn't even see a dog from where I was standing four feet away. When Chris reached in to lift out the petite bag of bones that was curled up on the seat, I felt my heart break a little on her behalf. Sweet, sweet girl with no meat on her, no understanding of what was going on, no idea whether we were good people or bad people—and still her little tail gave the teeniest hopeful beat and her tongue flicked out in the most hesitant way toward Chris' chin to show that she came in friendship. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">And then the smell hit me. It's entirely possible that 50 percent of her body weight that day was the accumulation of every bit of dirt and stench that she had ever come across.</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITdi3kegJ1tSIegrBPkOxmAaF9tuFh-KE9xojvRYRdtWEF_74Oyck0SJwmak9zRpKUVgrVRpnPVr3s5Qj94iQO8Hx0PEAVokXj6NYJUTioKSe8ckqZ2NkX7bY716APWkllmRZ5vanTDva/s1600/Georgia-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITdi3kegJ1tSIegrBPkOxmAaF9tuFh-KE9xojvRYRdtWEF_74Oyck0SJwmak9zRpKUVgrVRpnPVr3s5Qj94iQO8Hx0PEAVokXj6NYJUTioKSe8ckqZ2NkX7bY716APWkllmRZ5vanTDva/s400/Georgia-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">This photo is not from the day we took her home (though the woeful expression captures the moment we met her). She came to us as naked and tagless as the day she was born. Of course.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">We got the back story: Someone had stopped our friend on the street because he had seen her walking a neighborhood pit bull. There was a dog in his building who had been kicked out of the apartment her "family" lived in and she was now living in the hallway. He had checked with the owners; they wanted nothing to do with her. Did our friend have any interest in taking the pit bull with her? Hell yes, she did! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As she handed us the bag of dog treats she had picked up at a convenience store, she asked what our plan was. We were forced to admit that we would have to get back to her on that, but not to worry—we would figure something out. And then Smelly* and I snuggled up together in the backseat of the car, Chris got behind the wheel and off we went.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thls_tMuFkc">I say Georgia</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thls_tMuFkc">Georgia</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thls_tMuFkc">A song of you</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thls_tMuFkc">Comes as sweet and clear</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thls_tMuFkc">As moonlight through the pines</a></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">* Smelly was not the name we gave her, just for the record. But at this point, it was the only moniker that suited her. </span></i></div></div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-49500998274065669342011-03-17T16:23:00.000-05:002011-03-17T16:23:45.611-05:00She's a barfer<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was going to write a little story around this photo entitled <i>Monkey See, Monkey Do.</i> </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrQOhN3lR0PpGYMO_Iz-wuLeqLwndcRGfE2Tzn2uW-GJieMsA91jfqKV1pJoDUGX2UaxQL6epWt9sDAPin0ZCmQfOLJ5TWBXCo6uoRaGXoquoRlIvhhyj2uEDSPiDYfTLwPOjTUNu2a3s/s1600/Vet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrQOhN3lR0PpGYMO_Iz-wuLeqLwndcRGfE2Tzn2uW-GJieMsA91jfqKV1pJoDUGX2UaxQL6epWt9sDAPin0ZCmQfOLJ5TWBXCo6uoRaGXoquoRlIvhhyj2uEDSPiDYfTLwPOjTUNu2a3s/s320/Vet.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I know how to sit still, too!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I would have told you about how popular <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> is at the vet, in part due to her good looks but in greater part due to her entirely chill attitude. She can hunker down on that cool tile floor like it's a feather bed, following the action around her just by moving eyes. Despite the poking, prodding and other intrusive behavior, she always appears to be just one blink away from falling fast asleep. <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>, of course and on the other hand, is a pacer, a squealer, a bouncer and a hopper (once all the way over the reception desk to take a look at our bill). She is essentially a vision of all things inappropriate when we're in the waiting room at the vet (though in the end she is a model patient). But today, for some reason, she decided it was time for a game of Monkey See, Monkey Do and was her most relaxed, most well-behaved, most non-dramatic self, which of course gave me hope that our future together will involve less drama on her part.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Instead, I can only shake my head, sigh and say that it's hard to tell from this photo that in mere moments, Téa would throw up much of her breakfast and all of the peanut butter she had just eaten...onto Toni's head. In typical Toni fashion, she just wagged her tail limply and gave us a doleful <a href="http://www.just-pooh.com/eeyore.html">Eeyore</a> look while she waited for us to wipe her down.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-40823706581311963002011-03-04T09:54:00.001-06:002011-03-04T09:55:29.387-06:00Illinois readers: Call to action by 8 March<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Thanks to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%09%20http://siriuscooks.com">Sirius Cooks</a> in Oak Park (and Facebook) I made a quick and easy phone call this morning to state legislator Lisa Dugan (217-782-5981). My only message, which was presumably recorded along with my name and city by the person who answered the phone, was to request a no vote to House Bill 1080. This proposed change to Illinois law would remove the state-wide ban on breed specific legislation (BSL). </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Illinois is one of the most animal-friendly states in our nation. We do not support or allow BSL. We allow for a felony classification for animal abuse and do on occasion (not often enough, of course) hold people accountable to that degree. It has made me proud to call Illinois my home for the last 11 years and has given me (apparently a false) sense of security knowing that our dogs, at least, would be safe.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As a resident of Illinois; caretaker to two loving and lovable pit bulls; and a firm believer in addressing the cause of a problem not the result, I cannot let this vote be taken without having my voice heard. You must take one minute, 60 seconds, between now and Monday to do the same. Lisa Dugan (217-782-5981): "No to HB 1080."</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">For a more extensive, thoughtfully written article, refer to <a href="http://www.news-gazette.com/blogs/paws-reflect/2011-02/house-bill-1080-%E2%80%93-step-backward-illinois.html">this one</a> in the News-Gazette. (And good luck finding coverage elsewhere - I couldn't find a Tribune or Sun Times article on this topic anywhere online.)</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_9CyV6idI-TjyW2LjCahuq8BW2PS9eu76p_YbS7y3m0S0-p2zuzUPZJDlbA4QGiQKw2ZGh1lnMSS1u0SyMjDbqYnXtl9_VJDDNkC9Jn8a0t3Ap6nM_DtvLEoWQQFBBOJr6bwdemMn0jx/s1600/DSCN6887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_9CyV6idI-TjyW2LjCahuq8BW2PS9eu76p_YbS7y3m0S0-p2zuzUPZJDlbA4QGiQKw2ZGh1lnMSS1u0SyMjDbqYnXtl9_VJDDNkC9Jn8a0t3Ap6nM_DtvLEoWQQFBBOJr6bwdemMn0jx/s320/DSCN6887.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-2525882471482187992011-03-02T17:46:00.000-06:002011-03-02T17:46:29.888-06:00Free toy zone once again<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> is not a sharer by nature. She's not really greedy nor is she particularly interested in whatever it is that attracts Téa's attention. Like many alpha dogs, she just believes it's her right and her job to maintain control of all things interesting or of value.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We do not particularly find this character trait endearing, as you can imagine. A toy management dispute is what led to Toni knocking out a tooth on <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>'s head the first week Téa lived with us. This was the beginning of a long line of discussions over who's in charge of toy management. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxxaUtZ53OhC3-vB7xEqMW3TrjQ5ELl163cYQvgAoQUaE3zyZlTyMMGPlc7PWRex4jVFnfQozxPi5_f32fLzYIlJkaEeDsmP0Zfi7K9W3aXomRmviE4lvEEFa9r4bSyMMlAnOoRq17-Tt/s1600/SharingToys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxxaUtZ53OhC3-vB7xEqMW3TrjQ5ELl163cYQvgAoQUaE3zyZlTyMMGPlc7PWRex4jVFnfQozxPi5_f32fLzYIlJkaEeDsmP0Zfi7K9W3aXomRmviE4lvEEFa9r4bSyMMlAnOoRq17-Tt/s320/SharingToys.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I don't understand what the problem is. I gave her that bit of tennis ball that I was finished with. What more could she possibly want?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqSY4wT3riBK7MvIFabOomZUysKAE53-W9NNkExmkp4MIP-5ZylkLrZIPHEB8ls6MVcaX1BaTeXjTAK9xmIyr6ru41Ge8qlEFNG4fpAVR7ayZ4qlrHuZ3iQGzMNhLeeUSYKEnmZh2x_Bv/s1600/ToniPuzzle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We've learned to get Toni engaged in dismembering something (a squeaky toy, a rope-ball contraption, an Extreme Kong) before roughhousing with Téa. Even so, we have developed a sixth sense for Toni's inevitable attempt to squash all things fun. She lowers her head like a bull facing a matador and then barrels toward us in her own funny sideways run, picking up speed as she goes. We are ready to deflect her now, but it adds a little stress to play time if you're constantly on the lookout for the neighborhood bully.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqSY4wT3riBK7MvIFabOomZUysKAE53-W9NNkExmkp4MIP-5ZylkLrZIPHEB8ls6MVcaX1BaTeXjTAK9xmIyr6ru41Ge8qlEFNG4fpAVR7ayZ4qlrHuZ3iQGzMNhLeeUSYKEnmZh2x_Bv/s1600/ToniPuzzle.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqSY4wT3riBK7MvIFabOomZUysKAE53-W9NNkExmkp4MIP-5ZylkLrZIPHEB8ls6MVcaX1BaTeXjTAK9xmIyr6ru41Ge8qlEFNG4fpAVR7ayZ4qlrHuZ3iQGzMNhLeeUSYKEnmZh2x_Bv/s320/ToniPuzzle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"These are my puzzle balls. Mine. Mine. Mine. Even if I don't want them."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So for nearly two years, we have been a declared restricted toy zone. The toy bin has been closely managed - kept on a top shelf or behind a door. Toys were only available when someone had the time and attention span to stand alert, ready to break up potential scuffles over a squeaky penguin or a rope with tennis balls at either end or whatever the <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2011/01/too-damned-cold.html">toy du jour</a> happened to be. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But frankly, that's just not fun for any of us.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, after some serious observation and practice sharing, we are proud to announce that we are once again a free toy zone. This is not to be interpreted as "free toys for all who enter," but rather as a "toys roam freely on our premises" sort of categorization. As hoped, Toni is generally unconcerned about these free-roaming toys, leaving them to their business for the most part. As expected, Téa is ecstatic. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE_ih3DYb9SBQxUL7y08Zyoi7pKmLGIqa1VsJPB7mcuZJQwctfqbv9QslOvYpM2BtggXCFT_jWRQhGyAErtf4oB-LSjXOWfHDexy3xWdNkyZy24s7KBc3_x9hkQNHJChrCRzt6Jc5AuhB/s1600/Tea-Toys.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE_ih3DYb9SBQxUL7y08Zyoi7pKmLGIqa1VsJPB7mcuZJQwctfqbv9QslOvYpM2BtggXCFT_jWRQhGyAErtf4oB-LSjXOWfHDexy3xWdNkyZy24s7KBc3_x9hkQNHJChrCRzt6Jc5AuhB/s320/Tea-Toys.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"First I will nibble this pink one. Then I will fling the green thing onto my back again; and then I will give the brown and pink one a shake. Then I think I'll start again from the beginning."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At any moment, she is able to fling a furry frog, romp with a twisted rope or battle with a puzzle ball. Sometimes, we find, she attempts all three simultaneously.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGgDsYprCCSsc9tFUnyVpgw-I8a4AQL7DI3g86u1jsxXbbWhUf_jFQxgmk1PxIrrV5dFUiKsH3le1zvNkXNNumgZwnMqc4Ttb2Z6En0PyvTPiJW9cWtHNgWCQ0YHBVR375M4WyvMfn-Qv/s1600/Tea-ToyBox.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGgDsYprCCSsc9tFUnyVpgw-I8a4AQL7DI3g86u1jsxXbbWhUf_jFQxgmk1PxIrrV5dFUiKsH3le1zvNkXNNumgZwnMqc4Ttb2Z6En0PyvTPiJW9cWtHNgWCQ0YHBVR375M4WyvMfn-Qv/s400/Tea-ToyBox.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"One...two..three...six...174! I had no idea we had so many toys!"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-32716382577725375272011-02-16T09:11:00.000-06:002011-02-16T09:11:22.617-06:00Couch—Release II<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We do love a good game of <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/05/our-favorite-game.html">Couch</a> around here. It provides hours of fun for the whole family. But since we've had to <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/11/indulge-your-inner-monkey-while-you-can.html">modify the game</a> to ensure that Toni is always "it," it seems that she's not always up for playing. That seems fair—I don't want to play games in which I'm always "it" either.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So apparently we're now playing Release II, also known as Name That Furniture.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHMT_lLRRV4yvdf07psSX5ZNiWXqDcVXAVD-y2HmrOBCFE8VbPSFmxuD5j0El-8wwTm1Ap09BpD4YJgdzkJlzvvok1QG2SxBVbvXNVDhJxY1tV58SChrwsy5YxkCTW5FNKWbDzY5PKyHgm/s1600/Couch-Modified.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHMT_lLRRV4yvdf07psSX5ZNiWXqDcVXAVD-y2HmrOBCFE8VbPSFmxuD5j0El-8wwTm1Ap09BpD4YJgdzkJlzvvok1QG2SxBVbvXNVDhJxY1tV58SChrwsy5YxkCTW5FNKWbDzY5PKyHgm/s400/Couch-Modified.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-33927308063996938682011-02-03T16:45:00.000-06:002011-02-03T16:45:11.553-06:00Memory Lane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ah yes, the great blizzard of twenty-eleven. I remember it like it was yesterday....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Wait. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Never mind.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZ2he17tp6wpWwUBoiBq2hFsTqppYFsdx6Uzan8oe3ZtfuZLc37a4hUFOEK-YJpAq_ZaAJek5DXGt8qt61XA678V9y7bHoTal-Aw1ytAQ_qt_g6iAdzaxe4Upf7RYuQfFEG6qTREmORFh/s1600/Blizzard1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZ2he17tp6wpWwUBoiBq2hFsTqppYFsdx6Uzan8oe3ZtfuZLc37a4hUFOEK-YJpAq_ZaAJek5DXGt8qt61XA678V9y7bHoTal-Aw1ytAQ_qt_g6iAdzaxe4Upf7RYuQfFEG6qTREmORFh/s400/Blizzard1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Please, please, please let a dog come by!" A dog never came by—they were all inside trying to stay warm.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4k7s9Sk3a90qPkXIkZAiX69M5bgGsLqMs1Lg6W7-phMiwbFZAvdZsabBtfyE6aODWBMsmNikf2YdQ1diMCTlcZ9lska6CARskKY9Mz1xaexpsqnMIUfLr4CUz604yqT0i2Lu9czPXm8w/s1600/Blizzard3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4k7s9Sk3a90qPkXIkZAiX69M5bgGsLqMs1Lg6W7-phMiwbFZAvdZsabBtfyE6aODWBMsmNikf2YdQ1diMCTlcZ9lska6CARskKY9Mz1xaexpsqnMIUfLr4CUz604yqT0i2Lu9czPXm8w/s320/Blizzard3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSrF2L6Xt1VAyDedQSDRNU_dOTp1j1j2uhY9aXXvHpOg1ZOlaeZ2vfHPzmfNLbWDL6itPuibyBVSrTGoKPMggodjf6J7I1WLfNb_2FhK04jIS82Q_7C_BVAZMvq4gQ7DwKhqBqstXWqPf/s1600/Blizzard2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSrF2L6Xt1VAyDedQSDRNU_dOTp1j1j2uhY9aXXvHpOg1ZOlaeZ2vfHPzmfNLbWDL6itPuibyBVSrTGoKPMggodjf6J7I1WLfNb_2FhK04jIS82Q_7C_BVAZMvq4gQ7DwKhqBqstXWqPf/s320/Blizzard2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiafXdfWx2f6EQsubNJET0mrNQzXU3_NUpFEjNMoJPALCCrgu45TAcfBex6Xxgn1El332MGYvuC8E3Z6hQZ1A8G7Yg6ewyvCkc8l-EsdEWzhbe8kY3PjzxpwJuoTElxKCCq8LhqRKkluM/s1600/SnowSurf.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiafXdfWx2f6EQsubNJET0mrNQzXU3_NUpFEjNMoJPALCCrgu45TAcfBex6Xxgn1El332MGYvuC8E3Z6hQZ1A8G7Yg6ewyvCkc8l-EsdEWzhbe8kY3PjzxpwJuoTElxKCCq8LhqRKkluM/s400/SnowSurf.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Go, Téa, go! Never mind that the snow is about six inches deeper than you are tall.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRgBDvyFie61GLRYqdMiMjT7qVpGYgPvHp6wmDjfbrug9S4lX8OcZTmGqBrkgICEHBdb6zrGpcALkGH6VZuDIIz2PL1CMsJBzGypXng4A_MGpWdG9orCo3PwaJeY7Bv_ot0-1Jmoxhs0g/s320/SnowSurfAfter.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Gack! No one told me it was going to be like running through frozen bath water! I <i>hate </i>the bath!"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YE5iOddMTsEWJZPIL8x8q2_EVVsRm9UqvYcDNCZ0VKOtidoltCRSFqdbJTBjCULUP8oa3ZPy8OGQb4RNWUjcrok0W0dvmID-tXe02uWk2Vb2cGSYEE2JCZ6_5U8FnrnOKTWu7wtQU62R/s1600/PrefersPorch.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YE5iOddMTsEWJZPIL8x8q2_EVVsRm9UqvYcDNCZ0VKOtidoltCRSFqdbJTBjCULUP8oa3ZPy8OGQb4RNWUjcrok0W0dvmID-tXe02uWk2Vb2cGSYEE2JCZ6_5U8FnrnOKTWu7wtQU62R/s400/PrefersPorch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Which is why Toni prefers the deck.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-8140537733981597562011-01-29T10:01:00.000-06:002011-01-29T10:01:45.989-06:00When nothing else works<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> had an accident this past week. She slipped on some ice. It seemed like nothing important at the time, but by the end of the day she was in pretty bad shape. We're still not exactly sure what the damage is—maybe sprains in both hips, maybe a torn ligament, maybe something else. What we do know is that it is the first time we've ever heard her yelp in pain. And she yelped a lot on the day of the accident. It continues even through the weekend, though not as much, thankfully.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There's something really horrible about seeing someone (even, or maybe especially, a furry someone) who is normally stoic and steady reduced to the desperation and confusion that pain causes. It added a whole level of panic to my end of the situation as caretaker that is not usually present, as I tried desperately to reach beyond my usual measures to try to find a solution for this ailment that was beyond the usual.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;">Even <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a> is unsure how to help, and offers up the only thing she can think of, the thing that makes her feel best when she is not well (though truth be told it makes her feel best even when she's already feeling pretty good): love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6YeDMRBJ4NcXD_tbSe-7UjqT4-5XqJmFGF9qOY94It2OsT_zVkyDBtcNk6PQ7sxySG5skV_vIMEdtfbliGZRwDCfdnydMZETG2tkP0exChXzP7xjT-hT58zZbSytj0k6Frxts50faeko/s1600/Help.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6YeDMRBJ4NcXD_tbSe-7UjqT4-5XqJmFGF9qOY94It2OsT_zVkyDBtcNk6PQ7sxySG5skV_vIMEdtfbliGZRwDCfdnydMZETG2tkP0exChXzP7xjT-hT58zZbSytj0k6Frxts50faeko/s320/Help.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I will be your personal blanket, teddy bear and hot water bottle until you feel better."</td></tr>
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</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-89462035180236977692011-01-21T17:08:00.001-06:002011-01-21T20:09:52.737-06:00Too damned cold<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We thought the weather in December was a little miserable, what with the buckets of snow and the declining hours of sunlight (at least at the beginning of December). We had forgotten, as we do every year, that January is December's meaner, more temperamental, less forgiving twin.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And though T2 are <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/10/were-lovers-not-fighters.html">snuggled up literally like bugs in rugs</a> indoors, their hearts and legs long for a good run up and down the yard and a trot around the neighborhood. That is, they long for those things until faced with the reality of what that means in Chicago in January. And then, no matter how much their butts wiggled as we put on their coats and no matter how recently I've applied <a href="http://www.bestbullysticks.com/home/bbs/page_9754_245/mushers_secret_paw_protection.html">Musher's Secret</a> to their paws, the misery sets in almost instantaneously. Just as I right myself from a near header into the icebank (no longer a snowbank these days) in front of our house, they're balanced not-so-delicately on two or three paws, with the salt- or snow- or cold-burdened ones dangling helplessly in the air as they give me that look that says, "All I've ever done is love you (except for that time I [insert naughty activity here]) and now you're trying to kill me one chunk of salt/snow/cold at a time. How can you forsake me so?!?"</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Add to that the fact that we (at least the canine portion of we) are recovering from a bout of bad stomachs this week...so no treats. This means none of the usual practice runs through tricks (for what is a trick if not a means to a treat, in their minds). It means all of our food puzzle games are boring (like Monopoly without any pieces, cards or money). And since we can't leave toys out without supervision (<a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> is a bit selfish about toys), it means we're running out of entertainment; and we all know bored dogs are naughty dogs.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Luckily, Chris brought back canine Christmas stockings from the UK this year. They included two kinds of treats (not allowed this week), unnaturally colored rawhide twisted or pressed into holiday shapes (not allowed this week) and a rubber <a href="http://www.englishteastore.com/crackers.html">Christmas cracker</a> (saved!). This is how we spent today:</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_onelu82gfP5zsJuIgMxfRX9Kl5bCFu92U8WGXZQxGJL0ekG42clmX7omd8F-PibVxlVVWmrmazak-zFKOBiBHclNPSWE6pbBNKh8hjesJR4A9yGWsdmK525jBsmzclBFaSiKjBY2bSo/s1600/Cracker-Tes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_onelu82gfP5zsJuIgMxfRX9Kl5bCFu92U8WGXZQxGJL0ekG42clmX7omd8F-PibVxlVVWmrmazak-zFKOBiBHclNPSWE6pbBNKh8hjesJR4A9yGWsdmK525jBsmzclBFaSiKjBY2bSo/s320/Cracker-Tes.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9BggNriQ4eEilQmBPVHRvjvcGdwQXnyxiPXe1i2m372Y_9aWrqJmu1f47TEleLNuBa2wTx3EgKwAeFyBvWD8ZT9UrOZsdfmtsyR3UyVd6O4tWmHEUxMC9KVifcpERqc-buPvtJuYyDBR/s1600/Cracker-Toni.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9BggNriQ4eEilQmBPVHRvjvcGdwQXnyxiPXe1i2m372Y_9aWrqJmu1f47TEleLNuBa2wTx3EgKwAeFyBvWD8ZT9UrOZsdfmtsyR3UyVd6O4tWmHEUxMC9KVifcpERqc-buPvtJuYyDBR/s320/Cracker-Toni.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Of note: <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>'s cracker is still in mint condition. If she were a little girl, she wouldn't have even gotten it apart to claim the paper crown or toy inside. All 2,074 pieces of <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a>'s cracker have already been picked up and sent to the trash bin. I am sure we'll continue to find the remaining 312 pieces over the next several months.</i></div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-90143820263947086102011-01-13T18:01:00.004-06:002011-01-21T20:09:39.701-06:00DIY doggie style<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have never been the sort to divide household chores along traditional gender lines. Whoever cooks (usually me, but only because I love to cook), is excused from dish duty. If I take on dusting on a Saturday morning, Chris takes the floors. Trash duty belongs to whoever is headed outside when it needs to go. I even mowed my first lawn this past summer—and liked it. (Though I admit, I always like chores that provide immediate gratification: "Look what I just did! It was <i>long </i>grass and now it's <i>short </i>grass!! I'm amazing!")</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But it never occurred to us that we might also be able to split chores and DIY projects in our new home along human/canine lines as well. Truth be told, we assumed that the absence of opposable thumbs would really limit our dogs' abilities to assist in most chores and projects. Apparently it's a common misconception. Since purchasing our fixer-upper, we've learned that Téa has <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/12/decorating-not-impressed.html">very definite opinions about decorating</a>. We've also discovered a variety of unexpected tasks at which T2 excel, including but not limited to:</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">kitchen renovation, </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJddyACGTDNnWCMlIrz6oB_daR1guTN5MtBdlZLyn41r09wAWSADVSFSzG9clzH-TZI-MHiyU_zKmZAMfI0WlQQp3xdLRC0mMiXuYvJ47GwA_pHg5Pajz15xDMvLqR_lkCTq4YbQgTa6h/s1600/DIY-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJddyACGTDNnWCMlIrz6oB_daR1guTN5MtBdlZLyn41r09wAWSADVSFSzG9clzH-TZI-MHiyU_zKmZAMfI0WlQQp3xdLRC0mMiXuYvJ47GwA_pHg5Pajz15xDMvLqR_lkCTq4YbQgTa6h/s320/DIY-1.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I'm telling you, fuchsia has <i>never</i>, <i><b>ever </b></i>been the fashion for cabinetry. Work with me on this, please."</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">closet organization</span>,</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2blwywKWEOCv4-LLlDXBKxTJ0lgQ-jTjVCM2ZcK5pTW6oB-9VD6MeTZ5KtbcLgTpTlyml3xyV-fmM8z_rtA33NvxI725JPWl0M8IztfcmKqqu3lpUrYgwvxqpbPr62_KUVyfWaba18AuO/s1600/DIY-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2blwywKWEOCv4-LLlDXBKxTJ0lgQ-jTjVCM2ZcK5pTW6oB-9VD6MeTZ5KtbcLgTpTlyml3xyV-fmM8z_rtA33NvxI725JPWl0M8IztfcmKqqu3lpUrYgwvxqpbPr62_KUVyfWaba18AuO/s320/DIY-2.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Nope. If you put a shoe rack in here there will definitely not be enough space leftover in which to nap. So that's a no on the shoe rack."</span></span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">plumbing, </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGgOAqKwbn93HC4NBSwbvrX30s_CsRrYAK0W6ECqM8umrhQzMddlsQQC1TvPBMZ5LRB9iLZX_gFSHnIETQz5g47hh-qLovDces6FNfjOw-4jZfNm04LuqTIMqogqSeudulFtfczpzkiPj/s1600/DIY-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGgOAqKwbn93HC4NBSwbvrX30s_CsRrYAK0W6ECqM8umrhQzMddlsQQC1TvPBMZ5LRB9iLZX_gFSHnIETQz5g47hh-qLovDces6FNfjOw-4jZfNm04LuqTIMqogqSeudulFtfczpzkiPj/s320/DIY-3.jpg" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"It's righty-tighty, Dad, righty-</span><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>tighty</i></b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">. You're going the wrong way! Here, let me do it."</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSblHoGlXvYEcAU4PFs9adqhCiuZrlKZdN365O1j632SaGbdw_O4aI1ytaKqawFzvWPqtCo_0wEifLAieEyw89jQddEd_j4P9l-FAJ7x7OTyK_TTcxHihKYz5xmEJNbtee42Hccx3gnc8L/s1600/DIY-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;">painting, </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSblHoGlXvYEcAU4PFs9adqhCiuZrlKZdN365O1j632SaGbdw_O4aI1ytaKqawFzvWPqtCo_0wEifLAieEyw89jQddEd_j4P9l-FAJ7x7OTyK_TTcxHihKYz5xmEJNbtee42Hccx3gnc8L/s320/DIY-5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"All right. Enough horsing around with that camera. We've got a lot of work to get through today and I can't hold this paint brush on my own, you know."</span></span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">and project management.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1sWg2vnkAjxJjjM4MFETlcXSUNUEzVr7utVzUBja1JorEAZ5zq91H3wCsnRpe3IYsgO5WUyeApjE-O6MQjgAdV50VZ4mNLhwm15pNeDDQjwjqjlUcqfIKm3wW3MotCNJ33_CsoSCrzqgH/s1600/DIY-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1sWg2vnkAjxJjjM4MFETlcXSUNUEzVr7utVzUBja1JorEAZ5zq91H3wCsnRpe3IYsgO5WUyeApjE-O6MQjgAdV50VZ4mNLhwm15pNeDDQjwjqjlUcqfIKm3wW3MotCNJ33_CsoSCrzqgH/s320/DIY-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Break time's over there, missy. Chop chop—back to work."</span></span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So the good news is, we ought to get this place in tip-top shape much more quickly than we had anticipated!</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-72501162459868121162011-01-10T17:37:00.005-06:002011-01-21T20:09:25.714-06:00A thoughtful reply<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">By now I think everyone has heard about President Obama's careless compliments to the Philadelphia Eagles and their decision to offer Michael Vick an opportunity to use his talents for legal entertainment purposes (as opposed to the vicious, sadistic, sociopathic purposes he lent them to during his tenure as Bad Newz Kennel's owner, financier and Director of Torture and Death Operations). </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It can be hard to know where to direct complaints or voice concerns in these instances of appalling misjudgment. We could ring the White House directly, but I don't imagine there is much satisfaction in leaving an irate message with an operator or intern. We can post to our blogs, knowing that we have a like-minded audience in our readers. We can rant over cocktails to our friends or the bartender at our favorite local. We can bring it up with an Eagles fan over lunch, savoring the opportunity to jab our fingers and raise our voices to someone who simply, for whatever reason, doesn't get it. But none of these efforts really addresses the issue with the person who matters the most in this particular instance. None of these efforts bends the ear and enlightens the mind of the man who made these thoughtless comments, a man whose comments receive more attention and publicity globally than anyone else alive. Which is why, when I read <a href="http://www.badrap.org/">Bad Rap</a>'s blog post on the subject (<a href="http://badrap-blog.blogspot.com/2011/01/worthy-white-house-literacy-project.html">A Worthy White House Literacy Project</a>), I felt a sense of relief at finding a practical, satisfying outlet for my feelings on the subject. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At Bad Rap's suggestion, we've sent a copy of Jim Gorant's <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Dogs-Michael-Rescue-Redemption/dp/1592405509/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1294687084&sr=1-1">The Lost Dogs</a></i> to the White House. We included photos and a brief introduction to <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni</a> and <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa</a>. And while I do know that it is unlikely that <i>my </i>note and photos will make it to the President's desk, I also know that the receipt of hundreds of copies of the same book will be noticed and that some of the notes and photos will make their way up the chain of command. And if <i>someone</i> in the White House (ideally its most powerful resident) takes the time to educate himself on what Michael Vick is really capable of, when the cameras aren't flashing, when the cheering has quieted (which someday it will, as his arm and his legs age and his talent fades), when the stadium is quiet and he needs to make himself feel like a big man at the expense of other living creatures; if <i>someone</i> learns what dog fighting is really about and the brutality that men and women visit on these dogs who are so eager to please them that they will sacrifice their lives in that effort; if <i>someone</i> can remember that athletic prowess is no synonym for heroism and no substitute for morality; if <i>someone</i> takes a moment to tap into their own humanity and compassion, then perhaps the President will think more carefully about where he directs his compliments and why. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If you want to make your voice heard, you can send a letter and/or a copy of <i>The Lost Dogs</i> to: </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Mr. President and First Lady Obama<br />
The White House<br />
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW<br />
Washington, DC 20500</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenQ7rxp6dXXuatlMCU87xSTPK1009Jt1UwGe7-OFcgBkZ3-LlTTF3q0eHidnkZxvJyGyhNanCoS5FFWX_YeY7fZpdlejmLCF-qEPhhzqBWpraR_a8ZiOFVzOButBzb327ZeRdVGVdRzrL/s1600/book2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenQ7rxp6dXXuatlMCU87xSTPK1009Jt1UwGe7-OFcgBkZ3-LlTTF3q0eHidnkZxvJyGyhNanCoS5FFWX_YeY7fZpdlejmLCF-qEPhhzqBWpraR_a8ZiOFVzOButBzb327ZeRdVGVdRzrL/s320/book2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from http://badrap-blog.blogspot.com/.</span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's up to us to speak for the victims who cannot speak for themselves. I hope you'll take a moment to make yourself heard.<br />
<br />
<i>This last is taken directly from the Bad Rap blog</i>: "<b>More people than we ever imagined</b> sent books to the White House after this blog post went live. A casual count tallied a <i>minimum</i> of 200 books sent. It seems that the large number reached critical mass a few days ago, and while the first few arrivals were signed for and accepted by WH staff (we're not sure how many), they are now turning others away. Mission Accomplished! Now what to do with all the books that are returning to their purchasers? We have a few ideas and will post asap. Thank you ALL for jumping both feet into this action."<br />
<br />
Hopefully, at least one more mind has been enlightened. </div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-64419134614245572162011-01-05T17:53:00.002-06:002011-01-13T17:58:38.706-06:00The holiday pilgrimage in photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHLCi-viArqNjjGJBpw0G6HKvjyPPeEqcwt1elgdV59W53iVnTRkysCpk8xRTRWXlPfWE1bhqIV37TCK_YBl-ww1vCwBTV1DpJWkl9WHgunjitHWz6S-CuQZpNaIAOOkaCQq4LFTubCg5/s1600/DSCN6724.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHLCi-viArqNjjGJBpw0G6HKvjyPPeEqcwt1elgdV59W53iVnTRkysCpk8xRTRWXlPfWE1bhqIV37TCK_YBl-ww1vCwBTV1DpJWkl9WHgunjitHWz6S-CuQZpNaIAOOkaCQq4LFTubCg5/s400/DSCN6724.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"This is insanely early. We're going to pretend we're still in bed. No photos, please."</span></td></tr>
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<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Holy cats! They're handing food out of a window to everyone!"</span></td></tr>
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<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"And yet, none for us. What the hell, lady?!"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznlS1HZ9Ro1NR_Lp8LHc1JqA9WG3BU52b09qRu9Rqyn1vgGWBsSUXyLwS0eAn3tgPD71_DRg5Kmyr86eUhifud7jETDjpXQGNM5O_omvNPYm1VEDMr7xzMRnJuIPHm83pCZji_Ki3nngQ/s1600/DSCN6718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznlS1HZ9Ro1NR_Lp8LHc1JqA9WG3BU52b09qRu9Rqyn1vgGWBsSUXyLwS0eAn3tgPD71_DRg5Kmyr86eUhifud7jETDjpXQGNM5O_omvNPYm1VEDMr7xzMRnJuIPHm83pCZji_Ki3nngQ/s320/DSCN6718.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">T2's chauffeur..in my sparkly sunglasses.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrht1ZauFteJb1ZjdYXm1OyUsr6OAdq2IJIjgTPK1KlHOciqfj8VDANCO3ivb4wVkDXdG6Up3sPOyIldLBDbCSOOVc9EbWGb8ljSVEv21_x3gC5v7AT-kIkFVb9O8cMv_4-rdoPmpk13F/s1600/DSCN6722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrht1ZauFteJb1ZjdYXm1OyUsr6OAdq2IJIjgTPK1KlHOciqfj8VDANCO3ivb4wVkDXdG6Up3sPOyIldLBDbCSOOVc9EbWGb8ljSVEv21_x3gC5v7AT-kIkFVb9O8cMv_4-rdoPmpk13F/s320/DSCN6722.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Téa's turn in the front of the back.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWvVlAAIOWTRd-UorDiBBC-T_jZ7eKTV2XUPxgb2feRa7jfaF41JlX6qemKJ1zcxDvAWEmwf1nfFv88dXsP6wxRoDDBFMlL1_70q_1b_06GUydN70zkssuRvJyNQQPBracHIO4bWGeuER/s1600/DSCN6725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWvVlAAIOWTRd-UorDiBBC-T_jZ7eKTV2XUPxgb2feRa7jfaF41JlX6qemKJ1zcxDvAWEmwf1nfFv88dXsP6wxRoDDBFMlL1_70q_1b_06GUydN70zkssuRvJyNQQPBracHIO4bWGeuER/s320/DSCN6725.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Toni, sweets, your head is much, much too big to jam in there.</span></span> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Proof that I went on the trip as well.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0E-5t_gHsY-M90HoilJAs-JkAQ1HGBSL-1-M-vz6vD0RC7QoPQol5i-6pd2Gou9HqZYgWkBybbGc4T4ZKlFzqpF7trBJbJVzGR2Tiu31q0wHsNYuIBceD7MnAs4ZZTuAQ0iF1USwdiPKM/s1600/DSCN6730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0E-5t_gHsY-M90HoilJAs-JkAQ1HGBSL-1-M-vz6vD0RC7QoPQol5i-6pd2Gou9HqZYgWkBybbGc4T4ZKlFzqpF7trBJbJVzGR2Tiu31q0wHsNYuIBceD7MnAs4ZZTuAQ0iF1USwdiPKM/s320/DSCN6730.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Playing <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/05/our-favorite-game.html">couch </a>to pass the time.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-27737811466630496612010-12-20T19:18:00.001-06:002010-12-21T09:06:53.616-06:00Prepping for the holiday pilgrimage<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Like many people, we're preparing for the holiday pilgrimage across the country to spend a few days feasting, connecting with family and feasting a little more. This includes T2, as we'll be driving.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The first time <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/meet-toni.html">Toni </a>made the trek, it was just the two of us. Chris flew in a few days later. We had only had Toni for a few short months, so we didn't know what to expect. </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKF-ZAmrx36u2wuR356YWgnhtLNjayCSNNikM6UA3Mu5EW-Zk-yhz8LAQ1Ue9YI7o9KwlYvzsKFH34p1RV-nEypJEVSC9HqfjJy8YaLA0jGLidzOCLQOFdPIv8grjiMRZO_-sGv8jqBwYt/s1600/Whoohoo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKF-ZAmrx36u2wuR356YWgnhtLNjayCSNNikM6UA3Mu5EW-Zk-yhz8LAQ1Ue9YI7o9KwlYvzsKFH34p1RV-nEypJEVSC9HqfjJy8YaLA0jGLidzOCLQOFdPIv8grjiMRZO_-sGv8jqBwYt/s320/Whoohoo.jpg" width="254" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I got onto the expressway, it occurred to me that we had no idea at all if she got carsick. We'd taken her an hour-long drives up to that point, but that's nothing compared to 14 hours. What would I do if she spent the whole 14 hours heaving down the back of my t-shirt? Worse—what if she spent 14 hours heaving on my suitcase, full as it was with many of my favorite clothes (which were also all I had to wear for the next week)?! As it turns out, I had nothing to worry about. A car on the expressway works for Toni the same way it works for a baby: like a giant sleep machine. No heaving transpired.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6v0oKsu21BTIkWTEAq4eq4EzZ40swy5ujnO74wwcqZyHnlf_z1-uD5xfy1eK8GoKrzkrLSgOPnfniERVvmoSl9HWf6euqB0bRgsVp-DA8cu_ekLlNhSyBlfyPDUKsVDDW4-mH-9HVpoc/s1600/RearWindow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6v0oKsu21BTIkWTEAq4eq4EzZ40swy5ujnO74wwcqZyHnlf_z1-uD5xfy1eK8GoKrzkrLSgOPnfniERVvmoSl9HWf6euqB0bRgsVp-DA8cu_ekLlNhSyBlfyPDUKsVDDW4-mH-9HVpoc/s320/RearWindow.jpg" width="270" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When we pulled up to our first rest stop, I realized there was another issue or two that we hadn't thought about. First, Toni is petrified of new situations. When she's frightened, even enticing treats that normally make her salivate become suspicious and dangerous treats in her fear-addled brain. Toni at that time weighed around 70 pounds. I weigh more than that...but not much. What would I do if, predictably, she refused to get out of the car? As it turns out, I did the obvious: I lifted her. (But if some day I write that I am posting from bed because my back has finally given out and I am bedridden for life, know that I blame it in part on this trip and all of the heavy lifting.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I also realized that I had absolutely no one to guard her while I went inside to take care of my own business. Being from Chicago, we are sadly aware of what can happen to an unattended dog who gets snatched by someone with an interest in dog fighting. And although Toni does look intimidating to strangers, an experienced dog handler would assess that she's a gentle soul. And then he would snatch her. I had visions of my trip turning into some bizarre I-turn-all-<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0146316/">Laura-Croft</a>-in-order-to-rescue-Toni scenario. There was no way I could make it 14 hours without going inside somewhere to use the facilities. So I became the fastest facility user I could possibly be. No primping, no tucking, no dawdling under the hand drier. Hell, no hand drier at all</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">my jeans were as good a place as any to dry my hands on. Not that it mattered, after all of my worrying. No one probably even noticed us; I was just some lady filling up her gas tank like everyone else.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtgHXPEepStTVoPEL_G1E9__9t81dHHe8IE0YRwXtGNeQMLgOY1kJsoLpZAKDdzSJod1FuKOS0pRxgS1UubulCGYiiUGAGUTVPZqv-9l4lwE10brCB8lskW4iq5vY3EHNcjAXoyKhcePS/s1600/RoadTrip.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtgHXPEepStTVoPEL_G1E9__9t81dHHe8IE0YRwXtGNeQMLgOY1kJsoLpZAKDdzSJod1FuKOS0pRxgS1UubulCGYiiUGAGUTVPZqv-9l4lwE10brCB8lskW4iq5vY3EHNcjAXoyKhcePS/s320/RoadTrip.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We've made the drive several times now, sometimes with Chris and sometimes just T2 and me. We've learned that Toni is more likely to hop out of the car on her own now that she has <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/04/and-tea.html">Téa </a>to lead the way. We know that for some reason, storms, thunder and lightening are not scary when viewed from a car. We've learned that no one is stalking us in order to snatch our dogs while I'm honing my fast facilities use technique. We've also learned that Téa is more than happy to take her turn behind the wheel.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTf_nsxFOSwU1RvkERcaWaxpRTeMBXInrsynDmuxsIlqI_inGGORD5ZR666-s_Hob2kcxVJrGJSU459XS3-R4XTmnRovtKylxgcg7KjixH6nY4s0vTfOlr7K1YdXxkWMln5bv2jmSt8BC0/s1600/Driving.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTf_nsxFOSwU1RvkERcaWaxpRTeMBXInrsynDmuxsIlqI_inGGORD5ZR666-s_Hob2kcxVJrGJSU459XS3-R4XTmnRovtKylxgcg7KjixH6nY4s0vTfOlr7K1YdXxkWMln5bv2jmSt8BC0/s320/Driving.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Wishing you and yours (the human ones and the furry ones) happy holidays and safe travels.</span><br />
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</span>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-57703353442643607992010-12-02T18:38:00.003-06:002010-12-02T18:41:51.490-06:00Decorating: Not impressed<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We <a href="http://t2-mylifewithpitbulls.blogspot.com/2010/08/t2-get-yard.html">purchased a fixer-upper</a> this past summer. I'm glad there is a cute name for it—it's less depressing than saying we purchased a complete wreck of a house which will need virtually everything except the studs (and maybe even some of those) updated and/or repaired.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm also glad that there is a multi-million dollar industry in place to support people like us. There are books, magazines, big box stores, videos and disastrous reality TV shows to show us what to do, what not to do and to remind us that we are not alone. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are not making progress as quickly as a Type A like me would prefer, though this is not unexpected. So currently I focus on celebrating the little things: "<i>One </i>electrical outlet in the kitchen was replaced today! We now have <i>one </i>outlet that may not kill me when I use it! Let's whip out the hand mixer!" "One of the weeds in the weed garden turned out to be Greek oregano—hooray!" "Some day way in the future when we get around to addressing the dining room, I have bookmarked <i>the </i>perfect chandelier that we will purchase and install!" It's a bit pathetic, but it keeps me going. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One of my latest "Hooray!" moments came when I realized we had made enough progress on the bathroom that I could warrant purchasing a small rug for it (trust me, it was not rug-worthy for the first several months we were here). I brought our new rug home, carefully cut off the tags, patted myself on the back when I noticed it didn't get stuck under the door when the door was opened or closed, placed it this way and that until I had it just right and then I wandered off to make myself a celebratory cup of tea.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On my way past the bathroom a few minutes later, this is what I found:</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhFe_zsbaOsbbcz0cPUVPz219NPrhse_z-CrdnxTRsp5YeVhLfgZmFAoFzr0rhOZLD42Z8yJPU67jldG-l2bdb_r1ESE3p3KslDBqu8qSBV7ep9cJ4lHaXdRCw3btY2akTPFeKQsR8aR0/s1600/Redecorating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhFe_zsbaOsbbcz0cPUVPz219NPrhse_z-CrdnxTRsp5YeVhLfgZmFAoFzr0rhOZLD42Z8yJPU67jldG-l2bdb_r1ESE3p3KslDBqu8qSBV7ep9cJ4lHaXdRCw3btY2akTPFeKQsR8aR0/s400/Redecorating.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'll help you hide this hideous rug until you come to your senses."</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Apparently, Téa has decided that the new rug fails miserably as a rug and is trying to spare me the embarrassment. I know this because she has taken to wadding it up into a tiny ball every day and then tries to make it disappear by flinging herself on it so there is barely a bit of fluff visible to confirm its existence.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Maybe next time I'll just take her shopping with me so I can get her opinion up front...</div>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-14893997897912315002010-11-24T08:56:00.001-06:002010-11-24T08:56:28.718-06:00It's officially winter coat season!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjqQBDXSihKULpq3SNQPIpLlwmLc6MjNknkKp6fuNA1G6WI5Z81VEl3rUgfxCtgw6MwjfNZCABv-4uNznnLpCKRdpgysMHzBZLAd0d31KuuxfuHcOBW0di8eAWe5-JwEAIYvoej75gZIO/s1600/Jackets1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjqQBDXSihKULpq3SNQPIpLlwmLc6MjNknkKp6fuNA1G6WI5Z81VEl3rUgfxCtgw6MwjfNZCABv-4uNznnLpCKRdpgysMHzBZLAd0d31KuuxfuHcOBW0di8eAWe5-JwEAIYvoej75gZIO/s320/Jackets1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much more cozy than this morning when we forgot to put them on!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcNQDMgVbQ0z4lMm0KRvDBiLDL4-mwrSj31yYoOVZb7xTO2p_zVQUCZnF-2XKWItV2NL87Qnur_eAJG1hryIiTq0ASbDNH2Jdr-eyvO4SL3R-YEFuzXO9YiAnU05-bplSSqoEm2JhTQnX/s1600/Jackets2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcNQDMgVbQ0z4lMm0KRvDBiLDL4-mwrSj31yYoOVZb7xTO2p_zVQUCZnF-2XKWItV2NL87Qnur_eAJG1hryIiTq0ASbDNH2Jdr-eyvO4SL3R-YEFuzXO9YiAnU05-bplSSqoEm2JhTQnX/s320/Jackets2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guarding the corner.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7JW9AQztaDC244zvuYuPH_2E9kxLEsl6jNtvB7I0nr31FIIHgXTbEQkd1id0_SK-OLDZGXxMXHOHrgaUcH-5CQcP8rZ7Bzgb_oEcAGNBb1IVZmOv2O5uh_jP7RkNYynawUdXBJdYxEek/s1600/Jackets3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7JW9AQztaDC244zvuYuPH_2E9kxLEsl6jNtvB7I0nr31FIIHgXTbEQkd1id0_SK-OLDZGXxMXHOHrgaUcH-5CQcP8rZ7Bzgb_oEcAGNBb1IVZmOv2O5uh_jP7RkNYynawUdXBJdYxEek/s320/Jackets3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing out the bench—not particularly comfy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7773865584149130063.post-48049382880463064842010-11-18T16:26:00.000-06:002010-11-18T16:26:43.556-06:00The strange conversations we have - Part III<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I'm out with T2, I try to be conscious of the fact that to many people they look big and scary, and I look small and kind of girly (which can translate into: unable to handle the beasts should they decide to unleash mass destruction on Chicago pedestrians). Unless the person approaching looks scary himself, I make eye contact, smile and occasionally throw out a "hi." Although I tend naturally to avoid chatting up strangers or even appearing to be the sort of person with whom strangers may want to chat, I'm happy to put my own social preferences aside in the interest of positive pit bull PR. This is probably the second largest contributor to the many strange conversations I've had over the past couple of years with people (the first being the pit bulls at my side).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I exited the park one day, a big, burly man was headed in our direction. He eyed the dogs and then eyed me. I could see he was a little concerned, so when he opted not to cross the street to avoid us, I silently applauded. As we were just about to pass each other, he smiled and said, "Those sure are some big teeth those dogs got." It sounded very nearly like what <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_red_riding_hood">Little Red Riding Hood</a> must have sounded like as she said much the same thing to the Big Bad Wolf.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilClDYXhr5XNnFTyZns5Xha8Zh-CUR-abobq7LKYQhVOuulsWgNX9RjF8KiMumbfWSyl8biAlVuypL-RCilIB5wqmSdus3NTvyuSnd_Heq3jbo9cZ3bQWjpbpV4BRCAe9oOHJq1m1SvIbj/s1600/LipSmack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilClDYXhr5XNnFTyZns5Xha8Zh-CUR-abobq7LKYQhVOuulsWgNX9RjF8KiMumbfWSyl8biAlVuypL-RCilIB5wqmSdus3NTvyuSnd_Heq3jbo9cZ3bQWjpbpV4BRCAe9oOHJq1m1SvIbj/s320/LipSmack.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The better to eat you with, my dear.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSt7JB9nAbrMMcFsQX7O4xlf4t2l-zc8sQP0NhbkD7K4uHNzw0VsPlIT56rJsRT3SBtcarzxjb9iqYp_YeTNKnZ0GM1XsZBpSKMFo5jEI-VOgzpcI4yz49ipUfw8faRb-0wAuWOPQqPiq/s1600/Twig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All I could think to say, using my best Pollyanna cheerful voice, was, "No bigger than other dogs' teeth!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He started a big belly laugh. "Well said, sister, well said."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSt7JB9nAbrMMcFsQX7O4xlf4t2l-zc8sQP0NhbkD7K4uHNzw0VsPlIT56rJsRT3SBtcarzxjb9iqYp_YeTNKnZ0GM1XsZBpSKMFo5jEI-VOgzpcI4yz49ipUfw8faRb-0wAuWOPQqPiq/s1600/Twig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSt7JB9nAbrMMcFsQX7O4xlf4t2l-zc8sQP0NhbkD7K4uHNzw0VsPlIT56rJsRT3SBtcarzxjb9iqYp_YeTNKnZ0GM1XsZBpSKMFo5jEI-VOgzpcI4yz49ipUfw8faRb-0wAuWOPQqPiq/s320/Twig.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Téa demonstrates how easily her mighty teeth destroy dead leaves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span>A Confessed Pit Bull Addicthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777050986041332779noreply@blogger.com4