the dissident frogman

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A comment by unknown jane on No submission

I'm sitting here, reading the posts covering 9-11, and I'm thinking dog.

I own a Pit Bull, or rather, you should say, a Pit Bull came into my life by chance. We found her, in pretty sad shape, chained to a fence post on a lonely country road on chilly day in March three years ago. Who knows what her story was, but she had scars all over her body and face, and had obviously been there for a while. Pits have a bad reputation; people questioned my sanity bringing her home (we have small toddlers and other dogs -- surely such a dog wasn't safe; I got a lot of "don't you know what those dogs are like?"). Oh, and quite a few people made disparaging remarks about her looks -- strikingly beautiful is not one of her traits; she's rather ordinary, an "everydog" as it were, but after a while she starts to look rather good, once you get to know her. Just like you begin to appreciate her character, once you give her a chance and get to know her.

Pits used to be the quintessential, jack of all trades, can-do American dogs at one time. Iconic even.

She obviously worked out, because she's still here -- grinning a big, goofy grin, thumping her tail, and bothering the snot out of me (she wants to go out and play, can't understand why I'm just sitting here at this computer when there are obviously better things to do). She is, like her breed's history has been famous for before the bastardization of it and the ugly stereotypes, a wonderfully sweet, forgiving, and loyal dog (she has been a trustworthy companion and good friend to everyone, human and animal, in this house and to just about everyone else who happens by as well -- a remarkably happy go lucky dog who doesn't seem to hold a grudge with anyone, but I wouldn't attack her family or her house as she's very protective of all that she considers her job to protect; she on the other hand would obviously put up with a ton of abuse to herself). Whatever awful things happened to her in her past, no matter the harshness that obviously was her existence prior to that day in March, nothing broke her spirit, changed her intrinsic good nature, or most importantly caused her to quit. She's a survivor (and a winner) of the highest order I think.

I think about her, laying at my feet now, and of her breed and how a lot of people positively hate her just for what she is without getting to know her, and how that still doesn't affect her in the slightest, still a goofy, happy dog(you would think with the way she acts sometimes that she was an incredibly stupid dog with her clownishness and unconcerned demeanor; that would be a big mistake); still up for anything; still retaining a persistent belief that life is a good spite of everything she's obviously gone through.

I think there's a lesson to be learned (maybe more than one) from a dog like that.

...and now I'm going to go put the kids in the stroller, snap on silly girl's leash, and go for a walk...and thank the good Lord who made me that I was put on this world in a position to be able to do just that, and wish that others could be free to have the same sort of joy in their lives now, and for a long, long time after my dog and I are gone. Take care folks; we will overcome.

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