Incident two: Years later, I moved from my native Cali to Denver for a while, and while I was there the pit bull ban was really gaining momentum. I did nothing to fight it there. I didn't really trust pits after the attack, and I figured I didn't have any real power there anyway since I was only registered to vote in Cali, didn't know anybody there, etc. But really, that was an excuse. I was afraid of pits, and people who laughed at that, or tried to make me feel ashamed of that fear only made me less and less ashamed of not fighting the ban. How could they say that pits were sweet, that I was a 'dog racist' for thinking the pro-ban side had good intentions, that I was a bad person for thinking poorly of these dogs? Did they want to see the scars???
I remember finding out while I was at the shelter looking at dogs that they would not adopt out any pits brought in. If they were brought in, they were destroyed. I was looking into a large male pit bull's eyes when I found that out. And I didn't feel bad. He was the same color as the dog that attacked me, and just looking at him made me sick. That night, when I was at home sitting in my window talking on the phone, I saw a streak as a man I recongized from the block threw something over my fence. I went out a few minutes later to check, and it was a tiny puppy. He couldn't have been more than a few weeks old, chocolate brown and white and crying in the snow. He was part pit. You could see it in him. Later, I would find out that the man had been afraid of getting in trouble again for his pits so he had abandoned the mother and several pups in different spots. Sadly, this little blob thrown over my fence was the only one I know of ever being found. I brought it in and set it on the floor and just looked at it squirming around for a long time. It was helpless, and if I turned it in to a shelter it would be destroyed. If I turned it in to a rescue safely out of the area, it would be allowed to grow up into a real pit. I just sat there for hours trying to decide which would be worse. This little pathetic thing deserved a chance, but the 'monster' I saw it becoming didn't. Awful as the man who threw him over the fence was, I think that day he gave me the only chance I had to break through my fear and hatred of bully breeds. As I hid and nurtured the little pit, telling myself that as soon as he was old enough to not need a bottle I would be able to make the right 'shelter or rescue' decision, he really helped me heal and opened my eyes. It is a good thing I didn't like Denver much anyway. By the time the puppy was old enough for me to make my decision, I knew I had to get him out of the city where he didn't have a chance. So he came back to California, and is still my Koosty. He is sweet and gentle and predictable and loving and every other good thing I never thought a pit bull could be. I once brought him back to the field I was attacked in. I didn't know why then. But seeing him sense my mood and that I was disturbed, and watching him try to love me out of it and comfort me did more to break down my prejudice against these dogs than anything else ever could have.
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