dogs

He’s doing so well he doesn’t have to stay for the full 24 hours and is coming home tonight!  We’ve got a string of normal vet visits ahead of us to readjust his insulin levels, but that’s a minor adventure after what we experienced this morning.

“The world is a dangerous and uncertain place.  A few odd moments of respect and affection here and there is about as good as life gets.” — Hal Hartley, Ambition

Over the weekend Jen and I got our spankin’ new iPhones, which made us very, very happy.  This morning, after our usual walk, Pascal had a diabetic seizure and is now beginning a 24 hour stay at the emergency vet.  Interestingly, I’m reminded of one of the most truthful and scary quotes by the narrator of A Christmas Story:

Oh, life is like that. Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at its zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us.

With a 60 degree day signaling the end of winter, we got back to our dog walks. We didn’t do anything special today, just the walk that we call “The Meadows”:

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I had also been sitting on a few walk tracks from over the winter that I hadn’t posted. Those are now up on the Dog Walks page for posterity’s sake.

This is going to be a somewhat self-serving post (as if most of my entries aren’t self-serving in some way). I just want to point out a very good article (you can also find it linked in the right sidebar under Shared News) trying to balance out the media smear-campaign against “pit bulls.” I put that label in quotes because there is no official breed recognized as a pit bull and it can be exceedingly hard to identify whether a particular dog has pit-mix in their blood.

As some of you know, we’re the exceedingly proud owners of two American Staffordshire terrier mixed mutts. Both were rescued as puppies. Babbage came to us from Underdog Rescue (which, although they don’t mention it on their web site, is one of the few local rescue organizations that will place suspected pit-mixes with responsible, capable owners) and Pascal came from a friend’s neighbor who, well, probably shouldn’t have had a dog period. Needless to say, we love them dearly and I find myself in the lonely position as someone who believes that these dogs of strong body (they truly are “ripped”) have even stronger character. It’s no accident that they used to carry the nickname “nursemaid’s dog” because of their strong love of humans, especially children (no, not the taste of children, smartypants).

I won’t go into my usual rant mode because the article does a much better job of explaining the idiocy behind Breed Specific Legislation (keep in mind that Minnesota is poised to debate this issue in the next legislative session — call your representatives). However, I will emphasize one point that I don’t think is stressed enough in the article. These bans are at least partially race-motivated. On our walks, there is a marked difference in how we are treated by fellow “white” Minnesotans and how we are greeted by African Americans. That is, the former overwhelmingly react with some degree of fear (i.e. crossing the street to avoid us) and the latter come right up to us and ask if it’s okay to pet them (which, of course, it is) while they tell us what beautiful dogs they are. This difference has been so stark and unexpected, that I have to believe that there’s a cultural influence in how one views this kind of dog (Michael Vick’s story not withstanding). Some see a potential time bomb and others just see a dog. Keep these cultural biases in mind as you read about lily-white, suburban legislators extolling the dangers of “pit bulls.” The subconscious motivations for their anger might not be as altruistic as they make it appear.

Finally, if you are so inclined, please make a donation to Underdog Rescue. They’ve done more to prevent dog bites by placing neglected dogs of all breeds in good homes than any legislation ever will.

In a previous post I mentioned that a stranger in Loring Park had turned us on to a Saint Paul Saints promotion featuring a Michael Vick Chew Toy. Now you can order your very own.

Tell ‘em Babbage and Pascal sent you.