White Trash at Flat Rock

Even before I left the shelter I knew it was a done deal. “Anne and a pit bull bitch would make a wonderful match,” my friend Paul happily informed the dog officer. I always used Paul for a reference. You can depend on him to say just the right thing. I called Laurie at the shelter. “Okay, she’s coming with me. Can you call her Dolly until she gets home?” It turns out Dorothy was really too long of a name to call a dog, but Dottie was out of the question. My cousin’s wife was named Dottie. So Dolly the Dog she became and a good thing too, because people could sing “Hello Dolly” to her if they ran out of things to say.

As it turns out the list of rules for a newly adopted pit bull is endless.

1. No heavy duty playing for a few days. She just had her operation.
2. The dog enters the house behind the person.
3. The dog cannot go on the furniture until she earns the privilege.
4. The dog walks beside or behind the person, not in front.
5. Never leave the dog loose in the house.
6. No tug of war.

I did my best. Dolly came home, followed me inside and checked the joint out. Dolly went on walks around the neighborhood. Dolly chewed through three leashes, five dog toys and one chair arm the first week. Dolly chewed through the wiring for the tow hitch in the back of the Jeep the next. At some point she gnawed a bit of molding into oblivion.

Then she learned to sit and to come. She learned to walk on a loose leash on the sidewalks and snowy paths. In just a short time she learned to walk without the leash on the trails. She lost two pounds of pound excess during her first few months home. She met her grandparents and tried to chase their cat. She charmed Cathy and John downstairs into waiting for her to come home so they could give her a cookie. Their cat chased her.

I kept a close eye on things. Dolly never was allowed to play with more than one dog at a time at the shelter and never with another pittie. She became nervous if people loomed up at her out of the dark. That quirk was okay with me. Iignored the fact if I didn’t have to walk the dog each night I wouldn’t be out in the dark in the first place.

One fateful day we went to a different entrance to walk the trails. Several cars were parked at the end of the road near Flat Rock Reservoir but I decided to walk there anyway. There really wasn’t enough time to drive somewhere else that morning. A bit leery, we leashed up and headed out. Immediately we met up with a group of three large dogs and their person. Off leash. Uh-oh.

“It’s okay, let her go,” the woman urged. “Was this a ‘try it, you’ll like it’ tactic, would these big dogs maul my now-slimmed down pittie?” I wondered. If one of those mammoth dogs was injured would there be another “pit bull attacks innocents” story in the local rag? Needless to say I was cautious but didn’t want to cheat Dolly out of any play time.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of us up here. We meet at 10.”

“But I’ve never had her loose with other dogs,” Lucy countered.

A pitiful whine came from down below. The leash was stretched taut and the dog was quivering.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

Life was never the same.