White Trash at Flat Rock

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CH 1 Meeting the Doll

So, what’s a white middle-aged woman doing with a pit bull anyway? The arrival of the dog was a long time coming. I had been dogless for years and finally arrived at a place in life where I could once take on the duties and responsibilities of dog-ownership. Once again, I was working for myself and had the flexibility to schedule the time a well-behaved dog demands.

Petfinder.com and the local shelters were bookmarked in my browser. I spent hours pouring over the photos and stories of all the little unwanted dogs. My requirements were many and I was determined not to loose my heart to a dog I shouldn’t have. Most importantly, the dog should be a female. Girl dogs rule. Next, the dog could not be anything like my last dog, a gentle retriever mutt. Then, there were all the other things. No dogs from far away locations, she had to be young, big enough to run outside but small enough to pick up in an emergency. Fortunately I lift weights, so anything smaller than a Newfie was a possibility.

For months I wandered around in the homeless dog sites. I browsed a lovely little beagle mix in nearby Orange. Nope, too likely to run away. I lurked in the boxer rescue site. They had a 12 page application and wanted to do two home visits. Maybe they wanted my blood type and planned to do a CORI check on top of it all. I searched and searched. Too many puppies, too many males, too many older dogs. There was hope, after all look at all the dogs with people and people with dogs out there. They all got together somehow.

I even had the name picked out. Dorothy. After all, Dorothy was one of my first female heroes, right up there with Nancy Drew. Dorothy organized the others and got the Wizard of Oz to try and fax her home. And while Dorothy had to wear ruby slippers to get home to Kansas, you couldn’t really picture her in heels. Nancy tended to be a little more concerned with appearances, but she did have that hot convertible. I already had a sports car of my very own and didn’t need to channel Nancy. So, Dorothy became the name of choice.

Then one day I made the trip to a shelter in Gardner, about 15 miles from Fitchburg,  to meet J. The shelter women told me wonderful things about this dog. She was just the right age, a little past a year old. She was good with cats and children and very affectionate. One lady wanted to keep her but couldn’t have dogs where she lived. The animal had been in the cage nearly six months.

Six months!! What’s wrong with that statement? Well, the dog in question was a pit bull. We all know they have a bad rap. They don’t shed much though. This dog was the perfect size too, just under 60 pounds. She needed a little slimming down, but then I usually do too.

I sat on an overturned food bucket while Lisa the animal control officer went to get J from the cage out back. A brindle with a white blaze bounced into the room and careened from one person to another, jumping up for licks and treats. She ran up to a woman holding a cat and scuttled away when the cat hissed. Lisa gave her a can of soft food – oh, boy, oh, boy – and then took it away a few times while J was busy gobbling it down. No problemo.

Meantime, Lisa and her volunteers were elbowing each other. “Looks like we have a live one,” the receptionist murmured behind her hand. They were all smiles as they gave me a form to fill out. They pointed out the dog had four white paws, a big selling point to them. Paperwork completed, I said I’d call in a few a days with my decision.

CH 2 Doll Comes Home

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 for any occasion. I called Lisa 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.

1. 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. I ignored 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 to a new to Dolly section of 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, I leashed her 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,” I worried.

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.

CH 3 Doll – The Social Butterfly

As advertised there were dogs running free and their people were good with it. The pack welcomed Dolly on their own dog terms; butt-sniffing, running in circles, friendly barking and other expressions of general canine joy. Dolly sniffed, ran and barked with the best of them. She was a young and exuberant dog but the other dogs accepted this. After all, they were all young once. If she got too rambunctious one dog or another was sure to give her an “errr” and straighten her right out.

I was overwhelmed by the statements and advice being batted around.
“Watch out, there is a woman who comes up here who is afraid of pits,” someone to my right said.
I turned to my left. “Well, Fiona is the alpha female, she’ll put Dolly in her place.” “NO! STAR BENNETT!” I stumbled in a startle reflex. Guess that was one of the dogs getting yelled at.
“Look, Dolly has a crush on Bruno. He’s awfully handsome but there’s nothing between his ears.”

The owners and dogs were a motley crew. A young family with a double stroller and three children gathered in the shade at the edge of the thick woods surrounding two sides of the reservoir. Several women walked with leashes draped around their necks for easy access. One of them used a cane. A tall, thin man in a raggedy sweat suit kept watch over everybody. The dogs were just as diverse. A white standard poodle with an unfortunate haircut, several small dogs who stood their ground and didn’t say much. An older German shepherd mix was a slow-moving object. Large bounding dogs and some mid-sized models rounded out the canine mix.

The group gathered us in and took us for a walk around the pond. Sounds innocent, doesn’t it? Here was this pit bull, a dog with a “bad rap,” playing just like any other dog. The people broke into groups of two or three as the trail narrowed. The dogs cavorted and gamboled through the undergrowth, ran ahead on the path and came barreling back for treats. I kept a close eye on my dog; what if some other dog really annoyed her and something happened? What if she knocked over the woman with the cane?

As the group circled back to the parking area, the others took stock of us. We were the new kids on the block. The owners looked at each other, the dogs sniffed and butted. Nothing was said, but apparently we received the stamp of approval.

“We usually come up here around 10,” the man in the sweat suit said. “Every day.”
“Kody likes Dolly,” he continued. “She plays with him.”
“Um, who’s Kody?” I asked, still confused by the crowd. “Oh, him,” he replied pointing at the ambling shepherd mix.
“Oh, okay. We can come up sometimes then, but sometimes I have to work,” I said. “I know Dolly had a good time.”

I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my god. I’m going to be late for work! Dolly, get in the car, come on Dolly!”

CH 4 Socialization

Over the next few months we met up with the walkers several times a week. The blurry group gradually became a collection of individuals, each with an interesting take on life, each just a tad odd. Some showed up more often than others and everyone had something to say.

Wendy was known to some as the dog-yeller. When Dolly hears her voice she immediately makes a bee-line straight to her. She kept tabs on everyone and everyone’s dogs. She was also the resident expert on all things Fitchburg and all things dog. Sometimes though, it was difficult to figure out what she was talking about.

“I’ve been coming up to these woods since I was little. I know every trail. My brother told me not to walk around alone up here. He’s a state cop. That’s ridiculous. I know these woods better than anyone.

“My father used to raise Brittanies. We always had Brittanies. The girl at the vet’s just got a pit. You don’t know if they are any good until they are two. They can turn any time, but if they reach two and they’re still good they’ll be okay.

“There’s a lawyer who lives over there, he has a mean dog and he wants us all to put our dogs on a leash. He just can’t control his dog, you know. Henry said we don’t have to leash our dogs.

“Oh, look at Dolly. DOLLY, DOLLY! What a good girl; go play with Star. STAR! Star doesn’t like to play. He only plays with his ball. Ruby thinks she’s a poodle too.”

“Who’s Ruby?” I finally got a word in edgewise. I didn’t remember seeing any dog named Ruby but that doesn’t always mean much.

“Oh, she’s a pit who only plays with poodles. She lives with Star’s sister. She’s always cold.”

“Yeah, Dolly hates the cold too. She shivers a lot,” I confided. “Her feet used to bleed in the snow until she toughened up.”

“Well, you have to let her sleep all the way under the covers with you,” Wendy advised.

“No way.” I was adamant. “She snores. No dogs in the bed.”

“Ruby sleeps under the covers.” It seemed like Wendy was becoming Dolly’s strongest advocate.

“Well, goody for Ruby. The Doll will just have to adapt. I’ll get her a fleece blanket.”

“They had some good ones at the Salvation Army,” Wendy recommended.

It would be some time before I got the complete cast of characters straightened out. As the weeks went by, it became increasingly obvious there was a group of us and a group of them.

With our winning personalities and overwhelming attractiveness, Doll and I were one of ‘us.’

CH 5 THEM

“Dolly jumped up and tried to take my glove,” the dour woman with a gang banger’s watch cap declared. Somehow, this woman knew my name. I didn’t ever remember meeting her before. She was large; tall and bulky. Her moves were awkward, like a golem come to life or a small child wrapped in too many outside clothes. Any conversation was stilted; seemingly she had to remember how it was reasonable and appropriate to talk to someone else. Always she was alone when she went on her walk. The sounds her car made as she pulled out of the lot indicated new ball joints were severely overdue.

“Did she get it?” I wanted to know.

“No.”

“Well, that’s good.”

I thought no more about the incident. I was preoccupied with more the more demanding issues in life. My parents were showing the effects of over a combined 150 years of good living. Since I’m the only kid in the area, I’m the one getting those scary “Your father fell down and can’t get up” calls in the middle of the night. It just adds to the general stress level.

Other than that things in general weren’t too bad, just busy. Work was interesting and absorbing for the most part and even better, didn’t usually require suits, silly shoes and a pair of nylons. Getting everything squeezed into the day was a challenge, between work, parents, my new duties in dog care, working out and keeping two old cars running. I need the extra one for when the other is in the shop. Besides, I have a thing for Mazda RX7s. Perhaps it was a good thing I had no significant other hanging around asking for another bit of my time. On the other hand, someone with a sizable income would not be an entirely negative thing. A freelancer’s income is never predictable.

I thought things were going well overall in the dog department. Not one “accident” in the house. Nothing had been chewed up and annihilated in months. Dolly had met all kinds of dogs and lots of different people and seemed to like everybody. Then one day at Flat Rock the man with two Bassett hounds said, “There’s a woman over there who’s afraid of Dolly. Don’t worry, she turned around and went the other way.”

“Huh?” First of all, Dolly was friendly to all. In the second place, if someone was afraid of dogs, they could go walk somewhere else. The dog walking all happened on a single mile-long trail. There were at least 12 miles of trails in the conservation area. I knew. I’d mountain biked almost all of them at one time or another.

“It’s not all nice people up here,” Wendy said. “Sometimes they try to get rid of us. Have you met mean man? You have to be careful of him.”

“He’s a homophobe,” Peter said. I had figured out that Peter was the tall thin man in the raggedy sweat suit and Kody, the ambling shepherd mix. “You should have heard what he said to Eric.”

“Who’s Eric?” I asked, once again confused. “Is he gay?” Peter would know, being unabashedly gay himself.

“No, but he’s odd,” Peter clarified.

I decided to steer clear of these troublemakers as much as possible. The last thing I needed was an altercation with some whack-job in the woods. After all, I was trying to raise Dolly to be as non-confrontational as it was possible for a dog to be. Instead of cursing loudly and inventively at one of the myriads of idiots on the road I tried to grit my teeth so Dolly wouldn’t learn to get aggressive in the car. Maybe non-verbal venting might work. Do dogs understand “the finger?”

Most of the dogs Dolly played with were happy-go-lucky and well-behaved. They set good examples for her. Jumping was rare, and most of the animals stuck close to their people without too much calling. What was missing was a dog who would play rough with Dolly. I was still adhering to Pit Bull Commandment #6, no tug of war.