I said once:

Pit bulls are no more dangerous than any other dog, any other breed, and they don’t deserve this bad reputation from the clueless and witless idiots clamoring to be the next victim who can claim these dogs are dangerous.  What a bunch of busybodies!

Having been around pit bulls for most of my life, I can assure you they are no more or less dangerous than any other breed of dog.  More importantly, I can assure you they can be the biggest babies, the most playful friends, the most loving companions, and the most gentle of animals.  It all depends on how they’re raised, how they’re treated, and what kind of life they’re being given.

All this senseless bickering about them is just that: senseless bickering.  People need to shut up already and leave the poor dogs alone.  If you don’t like them, don’t go around them.  If you have a bad experience, go after the person responsible instead of the dog.  If you think they’re dangerous, you’re a clueless git who needs to stop talking so much and start learning something.

To be quite honest, I trust pit bulls more than I trust people.

And I said it while introducing Snoopy:

Living at the family farm with my parents, she provides loving companionship and more entertainment than the Rockettes could ever achieve, and she does so while sharing home and hearth with several cats, another dog, rabbits, cows, pigs and chickens, plus whatever interlopers nature provides from the heart of East Texas’s Piney Woods.

In all her dealings with the lives around her, she is gentle and caring, the epitome of real strength.

Even as time marches on and herds her toward the end of her days, Snoopy beguiles us with her charm, her tenderness, her devotion.

I took these photos earlier this month while visiting the family farm.  It was only today that I felt them appropriate to post.

Why?

This article from Sports Illustrated: What happened to Michael Vick’s dogs …

It starts like this:

The dog approaches the outstretched hand. Her name is Sweet Jasmine, and she is 35 pounds of twitchy curiosity with a coat the color of fried chicken, a pink nose and brown eyes. She had spent a full 20 seconds studying this five-fingered offering before advancing. Now, as she moves forward, her tail points straight down, her butt is hunched toward the ground, her head is bowed, her ears pinned back. She stands at maybe three quarters of her height.

She gets within a foot of the hand and stops. She licks her snout, a sign of nervousness, and looks up at the stranger, seeking assurance. She looks back to the hand, licks her snout again and begins to extend her neck. Her nose is six inches away from the hand, one inch, half an inch. She sniffs once. She sniffs again. At this point almost any other dog in the world would offer up a gentle lick, a sweet hello, an invitation to be scratched or petted. She’s come so far. She’s so close.

But Jasmine pulls away.

And it goes on with the lamentable tale of brutality and torture Michael Vick and his ilk visited upon these pit bulls, and it stirs that together with a heartwarming intercession by the justice system and caring people across the country.

As I have done before, it also speaks to the true nature of these animals.

The results are profound, given what these dogs went through under Vick’s malicious fist, and it touched me deeply that so many know the animals well enough to feel them worthy of a chance at normalcy, a chance at love and warmth in a home of their own.

The article is long but well worth your time.  No matter if you love pit bulls or are one of those who has never been around one yet declares them dangerous to the world at large, I implore you to take the time to read what happened to Michael Vick’s dogs.  It will touch all but the coldest of hearts…  And it might just change a mind or two.

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Photos:

[1] Snoopy sitting in the main yard at the family farm.  She adores sunshine and can spend hours lying in the grass or the sand as she soaks up every bit of a sunny day.

[2] Snoopy sleeping while acting as a pillow for Rascal, the blue heeler, and Teddy, the feline master of the world.

[3] Snoopy and Teddy posing for a picture and acting as though they didn’t get caught snuggling together.

While Mom, Dad and I tended to the early business of putting hay in the pastures, Smudge trotted up, found a spot on one of the hay bales, and dove into this agonizing rendition of lamentable self-pity.  For all his desperate crying, you’d think he never knew the gentle hand of affection.

But he received plenty of petting and scratching and stroking and conversation throughout the day, including a moment or two after this photo was taken.

The satisfaction washing over him as he enjoyed the attention gave strength to the adage infused into our collective consciousness so many years ago by The Beatles: All you need is love.

Smudge believes it.

Mom’s cat for her latter years.  So she describes him, this little maniacal monster bent on ruling the roost.

And what a sweet cat he is.

Not to mention a troublemaker of profound proportions.

Still, he certainly presents himself as a loving feline bursting with affection and grace.

Teddy might have his own health issues to be dealt with, but he sure is worth the trouble as far as I’m concerned.

And you wonder where I got it from. . .

Mom informed me of the latest addition to the farm’s feline population.  Meet Teddy.

He joins Smudge, Yoda, and Chewy, the resident cats, as well as Snoopy and Rascal, the resident canines, not to mention the chickens and cows and rabbits and all manner of creatures both domestic and wild who call the farm home.

As for how well Teddy is doing in such a beastly environment, take a look for yourself.

Rascal is the wild child in this particular animal family, so Teddy has his hands full.  Looks like he’s off to a good start.