American Pit Bull Terrier
Picture of Cheesecake-SAFE!, a male American Pit Bull Terrier

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Home:Milwaukie, OR  [I have a diary!]  
Age: 12 Years   Sex: Male   Weight: 26-50 lbs

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   Leave a bone for Cheesecake-SAFE!

Mr. Chee, My Baby Chee, Stinky Cheese Man, Cheesy, the Cheeseman, Mr. Cheese, Cheesehead, Cheesy Buddy, Little Cheese, Cheesecake Henry Christopher Goosepants (C.H. Christopher Goosepants), Cheese Puff

Doggie Dynamics:
not playfulvery playful

Quick Bio:
-pound dog-dog rescue

he likes being close to people and he likes to play

he doesn't have any.

Favorite Toy:
He likes his sweet potato rope toy and he loves to play with Jodi and Seuss

Favorite Food:
wet food is better (but he only gets it on special occasions. treats are good too.

Favorite Walk:
Marin Open Space

Best Tricks:
sit, down, stay, shake

Arrival Story:
Cheesecake was a stray. He was at the Pinole shelter. Someone had done a horrible crop job on his ears, probably with scissors, and he had red plastic tied around his neck. He developed pneumonia and his ears were full of dirt. After a course of antibiotics, his pneumonia has cleared up and he is running and playing with his doggie friends. Update: Cheesy has decided we belong to him. So, no more home visits. He loves playing with the other foster dogs and is the perfect gentleman, so he'll hang out with Jodi and Spoon (and Lucy when she waddles over to visit). His little ear nubs are so funny to watch when something piques his interest. He is pure entertainment!

Cheesecake is the sweetest, most mellow little guy you'll ever meet. He has the greatest attitude, even after all he's been through. He just wants love and affection (don't we all).

Forums Motto:
kind and gentle boy

The Groups I'm In:
Ban Stupid Legislation, Pet-O-Nomics, Purrty Pitties, The Cheesecakes, The Whomping Willow, We bark German :o)

The Last Forum I Posted In:

Favorite kind of cheese:
me!! :o)

Cushiest place to sleep:
my papasan chair

Cheesecake song: (by the way, this is not indicative of Cheesy's personality! The song would most likely scare the poo out of him; he's never heard it. We're going for irony here :o)


I've Been On Dogster Since:
May 1st 2005 More than 11 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Dogster Id:

Meet my family
little boy)
Pippi (taken
too soon)
baby girl

Meet my Pup Pals
See all my Pup Pals
See all my Pup Pals

The Stinky Cheese Man (and other fairly stupid tails)

I've been love tagged!!

July 15th 2007 12:05 pm
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By my pal Maxi(Mini)mus :o). So now I hafta choose three Dogsters I think are great and tell ya why. I'm not gonna agonize over who's fur sure the best pal I ever had, 'cause there's so many! But here's three great ones:

My pal Ziero is such a great advocate fur the pitties, and so caring. We need more pups like that! Here's to ya, Ziero (raises a slab o' cheese)!

Vincent has a giMUNGOUS heart, and is a really smart pup, too! He'll try his best to help you out in a jam, and he's got a sense of humor, too (although his sis Rosie is officially the goofy one). Hugs ta Vincent!

And then there's Kitai. Always lookin' out fur the best interest of the pups, and ready to lend a hand. Kitai's one of the old moldies on Dogster, too, and that's pretty impressive :o)! Keep on truckin', little pup!


A Friendly Request

June 10th 2007 1:12 pm
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Hey pups,

An essay I posted is apparently being posted on other sites around the internet. That's fine (although it would be great if you would ask permission first). The thing I'm a little worried about is that it's being posted without my name, and I don't want to end up in a position where I can't publish it because someone else is taking credit for it.

So if you know of someone who has crossposted it or is planning to do so, would you please ask them to attach my name to it, and possibly even contact me before doing so? Thanks,

Cheesy's mom (Jennie Friedrich)


Let's try a new BSL: Begin Speaking their Language

May 24th 2007 11:14 pm
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There are a thousand pit bull faces in my mind. I have never seen a fighter.

I have seen a puppy chained to a post, left for years, while a collar grows into her neck. I have seen that dog lick the vet tech as he pulls back the infected skin from the wound. I have seen that dog, quivering, start to play with other dogs, learn to love people. I have seen that dog find a home.

I have never seen a fighter.

I have seen a dog neglected, left to his own devices, undisciplined, unneutered, unsocialized. I have seen that dog alone, day after day, confined in a space too small to run in with no one to play with. I have seen that dog grow restless, pacing. I have seen him charge the fence, increasingly wary of the dog on the other side. I have seen the fence grow weak, and, one day, the dog charge through, all the supercharged energy, anxiety, and isolation packed in a brain that twists with neglect. I have seen that dog kill.

I have never seen a fighter.

I have seen a dog left in a back yard with a broken leg, screaming in pain as she hobbles, enduring month after month with no relief until her bones heal in a bow. I have seen her rescued by animal control and placed in a shelter where she waits on death row until a rescue picks her out. I have seen her cower when humans come near, take refuge in the shadow of a huge mama mastiff, and finally learn to enjoya few ear scratches. I have seen her steal shoes off her humans' feet, and learn to ring a bell to go potty.

I have never seen a fighter.

I have seen a huge pit mix in a no-kill shelter spend day after day, month after month, waiting for walks, rolling over for belly rubs, giving kisses to children. I have seen him begin to balk at the door to his room on the way back in, whine when his favorite volunteer leaves, grab at her clothing to keep her from leaving. I have seen him grow resigned, restless, cease to resist when his people leave. I have seen him grow anxious and one day, when a child unexpectedly rubs his belly, turn and nip at her. I have seen him condemned, and fifty volunteers and staff come to pay their respects.

I have seen dogs tortured, mauled, starved, burned, broken, and shamed into subservience, but never in their eyes have I seen the hate that burns in the eyes of the people that fight them, that wield them like weapons or toss them away like dirty rags. Never have I seen them laugh at a creature in suffering. I have seen them react out of fear, confusion, or surprise, but in the end, their eyes are uncomprehending. They do not understand what they have done. There is no malice. These broken dogs, these tools of the insecure, cannot muster the viciousness of premeditation.

In the eyes of those who hate them, they are a nightmare, but I have a different nightmare. I dream of a dog ripped from the arms of its family, held in a cold cement cell, confused and alone, and killed because a dog that shared its ancestry bit a child in a nearby county. I dream of an owner falling to her knees begging a temperament tester to understand how sweet her dog is, running him through his tricks so they can see he's like every other family pet, pleading with their weary hearts to see that this dog is special, that this one deserves to live. I dream of that owner driving back to her empty apartment with its new "dangerous dog" policy, and collapsing to the floor sobbing because her dog is not a "dangerous dog," but she can't find an apartment manager who believes her.

In the background of my dream, I hear voices, people crowding in city halls, telling them their stories, holding up pictures of Staffies with babies, asking legislators to look, for a moment, at the lives they're affecting. I see people gathering in parks with their pit-bull-type dogs, doing interviews with news teams, introducing their dogs to strangers. I see huge bully grins and happy dogs catching frisbees. I see growing awareness that the laws governing these dogs do not encompass the needs of communities or address the root of the violence.

And in the end, I see me. Fighting. I also am not a fighter. I hate violence, fear, injustice and anger, but I burn with a desire to see the end of a misguided crusade to punish the innocent, and to return to rationality, where a dog is no longer responsible for the actions of its owner, but understood as a malleable, dependent being that relies on the guidance of a human hand and voice to teach it how to live in human society.

And then I am at peace, and I sleep without dreaming.

©2007 Jennie Friedrich

See all diary entries for Cheesecake-SAFE!