Max the pitbull is dead. It really wasn't his fault, at least not the way I see it. He's a dog. Dogs are known to bite, particularly if they aren't properly socialized. I also don't know if he was neutered, but he should have been.
Max made news because he bit two people. A court in Alameda, California determined he was a danger to society and ordered his destruction. Just hours before his scheduled execution, his people busted in and busted him out.
Max was ultimately tracked to Reno, confiscated, and ultimately returned to Alameda where he was euthanized.
If Max's people do get another dog, I hope they take the steps necessary to train and socialize it. Over the years, I've had Huskies, Akitas, and now a pittie mix, and a sweeter dog you'll never meet.
Could she potentially bite? Of course she could. Would she? Probably not. But I won't take the chance of leaving her unsupervised in situations where it could happen. She's a dog, it goes with the territory. That said, I have taken every possible precaution to see that we don't have an incident by, among other things, having her spayed, trained, socialized, leashed in unfamiliar situations, and because we live in an apartment building, introducing her properly to any new tenants who move in. I also make sure she's kept away from those tenants who are either timid of dogs or don't like them particularly. I immediately leash her if we're out in the back and a tenant who is not as sure of her comes out. I have instructed the building's kids on how to react when they see a dog.
It is up to us, the humans, to protect our furry charges -- and that includes taking the steps necessary to insure that they are the best canine citizens possible.
Rest in Peace, Max. Run free at the Bridge where no one can neglect or hurt you again.
We walk, Sara and I,
Along the cold sidewalks of our city.
Dry footsteps mark our passage, city sounds in the distance.
Not the soft silence of new-fallen snow or swish of rain.
We pass the fallen trees of the Soltice season, cast off now as so much refuse,
But still the scent of douglas fir and scotch pine reaches out, memory-laden.
Sara stops to sniff each one. I look at her and laugh.
My laughter sounds, sharp in the frosty air, like the tinkling of glass ornaments long gone.
I think of Dalton on this very walk, marking his way along the trail from tree to tree.
I'd always thought it sacrilegious somehow, lifting a leg as we passed by.
Sara's never had the pleasure of an indoor tree.
Dalton saw to that.
They'd ask me, "Do you have a tree this year?"
And I would answer, "No. I have a male dog."
Dogster Obsessions: The Starter Kit for Dogs by Wildebeest
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