Post by RealPitBull on Jan 17, 2008 9:19:58 GMT -5
Learning to take the 'smart risk' one pit bull dog bite at a time
Ed Todd
Midland Reporter-Telegram
01/17/2008
www.mywesttexas.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19206137&BRD=2288&PAG=461&dept_id=475590&rfi=6
There is a principle termed the "smart risk" or smart risk-taking which I certainly have not always abided by and, probably, never will in its entirety.
It may be my demise.
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Practicing the smart risk takes a bit of forethought, practice, discipline and, to sum it up, thought.
I fell short of that last weekend when I volunteered to check in on - feed and water - a friend's pet, an American pit bull (APB), a somewhat controversial terrier breed both feared and loved, disdained and respected.
Henceforth, I shall stand apart from the pit bull.
My friend, Blake Griffin, who was called away for a couple of weeks, had asked me to simply "toss food over the fence" to his 3-year-old companion named Shorty or Shortie. There was food aplenty.
So, last Saturday night, I went to over to Blake's house and, instead of tossing dog food over the fence, I opened a fresh bag of chow for the dog and served him a bowl of food and a pot of fresh water.
He took a few bites and seemed even-tempered. Moments before, I had padded him cautiously, asked how he was doing and assured him that Blake would be back home in a couple of weeks or so.
All seemed well until I picked up the dog's food bowl with my left hand to move it away from the back door to avoid bumping into it.
The next thing I knew, I heard the sound of the ceramic bowl landing on concrete, saw morsels of dried dog food scattered about and felt intense pain in my poor hand.
That rascal didn't want to let go.
Eventually, I freed my bloodied hand from the piercing clamp of the dog's jaws, hurried back into the house and away from the growling dog, shook my aching hand, and wandered out loud: "Gracious! Why did you do that?"
The dog offered no explanation, just scowled and glared at me with those ominous deep yellow eyes.
I rinsed off the wounded hand and, figuring I needed a bit of kindly attention, telephoned Jane Becker, an artist-teacher friend, who invited me right over to take a look.
The hand got washed thoroughly with soap and warm water, showered with an antiseptic,hydrogen peroxide, got wrapped up, and fitted with an ice pack -- frozen green peas, which worked quite well in controlling the swelling. Meanwhile, Jane served up a generous bowl of her nourishing vegetarian chili. And I went home feeling much better.
The next morning, after awakening (after not much sleep) to a swollen and still-aching hand defined by about 20 minor punctures, stabs, scratches and tears, I called my running-bicycling friend, Charlie Spence, who, in turn, called his daughter, Pamela Foster, a physician's assistant, who told us to high-tail it to a doctor's office.
So, we wound up in the Minor Emergency Center of Midland Memorial Hospital's West Campus where the courteous and industrious folks there, headed up by the physician, Dr. Terry Beck, fixed up old Ed Todd one step at a time in a most orderly and cleansing fashion replete with needle-point (tetanus and antibiotics) shots front and back. Here's a salute to Beck's team: Melinda, the nurse tech; registered nurses Patricia and Janie, who is a tournament golfer and marathoner; Josh, the paramedic; and Nikki, the X-Ray person.
During much of our wait, we were delighted in observing the sweet camaraderie of Marissa, a lovely 7-year-old girl, and her lovely Ecuadorian step-mother. The adoring father, a contract fireman on leave from Kuwait, watched.
On Sunday afternoon, after the hospital had called Midland Animal Control and sent an officer, Tommy Johnson, to interview me, the officer, a hefty fellow with a kindly temperament, captured the yipping and frightened dog with pole and cable and hauled him off for a 10-day quarantine and rabies vaccination.
By now, the hand is healing quite nicely, though a bit stiff and sore. And I picked up quick education.
In the main, I would say, I was at fault by being a bit too casual with the pit bull dog and, especially, by picking up his bowl of food.
He must have concluded that I was taking his food, which he needed for survival, and, he quickly and firmly grabbed by hand and said by his bite that that was his food, not mine.
Well, as it turned out, Blake doesn't mess with his dog's food and stands clear when the dog is eating. He knows his dog's temperament, attitude, and quickness to strike out in anger or self-defense or self-survival.
I, however, failed to take that "smart risk" and failed to be keenly wary of a breed (American pit bull terrier) of dog that has a reputation for aggression and which historically has been trained and bred to compete in dogfights.
Fanciers of the breed say that "when treated well, the APBT (American pit bull terrier) is very sweet, curious, intelligent and clownish. They are noted for their outgoing, affectionate, eager-to-please disposition and their fondness for people. They adore attention ...," or so says an Internet encyclopedia. "When raised with a firm but fair hand, an APBT can make a wonderful family pet. However, APBTs can also be stubborn and prone to display aggression towards other dogs."
(The old-time black-and-white Little Rascals -- Our Gang -- movies featured a friendly and feisty children's pet, a pit bull named Petey with a dark ring around an eye.)
News stories, too, say that pit bulls have been aggressive toward people, children to oldsters, and at times have been deadly in their aggression.
Well, I'm saying clear of them, friendly or not. I'll not bother them as long as they cause no harm.
And I plan to pay better attention to what I am doing -- to take the "smart risk."
About 15 years ago, I was out roller-skating and was paying more attention to a pretty figure and face in the crowd than I was to skating and ended up on the floor with a broken bone, the radius, right at the right wrist. (An emergency physician, Dr. Daniel Kinzie, labored valiantly and with great determination to successfully fix the broken bone.)
In review my of risk-taking, Blake Griffin's dog is locked up safely in quarantine but appears to be headed home soon.
And old Ed Todd will be figuring how to take the "smart risk" whatever may be happening in life's journey. That is my hope.
Ed Todd
Midland Reporter-Telegram
01/17/2008
www.mywesttexas.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19206137&BRD=2288&PAG=461&dept_id=475590&rfi=6
There is a principle termed the "smart risk" or smart risk-taking which I certainly have not always abided by and, probably, never will in its entirety.
It may be my demise.
Advertisement
Practicing the smart risk takes a bit of forethought, practice, discipline and, to sum it up, thought.
I fell short of that last weekend when I volunteered to check in on - feed and water - a friend's pet, an American pit bull (APB), a somewhat controversial terrier breed both feared and loved, disdained and respected.
Henceforth, I shall stand apart from the pit bull.
My friend, Blake Griffin, who was called away for a couple of weeks, had asked me to simply "toss food over the fence" to his 3-year-old companion named Shorty or Shortie. There was food aplenty.
So, last Saturday night, I went to over to Blake's house and, instead of tossing dog food over the fence, I opened a fresh bag of chow for the dog and served him a bowl of food and a pot of fresh water.
He took a few bites and seemed even-tempered. Moments before, I had padded him cautiously, asked how he was doing and assured him that Blake would be back home in a couple of weeks or so.
All seemed well until I picked up the dog's food bowl with my left hand to move it away from the back door to avoid bumping into it.
The next thing I knew, I heard the sound of the ceramic bowl landing on concrete, saw morsels of dried dog food scattered about and felt intense pain in my poor hand.
That rascal didn't want to let go.
Eventually, I freed my bloodied hand from the piercing clamp of the dog's jaws, hurried back into the house and away from the growling dog, shook my aching hand, and wandered out loud: "Gracious! Why did you do that?"
The dog offered no explanation, just scowled and glared at me with those ominous deep yellow eyes.
I rinsed off the wounded hand and, figuring I needed a bit of kindly attention, telephoned Jane Becker, an artist-teacher friend, who invited me right over to take a look.
The hand got washed thoroughly with soap and warm water, showered with an antiseptic,hydrogen peroxide, got wrapped up, and fitted with an ice pack -- frozen green peas, which worked quite well in controlling the swelling. Meanwhile, Jane served up a generous bowl of her nourishing vegetarian chili. And I went home feeling much better.
The next morning, after awakening (after not much sleep) to a swollen and still-aching hand defined by about 20 minor punctures, stabs, scratches and tears, I called my running-bicycling friend, Charlie Spence, who, in turn, called his daughter, Pamela Foster, a physician's assistant, who told us to high-tail it to a doctor's office.
So, we wound up in the Minor Emergency Center of Midland Memorial Hospital's West Campus where the courteous and industrious folks there, headed up by the physician, Dr. Terry Beck, fixed up old Ed Todd one step at a time in a most orderly and cleansing fashion replete with needle-point (tetanus and antibiotics) shots front and back. Here's a salute to Beck's team: Melinda, the nurse tech; registered nurses Patricia and Janie, who is a tournament golfer and marathoner; Josh, the paramedic; and Nikki, the X-Ray person.
During much of our wait, we were delighted in observing the sweet camaraderie of Marissa, a lovely 7-year-old girl, and her lovely Ecuadorian step-mother. The adoring father, a contract fireman on leave from Kuwait, watched.
On Sunday afternoon, after the hospital had called Midland Animal Control and sent an officer, Tommy Johnson, to interview me, the officer, a hefty fellow with a kindly temperament, captured the yipping and frightened dog with pole and cable and hauled him off for a 10-day quarantine and rabies vaccination.
By now, the hand is healing quite nicely, though a bit stiff and sore. And I picked up quick education.
In the main, I would say, I was at fault by being a bit too casual with the pit bull dog and, especially, by picking up his bowl of food.
He must have concluded that I was taking his food, which he needed for survival, and, he quickly and firmly grabbed by hand and said by his bite that that was his food, not mine.
Well, as it turned out, Blake doesn't mess with his dog's food and stands clear when the dog is eating. He knows his dog's temperament, attitude, and quickness to strike out in anger or self-defense or self-survival.
I, however, failed to take that "smart risk" and failed to be keenly wary of a breed (American pit bull terrier) of dog that has a reputation for aggression and which historically has been trained and bred to compete in dogfights.
Fanciers of the breed say that "when treated well, the APBT (American pit bull terrier) is very sweet, curious, intelligent and clownish. They are noted for their outgoing, affectionate, eager-to-please disposition and their fondness for people. They adore attention ...," or so says an Internet encyclopedia. "When raised with a firm but fair hand, an APBT can make a wonderful family pet. However, APBTs can also be stubborn and prone to display aggression towards other dogs."
(The old-time black-and-white Little Rascals -- Our Gang -- movies featured a friendly and feisty children's pet, a pit bull named Petey with a dark ring around an eye.)
News stories, too, say that pit bulls have been aggressive toward people, children to oldsters, and at times have been deadly in their aggression.
Well, I'm saying clear of them, friendly or not. I'll not bother them as long as they cause no harm.
And I plan to pay better attention to what I am doing -- to take the "smart risk."
About 15 years ago, I was out roller-skating and was paying more attention to a pretty figure and face in the crowd than I was to skating and ended up on the floor with a broken bone, the radius, right at the right wrist. (An emergency physician, Dr. Daniel Kinzie, labored valiantly and with great determination to successfully fix the broken bone.)
In review my of risk-taking, Blake Griffin's dog is locked up safely in quarantine but appears to be headed home soon.
And old Ed Todd will be figuring how to take the "smart risk" whatever may be happening in life's journey. That is my hope.