Page 5 of 5
The SPCA finishes its pro-pit spiel this way: "Forget all the propaganda and judge for yourself. You'll discover the true nature of these special dogs."
True nature? The true nature of pit bull terriers pretty much corresponds with the public perception. In the wrong hands, they can be, and frequently are, natural born killers. Ask little Danny Chu.
Propaganda? One question: Whose propaganda?
The SPCA conducts incredibly thorough and responsible background checks on potential owners. Little slips by the nonprofit. But the society is sending contradictory messages to the public. At the same time the home visits and microchipping stress the high stakes and extraordinary responsibility of owning a pit bull, the promotional sheets and the drawings and the euphemizing suggest that, hey, these little fellers are just like other pooches. In essence, the society is acting as a criminal defense attorney, spinning against the mostly accurate perception of the client, which in this case is a whole breed of dogs.
If the SPCA is to place the many pit bulls that come into its possession, this type of marketing effort -- good old American spin -- is necessary. People brimming with humanity and rescue impulse, people like Scott Malvestiti, don't walk into the SPCA every day. And those who do have to be induced to adopt a pit over less potentially lethal breeds.
If the nonprofit is the good cop on the pit-bull patrol, then Animal Care and Control is clearly the bad cop.
And many of the bad cops at Animal Control are doing a big eye-roll over the SPCA's public relations campaign, especially the St. Francis Terrier business.
"I think it's total crap," Katie Dinneen says. "These dogs were bred to fight."
She should know. Dinneen adopted a puppy, Megan, that belonged to one of the city's most notorious
dogfighters, one with aggressiveness problems, one that was found living in feces and urine, with no food or water, helping other pits eat another dog. This is a dog that, before the change in pit bull policy, Animal Control would have certainly put to sleep. "The SPCA doesn't see the range of pit bulls we see," she says. And that unfamiliarity with truly vicious pits, she says, allows the nonprofit to view the dogs -- conveniently -- as innocents.
Animal Control can't afford that luxury. It has to stay focused on the inherent viciousness of the breed, make sure the bad dogs are put down. If the agency flinches from that role, the program will eventually result in disaster.
One day last month, Feazell and Dinneen were testing a pit, a stray found out by La Playa and Judah, in Pho-Sixer territory. Feazell was watching as the stray, a medium-size female with brindle stripes, played with a light-brown pit named Smiley.
Smiley, a jumpy, barky, 1-1/2-year-old female, is the pride and joy of Animal Control. She came to the agency as the result of a cruelty case. The owner was a known dogfighter; Smiley's chances were slim to nonexistent. But Dinneen convinced Feazell to make an exception. She had a feeling about Smiley, and the dog has proved herself.
The stray has already passed all the other temperament test criteria, and the playtime with Smiley is going so well that Feazell turns to Dinneen and Guldbech and asks, "You OK with her?"
Dinneen: "Yep, I'm OK."
Guldbech: "I'm OK."
Just then, Feazell asks, "Katie, isn't this the dog that came with the other pit bull who attacked that person?"
Dinneen: "Yep."
Feazell: "We better get Colby."
Feazell goes into her office and gets Colby, who gets right to work. He charges and nudges. Colby even mounts the stray bitch from the front, creating a dog-fellatio pose that has everyone making embarrassed smiles.
Even this provocation doesn't seem to rile the brindle stray. Then, out of nowhere, for no particular reason, at least none that anyone notices, the stray goes into pit attack mode.
Dinneen and Feazell separate the dogs.
The three women look at one another and shake their heads.
Feazell bends down and scratches the brindle stray behind the ear.
"Sorry kiddo," she says.
