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Tanya Gauthier

How to Own a Pit Bull Puppy

To own a pit bull, let alone a pit bull who is new and confused as to the ways of the world, is a

wonderfully nerve-wracking experience. There are many rules that you must adhere to in order to keep

both you and your pit bull puppy alive, sane, and happy.

The first and most important rule of owning a pit bull puppy

You must not be an ignorant, media-entranced sheep who believes that there is such a thing as a

dangerous or violent breed of dog.

If you believe this, you are probably one of two types of people: a money-crazed person who

forces pit bulls to fight, or a fear-crazed person who thinks pit bulls should be exterminated. If you

know, however, that pit bulls are in fact giant goof balls of greatness, you are on the right path. I

happen to own a goof ball of my own. She is an American Pit Bull Terrier, which is one of the myriad

of breeds that fall under the umbrella term of 'pit bull'. She has the signature block of a head with the

tiny eyes, the thick chest, the lithe muscles that shift so gracefully under her fur with every movement.

Pits are the black cat of society: unwanted, abused, abandoned. That is what attracted me to pit

bulls in the beginning; I wanted to rescue a breed that was less likely to find a loving home. I saw her

this past summer, locked up in the Coconino Humane Society. She was a ten-week old bundle of

energy; a puppy but a pit bull puppy, at risk of being scoped out for dog fighting.

Her fur is wet cement coated in a thin layer of watery mud, the result of a muddy patch of grass

that overflowed across the sidewalk as the snow melted after a terrific snowstorm sent from mother

nature to cleanse the earth of its judgmental notions. She is splattered with white, a gift of pure fresh

snow that drifted from the sky overnight. This is not what caught my attention, however: it was the

eyes. They are the gray of the sky in the early morning as the sun is just peeking out over the horizon,
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with hints of blue and brown reflections scattered throughout. Those almond shaped orbs stared at me

through the bars as she barked, demanding my attention.

I gave it to her. After all, I knew what I wanted was a pit bull. There were black lab puppies in

another cage, but I had passed by them with ease. I had a pit bull before, but had to give her up because

I moved to a place that turned out to not be the best environment for her, and I had not been able to

properly take care of her. Now that I am in a better place and had learned from the mistakes I made

with the other dog, I was ready to rescue another pit bull and do it right this time. This small pit bull

licked my fingers as I stuck them through the bars, her butt wriggling with the force of her tail wagging

what seemed a hundred miles an hour, already a force to be reckoned with at such a young age.

I want her, I told Morgan, my roommate and best friend. Even she seemed enraptured by the

small creature, even though she would have preferred me to get a cat to be friends with her own two

felines at home.

She is cute, she agreed, crouching next to me to say hello to the puppy too.

Hopefully she'll still be here on Thursday. That's the day I was to get paid by my job. It was

still Friday of the week before, and I was broke. The plan was not to adopt a dog that day it was to

merely look. So we cuddled with the kittens and bunnies in the back room before piling back into our

friend's tiny little Bug and winding carefully down the bumpy dirt road. We felt bad because the

miniature vehicle did not seem to do so well with the unpaved road.

Fifteen minutes after we arrived back home, we called Colleen the Bug owner back,

frantically asking her to drive us back before the humane society closed twenty minutes later. Morgan

had offered to put the charge on her credit card, and I would pay her back when I got paid.

Of course I accepted.

I took her home from the vet the next day; I carried the fourteen pound pup the three miles

because neither of us has a car and Colleen was working. My arms felt like lead from the weight at the
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end of the walk, reluctant to let the drugged, newly spayed pup walk on a leash she didn't even know

how to walk with yet. I had my (now ex) boyfriend Jean to help me carry her, but I insisted on carrying

her myself for most of the walk. I named her after an adorable book nerd in my favorite anime, Fairy

Tail.

Rule number two of owning a pit bull puppy

Never, ever trust her not to unintentionally ruin a beautiful moment before she is house trained. Also,

house train her quickly.

I let Levy out of her carrier upon arriving home with her. She came out quickly the drugs from

her spaying procedure must have been mostly worn out after the hour long walk. The first place she

went was into Morgan's room, where she promptly squatted and peed, probably enticed by the aroma of

the two felines who usually inhabit the room.

Levy! Bad dog! I exclaimed, swatting her on the nose. I wanted to run her outside, but I didn't

even have her collar on yet. I hadn't thought this through completely.

She looked at me with those eyes, briefly wondered what she did wrong, and then pranced back

out of the room and promptly tackled Jean. She forgot that she was in trouble as soon as she saw

another person who was willing to give her attention while I, the scary angry person, raged as I pulled

the pee up out of the carpet with a mass amount of paper towels.

I'm so stupid! How did I not think that she would have to pee as soon as we got home? What

the hell should I clean it with? I have to keep it from turning into a stain on her carpet, but I don't have

wait, there's that apple cider vinegar! I opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and saw the life-

saving brown container that stunk up the entire house with a pungent stench reminiscent of pickled

eggs.

We smelled that stink often over the next two weeks that it took to house train her. She peed in
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Morgan's room the second I let her out of the pet carrier. She peed in the house five times the first day

she was left alone with my roommate all day. She peed on the apartment office's floor out of pure

unrestrained excitement when she saw one of the employees who loves her. And sometimes, she shit on

the carpet.

If anything it will mask the smell, Jean said as the smell traveled throughout the entire

apartment.

No kidding. I tossed the paper towels into the trash, washed my hands, and promptly fetched

the collar and buckled it around the puppy's neck. You wanna go see Morgan, Levy? I asked her as I

grabbed the leash.

Should I stay here and hold down the fort? Jean knew that my roommate did not like him.

Yes. We'll be back soon. So we left to the Grove office, where she worked, and I set her on

the office counter when we got there. Levy froze, crouching and bracing her paws as she took in her

surroundings from this new height.

Oh my god, she's so cute! Morgan exclaimed.

Immediately, Levy loosened up, her butt wriggling along with her tail as she clambered onto the

next level of counter closer to Morgan and shoving her face into the welcoming hands.

You'll never guess what the first thing she did was, I said as I leaned against the counter.

Pee? she guessed knowingly.

Yep. In your room.

God damn it, Levy! she complained even as she rubbed the pup's ears and reached for a treat

from the bowl they kept on the counter for resident dogs. Levy wasn't even sure how to chew a whole

Milkbone yet, so she broke it up for her. Spoiled already.

Rule number three of owning a pit bull puppy

Nothing is safe from her jaws.

During the first few weeks of owning Levy, I had no crate. The giant metal rectangle was being

stored with my mom down in Glendale, waiting to be brought to me when she was finally able to drive

up and visit. So Levy stayed in the bathroom when no one was home to keep an eye on her and Morgan

was unable to bring her into the Grove office with her.

On the second day of having the dog I had to go to work. But I refused to simply shut the door

to keep her in the bathroom, so instead I decided to put the massive display board I had never thrown

away from a project the semester before to good use. I placed Levy in the bathroom, pushed the board

against the door and fought with two of the dining room chairs until they were perfectly situated so that

even the frustrated puppy couldn't break through the barrier. I eyed it for a minute to ensure it was

effective and then left.

At some point, Morgan and her friend came back from eating dinner and let her out for a while.

She decorated half of the outside of the board with scraps of pictures from her piles of magazines. Then

they left again and put her back in the bathroom, attempting to replicate the barrier I had created earlier.

It was not effective.

During the last few minutes of my lunch hour I received a text from Morgan: She fucking ate

your phone charger. Somehow she got out of the bathroom while we were gone. I'm so sorry.

I came home later and found the remains of my phone charger on my desk, the end that plugged

into my phone mutilated and torn completely apart from the rest of it. Tiny little chewed up wires

poked out from both ends of the cord that had been so cruelly separated by the teething little puppy that

was now grabbing the defeated socks I had just pulled off of my feet.

No. I made her let go of the socks and handed her the rope toy instead. Chew on this.

Rule number four of owning a pit bull puppy

Don't expect her to give up trying to befriend the cats, or to realize she is getting bigger than them.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr! It was the sound of an angry motor boat coming out of the tiny furry body of
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Church, the tortoiseshell kitten who was only a month older than Levy. Her fur was puffed up along her

spine and her tail five times the size it normally was. She looked like a tiny dinosaur whose territory

had been invaded.

Levy jumped back and play bowed, whining anxiously. Church hissed at her and she jumped

back, looking at me with her head cocked to one side while Church backed away, growling again.

Chairman, the larger tuxedo, stared at her accusingly from on top of the cupboards.

I had gotten rid of Jean after returning from the office and this first true encounter occurred.

These were the beginnings of beautiful friendships . . . or something.

Fast forward to today: Levy was chewing on her towel, one of her favorite chew toys. I sat on

my typical spot on the floor, leaning against the couch, laptop in lap. Church sneaked right up behind

Levy and swatted at her slightly wagging tail the dog whirled around, ears perking up in anticipation

of playtime as she ducked down, nudging her face against the cat's still tiny body. She turned tail and

ran, and Levy gave chase, only to be swatted at by the giant tuxedo sitting on the couch as she ran by.

Levy! No! I scolded, jumping up and grabbing the scruff of her neck to direct her attention

away from the kitten, guiding her back to her towel. I glanced at the disgruntled Church glaring at the

dog from the other end of the room. But really Church, you need to stop instigating.

Her tail flicked once, but otherwise the little diva cat ignored me entirely. As I was distracted,

the dog tried to eat the food I left on the ottoman we usually ate on. Levy! No!

Rule number five of owning a pit bull puppy

Do not, under any circumstances, give her any chances to snag your food, because she will, and she

will get the shits from it.

On one day during the third week of being Levy's owner, I was at work. Morgan had the day

off, and during my last break of the day I checked my phone to find a text from her:
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This damn dog ate the pizza I ordered in the two seconds that I was in the bathroom.

It turned out that she had eaten one slice of pizza and was at work on another when she was

caught red handed. It also turned out that the pizza had pepperoncini on it.

I came home to the culprit pizza box half opened on the counter, Levy staring at Morgan as she

ate the pizza that had been untouched, and after feeding the dog her regular food I discovered just how

lovely it is to pick up slimy, mushy brown goop that smells absolutely rancid. It is even more pleasure-

inducing to be woken up every two hours in order to walk like a drugged zombie outside and

mechanically stoop to pick up this progressively worsening yellow goop that is a puppy's diarrhea.

I'm going to cut out your bowels, Levy. Four days later and I was an anxious mess between

other life problems and this dog still having diarrhea after fasting her for an entire day. The only good

the fast had done was to finally give me one good night's sleep, and that was only because she had

nothing to extract from her demonic bowel system. I stared at this newest deposit from her hind end for

a second before turning away there really was no point to picking up the small spurt of yellow liquid.

By that point I was so concerned that I brought a sample of the demon shit (which solidified

enough to get into a bag the night before) to the vet, whom I already had an appointment with to get her

rabies vaccination done. They found nothing serious wrong, but gave me some medication that quickly

ended the persistent zombie nightmares of picking up yellow dog poop. A day later, and she was once

more able to run free with the other pits of the neighborhood without fear of pooping on them.

Rule number six of owning a pit bull puppy

Don't get involved in the pit party, or you will get trampled.

There are four office pits: Bubba, Romeo, Louie, and of course, Levy. The wonderful thing

about my apartment complex is that they are actually very loving of pit bulls, unlike ninety percent of

apartment complexes in Flagstaff. Because of this, there are quite a few pit bulls who live here, since
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most of the other complexes chased away all of Flagstaff's pit bull owners. Morgan sometimes takes

Levy to work with her when we both have work, so she's not stuck in the crate all day, and her

coworkers own the other three pits. When they all get together they create a whirlwind of chaos that we

like to fondly call a pit party. We also like to keep out of their way, because it is not fun to have a giant

pit run into your leg in their excitement.

They are a whirling ocean twisting around each other on the emerald grass, swirling faster and

faster in their excitement, a mix of foaming white froth, sea shells, wet sand, and smooth gray pebbles

tumbling in massive waves that crash over any onlookers that try to dip their toes in.

Rule number seven of owning a pit bull puppy

Not all dogs can handle a pit party.

At first, the giant snow ball called Miiko will tumble with Levy and be more than happy to play

with her.

Really guys, do you have to play on top of me? I complained with a grin on my face as the

two dogs pushed each other against my back. I was sitting on the floor in our apartment, as I tend to do.

I pushed them away. They redirected themselves to the middle of the living room. Levy grabbed onto a

chunk of his fur, which was her way of playing with him since she was actually able to get hold of his

long coat. Miiko was panting now, tongue flopping out the side like the dork that he is Levy was

wearing him out.

Grrrrrr. I heard Miiko growl for the first time and he snapped at her when she still didn't stop

trying to play, and Levy gave a piercing yelp she was not used to other dogs getting fed up with her

unrelenting energy.

Levy! Come here! I commanded, offering her favorite rope toy to chew on next to me while

Miiko's owner made him lie down by her feet. As long as she had something to wrap her jaws around,
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she was content to leave the other dog alone for now.

Rule number eight of owning a pit bull puppy

Toys must be regulated, or else it is always play time in dog world.

Her favorite rope toy was the first toy I bought for her, even before I had picked her up from the

vet that first day. Stringy, entwined with pink and purple, it has been mutilated and devoured into a

limp rope of faded color that always seems to have the disturbingly sticky feel of dog saliva that never

quite dries up completely.

It was the second week of the semester, and a Thursday, which is my main homework day

because I have only one class. As always, I was sitting on the floor, reading a story for Fiction.

Suddenly Levy was right there, and the spit rag of the rope she had just been chewing on was shoved

against my arm.

No, Levy. I pushed her away and flipped the page.

She dropped the rope into my lap. I gave in; sure, I could play while reading, why not.

I realized an hour later that we were still playing, she was panting, and she was still dropping

the rope at my feet expectantly. Levy, take a nap. We don't need to play still. I managed to get her to

chew on her towel on her own for a while.

Half an hour later, I felt the rope against my arm again. The cycle continued like that throughout

the entirety of that evening. Eventually I transitioned from reading to writing and she shoved the rope

against my typing fingers, so I pushed her away. No, Levy.

She kept insisting we play. She was still panting. I stopped what I was doing and set my laptop

on the ottoman. Levy, this cannot be a thing. Why are you so obsessed with fetching this rope now?

I stressed over it a bit, researched it, came to the unlikely conclusion that she developed some

sort of unhealthy obsessive attachment to that rope, and then the television became The Place to Keep
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the Dog Toys. They only come down when I or a roommate decide to play with her, and then they go

back when we are finished. I especially try to play with her after a long walk in order to get the rest of

her energy out.

Rule number nine of owning a pit bull puppy

You must go on a long walk or a nice bike ride with her every day, or she will become a terror and you

will want to kill her.

I came down with a cold during the latter end of the first week of classes, like I usually do. My

nose was running, dripping persistently, my throat constricting on itself like a snake. So I did what any

sick person would do: I decided not to walk the dog and risk making the sickness worse.

Levy, no! That's not your toy! I snatched a cat toy from her mouth as I was force-feeding

myself a bowl of oatmeal. I gave her her bone and sat back down.

Levy, out! I got up and dragged her out of Morgan's room. You can't eat the cat food. I

handed her the towel and sat back down.

Levy! Leave it! I grabbed her by the scruff to pull her away from Church the little kitten. We

played fetch for a while in hopes of relieving some of that pent up energy.

When she was panting from that, I decided she was probably okay now and got up to fill out a

check. Come on, let's go see Morgan and pay rent, I told the pup, who was staring curiously at

Chairman as he sat on the couch. I put her leash on her, and she decided to grab hold of it, shaking her

head furiously as we went out the door.

No, I said firmly, pulling the leash out of her mouth. Somehow we made it to the office,

where there was a line. The girl in front of us grinned at Levy.

Aw, she's so cute. Levy jumped up on her in response.

Levy, no. I pulled her back to me, holding her close. She tried to fight against her leash again,
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and I fought against the desire to yell at her.

Once we made it to the counter, Morgan raised her eyebrows as she took my check to process.

Someone's in a mood today.

I don't want to talk about it.

Are you going on a walk after this? she asked.

I don't know. I probably should though . . . I'll see you later. We left the office and as she tried

once more to take hold of her leash I decided that we would at least go on a short bike ride.

Rule number ten of owning a pit bull puppy

If you want to tire her out, a bike ride is the most effective method.

Our first bike ride went much better than I had honestly expected. I leashed her up like normal,

shoved a water bottle into my backpack, and took her out, making sure that she relieved herself before

we left so there would be no stopping to poop while we were biking.

Okay, Levy, you can handle this. Let's go. We traversed the small distance to get to the trail

nearby, and I walked the bike on one side and the dog on the other. She stared at the bike from around

my legs a lot. Yep, that's a bike. We're going to wear you out so well with this thing.

We made it down the hill and onto the trail. You ready? I got on the bike and waited a brief

moment to make sure Levy wasn't going to jump up at it before I started pedaling. Beautifully, she

started running along with the bike, though at first she stared at it in amazement as she ran. I made sure

to go slower than normal, aware that she still wasn't fast enough to be able to actually keep up with the

bike at full speed. Choking her if she lagged behind would not be an ideal experience for either one of

us.

Eventually the intrigue over the bike wore out and she simply jogged along with me and my

bike, keeping up fairly well at the runner's pace we were going. The sense of accomplishment made me
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feel like we were flying. It was going to be a lot easier now to get her exercise in every day.

She always takes a long nap afterwards and is of course much calmer.

Rule number eleven of owning a pit bull puppy

Sometimes you will encounter fearful pit bull haters on your walks, and you must exercise restraint so

you don't go all Mama Bear on said ignorant person.

One day we were on our daily long walk, following our favorite trail. The sun was pure blue,

not a cloud in sight, and we hadn't passed many people yet.

But then we did. There came a woman up ahead, and Levy's tail started wagging in anticipation

of being able to say hello to a new person. I couldn't see her eyes she was wearing sunglasses that

blocked them from me but I watched as her head shifted slightly in Levy's direction, noticing the

muscular, block-headed dog walking beside me, securely leashed. I watched as her body stiffened

slightly. Her steps wavered as we drew nearer. She side-stepped, almost stumbled, entirely off of the

trail and into the brush that lined the edges. She got as much distance between her and this pit bull

puppy as she could, looking straight ahead now as we passed each other. Levy watched her go in

confusion, her tail slowing until it stopped.

I almost stopped walking. I almost asked her, What the hell was that about? I did look back at

her briefly and saw her walking quickly as she returned onto the trail. Levy and I looked at each other. I

shrugged at her as we continued on our walk. What good would it do to get confrontational?

Rule number twelve of owning a pit bull puppy

If you lay on the couch, you automatically become a puppy pillow. Obviously you are the most

comfortable place in the apartment.

One day after a long walk and a shower, I laid stomach-down on the couch to do homework,

resting the tops of my feet on the arm of the couch. Levy, with her sixth sense for knowing when

someone is laying comfortably on the couch, came running out of my room full speed and jumped on

top of me, promptly laying down across my back. Her head was hanging off my side.

Oh hey there, I said as I peered at her from over my shoulder. She looked back at me and then

shifted herself. She kept shifting herself, several times, jabbing me in the back with her sharp, powerful

elbow. Levy, seriously, I complained at her, trying to refocus on my homework.

She shifted one final time so that she was curled up on the backs of my legs and stayed put, and

her eyes drifted shut as she returned to her post-walk napping. I paused again in what I was doing,

resting my left cheek against the couch so I could simply soak in the moment. My previously chilled

legs became wonderfully warm from the living, breathing, portable heater that dogs tend to be,

especially puppies. This pup was no exception. I wanted to let the puppy heat lull me into dream land

along with her.

Rule number thirteen of owning a pit bull puppy

A puppy dreaming is the best thing ever.

As we laid on the couch together, she started snoring, a gentle hum of air as she breathed in and

out. I lifted my head to look back at her. Her nose started twitching as I watched. A snuffling sound

came out of her mouth, which also began twitching slightly, as though she was dreaming of eating, her

absolute number one favorite thing to do in life. Her paw hit me in the leg as it too twitched.

I laid the side of my face back down on the couch. I remembered when she was an even tinier

pup whose tongue would stick out slightly as she dreamed and her mouth would move and I would

know that she was dreaming of suckling from her real mom, back before she had been separated from

her blood family and knew the horror of the humane society cages.
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Levy made a whistling sound through her nose as she sighed in her dream, and I pushed my

laptop and homework away and let my eyes drift closed as I listened to her puppy dreaming sounds.

Homework can wait for later, I mumbled as I slowly joined her in dream land.

The final rule of owning a pit bull puppy

As crazy as she might drive you, coming home to find her sleeping on your pillow as she waits for you

is worth everything.

Despite all of the crazy things this pup has gotten herself into, she makes life so much easier.

Whenever I had a hard day at work or school, she was always good for a cuddle or a laugh. She still

needs a daily walk or bike ride and she still doesn't know how to play gently with other dogs, but her

energy level and excitement is just part of who she is. She still likes to chase the cats, but I know she

would never hurt them. And now that she doesn't pee in the house anymore or chew on everything,

she's even more lovable. She is a lot more well adjusted to everything in this human world and better

taken care of than my previous pit bull, thanks to my lessons learned, and she has become my best

friend and companion. I wouldn't give her up for the world.